#like how illiterate you'd have to be

[shiraishi--kanade]

Not at all shocking revelation: people who oppose Anhane because An is "toxic" and claim to care about Kohane do not understand Kohane either

[peachesandfictionalmen]

Best friends to lovers with Jason Todd is so swoon worthy.

Like getting close to this man that hardly trusts anyone? Jason is so friends to lovers coded it's crazy.

This bitch is the type to cook you meals while you sit on the counter, doesn't matter who's apartment your in.

Finding him curled up on your couch because he was distressed after patrol and when he got there you were already asleep. Him staying anyway because your smell comforts him? I'm fucking deceased.

Falling asleep casually draped over each other while watching a movie. Him massaging the leg you have draped over his lap because he needs something to do with his hands.

This man is so awkward when it comes to crushing too. Like sure he can be smooth with the ladies, but being around someone he's in love with? Please. I swear he'd go as far as practically acting like your boyfriend. He'd be bringing you your favorite snacks, taking you on bike rides, helping you clean your apartment, going out to eat with you, all the while trying to act like he doesn't blush when you smile at him, because there's no way you'd like him back, right?

He'd be so confused if you started trying to drop hints too, like oh, your just wearing his jacket because your cold. His favorite hoodie is definitely not at your place. You just like rubbing his shoulders because you know how tight his muscles get and feel bad for him, no other reason. You only keep his favorite tea at your place because it's convenient, right?

I think you could wave a sign at this man that says 'I LOVE YOU, PLEASE KISS ME' and he'd suddenly become illiterate.

There'd be so many awkward, blushing, almost severely intimate moments too. The cuddles and brushes in the kitchen, hanging on too tight when he takes a turn on his bike, him brushing the hair out of your face, him watching as you put on makeup or are focused on something.

One day, while he's cooking and your sitting on the counter talking, you just get fed up with dropping hints and when he turns and is standing next to your spot on the counter, you just grab him. You just grasp his cheek gently and pull him in for a kiss, he's so stunned he doesn't respond right away. You pull away, half panicking, thinking you actually read him wrong and he finally blinks, cupping your cheeks in his hands and pulling you in to kiss you for real because, finally.

[ghouldump]

Love Me | Lestat de Lioncourt x Bi!Reader

ෆ as your companionship seems to be failing, you retreat, seeking comfort from a woman who looks awfully similar.

a short fic from me to you. bi reader, as well as rockstar lestat, has been high in demand. i actually accidentally deleted a few really good ones, but there i honestly write whenever i’m bored, so more is bound to come along.

Throwing the large book, you expected it to hit him in the head, but before it could connect, the book went left, falling onto the floor.

“How long will you continue this, ma chérie, you don't menstruate, so why must you go on like this? Hm, do you want to shop, a new handbag, shoes, a new boy toy?” Lestat asked, smirking. Behind the grin, he was incredibly frustrated. The two of you had been arguing for over an hour, and he didn't even know why.

“What does that have to do with anything? You always have to ridicule, when a problem is being addressed,” you screamed, a few tears escaping. As much as you tried to hold them back, the barrier was crumbling, as you grew angrier.

“Are you serious? What is the problem? Go on”

“That boy that you bought home, he looked like him-

“It was merely a coincidence”

“And the one before that, and before that, and many more. All of them resembled him, your Louis,” you whispered, wiping your tears.

“All of them were also drained and burned”

“After you fucked them,” you said, shaking your head as he chuckled.

“50 years, I have given myself to you, and you alone, but I haven't been enough, I’m not Louis”

“Y/n-

“You revealed your identity to the entire world for him. I let you turn me at only nineteen to fill your lonely void, and you’ve never told me you loved me, do you even love me?”

“What kind of point are you trying to prove? I told you, Louis and I had a very different relationship, than what you and I-

“Right, you loved him, and I was the replacement,” you laughed, grabbing your phone and handbag.

“Where are you going?”

“Out, text me from your iPad, if you need anything,” you grumbled. He was too much of an illiterate man-child to even learn how to use a phone, depending on you and Siri.

“The sun will be out soon”

“I won't be long,” you said, making sure to slam the door.

Your emotions were all over the place, angered at the terrible decisions you'd made over the years. You were a young party girl, in the 70s, when you met Lestat. It didn't take long before he was your boyfriend, and you were bragging to your friends about the sex. After months of dating, he confided in you about a weird call from his former lover’s partner, revealing his identity afterward. Soon, he asked you to join him in darkness, and immediately you agreed.

However, looking back, you felt like an idiot, you should've stayed away when the adults told you about the strangeness of Lestat. The rumors of him not aging, only being seen at night. You couldn't see past his charming personality or handsome face, to realize he was trying to fill the void Louis left.

Walking through the French Quarter, you maneuvered through the crowd. You rolled your eyes at all of the tourists, especially since the writer, Daniel Molloy came out with his book, people were flocking to the city.

Going into a random bar, you sat down, your eyes scanning the menu. Alcohol didn't have much of an effect on you, only making you slightly tipsy, but it was something that made you feel human.

“I bought your drink, the least you could do is give me your number,” you heard the man next to you say rudely.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

“A pineapple martini,” you said, handing him your card.

“I didn't ask you to,” the girl argued.

“Listen, I didn't spend $20 on an overpriced daiquiri just because you're cute-

“And I told you, I didn't ask you to buy it,” she argued.

“Can you two take that elsewhere, I don't want to hear all of that, while I enjoy my drink,” you said, tapping the man’s shoulder.

“No one cares, and keep your hands off-

The man stood from his seat, lunging forward to grab you next, when you caught his arm, twisting it. You watched the man in satisfaction, thinking of how men hadn't changed, even in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and so on — there were always the disgustingly perverted men.

“You don't know how to keep your hands to yourself, it’s gross, but it makes me feel less guilty for breaking your arm,” you said, shrugging before twisting his arm. He screamed in agony, holding his arm as he ran out of the bar, just as your martini was sat down, along with your card.

“Hey, thank you for that,” the woman started, as you sat down. By her accent alone, you knew she was a tourist.

“It was nothing,” you mumbled, twirling the little straw, focused on the drink.

“How did you do that? Do you take self defense classes?” she asked.

“No”

“Well, that was pretty impressive, I don't think I’ve ever seen-

“Lady, I just want to enjoy my drink-

Your eyes widened at the woman, she was perfect, she looked like Lestat, if he had been gender-swapped. Her blonde tresses were inches away from her waist, sky blue eyes, and full pink lips. Her bone structure was symmetrical, her straight teeth as white as milk. She dressed hyper feminine, wearing too much pink and white. You tried not to be weird, forcing your eyes to stop wandering, despite catching a glimpse of her toned body.

“I’m sorry, I know I can talk too much sometimes, sorry,” she apologized.

“You’re fine, I’m just in a shitty mood,” you shrugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“My partner is caught up on his ex, even though they broke up forever ago,” you admitted.

“Why do you hold on to him then?”

“Everything else is perfect about him, I can’t help but want to be loved by him,” you mumbled, thinking of Lestat. Since he revealed himself, he had been very busy, but when he wasn’t, his attention was on you. Waiting for him backstage, in the hotels, in his coffin, the quality time was incredibly intimate.

“If he’s as perfect as you claim, why are you here, obviously upset?” she asked, scooting closer.

“I don’t think I will ever come close to being loved as much as Louis,” you admitted, gulping down the pressure of the tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching to touch your hand.

“I will be fine, are you new to New Orleans?” You asked, staring at her hand laid against your own.

“Yes, I’m Lisa by the way, but I want to move here, I’ll be out here for a few weeks, maybe we can hang out, you could be my personal tour guide,” she said, briefly biting her lip. In her thoughts, she was hopeful, wanting more than to spend time with you. You seemed mysterious and she was dying to know why.

“Y/n, What did you want to do?”

“See historical landmarks, try local cuisines, hang out with you,” she said, leaning towards you.

“Me?”

“A woman as beautiful as you deserves all of the attention”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you smirked, remaining still as she leaned closer, allowing her to press her lips against your own.

As you moved closer, your phone dinged, making you reach into your pocket. Pulling away, you rolled your eyes as you stared at the coffin emoji, paired with a question mark.

“I have to go,” you told her, going to stand.

“Could I have your number, we could hang out sometime, if you're free,” she said, fidgeting. Smirking, you couldn't help but think of how much she looked like him, yet acted completely different.

Laughing, you unlocked your phone, handing it to her. After her number was saved, you were making your way to the townhouse. The sun could be seen coming into view, and just as you began opening the door, you could feel the heat burning against your skin.

“I thought you wouldn't be long,” Lestat said from the top of the stairs, as the door was shut.

“I wasn't”

“You left nearly two hours ago,” he said, following behind you, as you walked past him, up the stairs.

“And I’m home, did you want to argue more?” you asked him, rudely. He was stunned by your tone, but recovered quickly.

“No, I wanted you to return to me, in perfect condition,” he said, watching as you stripped from the clothing, holding your phone near.

“I’m okay, it will heal,” you told him, feeling his eyes on your lightly burned shoulder. You didn't say anything else, climbing into your coffin, and he couldn't admit your already different behavior left him feeling embarrassed.

Just as your eyes were about to shut, your phone lit up, as Lisa’s message appeared on the screen, asking if you made it home safely. Lestat stared at your coffin, hearing the sound of you typing, before slowly moving to his own.

“Sleep well, ma chérie”

“You too,” you said, hearing the sound of his coffin closing.

Lestat was confused by the way you were acting. This wasn't the first and most likely wouldn't be the last time you'd get into an argument, but this time seemed different. You'd leave and eventually come home, and he'd pick a fight, and just as you started to argue back, he would apologize for his actions and everything would fall into place.

Now, just two hours later you acted completely standoffish with him, as if you didn't want to be bothered. Was the argument that serious to you? You understood the love he held for Louis, but that it was best that they remained friends alone. He was with you, he had been all these years, he cared for you, he lo-.

Lestat didn't know how to express himself, arguing, being jealous, possessive, then ravishing you with gifts, that's all he knew. What he didn't realize was his failure to comfort and reassure you, not taking you seriously, you were pulling you away, as you began to desire your needs elsewhere.

Immediately, Lestat could see the red flags going off, you were gone every night. Some nights before he even woke up, others you'd silently dress in front of him, before leaving. Even when he left for his music business, you always traveled with him, but now you had excuses.

He didn't want to follow you, but he had to, the jealous assumptions were beginning to pile up in his thoughts. Months, it had been months of you ignoring his presence. You’d look at him, hunt with him, and even talk with him if he wanted — but you weren’t putting your all into the relationship anymore. He was making the same mistake as he did with Louis. Choosing when the relationship could and couldn’t open.

He’d dabble in his different tastes regularly, no strings attached, usually killing the person after. You were different, the only way you’d have another person, was if Lestat was present. You weren’t as open to the idea of having others, and in a way, it satisfied Lestat knowing you would never sleep with another, or so he thought.

He had been following you, all the way to Gentilly, until you stopped at the unfamiliar house. His heart could have shattered, as he watched you through the window. The woman, you touched, touched in a way that was only meant for him.

He watched as you and this is unknown woman made love, his heart throbbing. The two of you, going on for what felt like hours, before you were both giggling, going into the bathroom. As the woman came out, grabbing a towel, Lestat was sure his dead heart would stop. This woman, she looked exactly like him, he couldn’t even say he looked better, because they resembled each other so much.

After your shared shower, you both plopped on the bed, holding each other. Your hearts full of passion towards each other.

“Y/n,” Lisa said, playing with your sharp nails.

“Hm?” You answered, your eyes closed. Her warm skin felt nice against your forever icy skin.

“I think I love you,” she said, making you open your eyes.

“What?” You asked, looking at her.

“I love you, I know it’s only been a few months, but that’s all I needed with you to know,” she said. You could feel the tears building up, as you pressed your lips against her own.

Staring at her, you could only see Lestat, the one who stole your heart all those years ago. No matter how idiotic you’re decision was, at the time. All you wanted was for him to declare his love for you, with his mouth.

“Say it again, please?” You asked her, as you pulled away.

“I love you,” she smiled brightly, smashing her lips into yours, as she pulled you back into a hug.

Lestat had tears pouring down his face, as he turned to leave. He didn’t think he could watch any more of whatever that was supposed to be. He couldn't take the idea of you being loving or being loved by another. All this started because of love, you claiming he didn't love you.

“Lisa, tell me you love me, once more,” you said, as you began to glamour her.

“I love you,” she exclaimed.

“No, you don't, you never met me, you won't recognize my face and you will never approach me, do you understand?” you asked her, watching as she silently nodded, you wiped the bloody tear from your eye, just as it escaped,

“Yes”

“You will sleep now, you're very tired,” you said, watching as she nodded, dozing off. She lay beautifully, as you covered her with the blanket. You couldn't replace him, even with the female doppelganger — especially with her. Lisa was a sweet girl, you didn't want to take away her life, revealing your nature, for your selfish reasons.

Leaving her home, you silently went back to your shared townhouse. It was quiet, Lestat already in his coffin, as you undressed.

“Good night,” you mumbled, getting into your coffin.

If this would be life, then you accepted it, second to Louis. You loved Lestat with every piece of your soul, so much that you could take not being loved, but being liked enough to be in his presence.

As the sun eventually left, you got up, dressing to go hunt. You found a random man, draining him in an alley, but as you made your way back home, your eyebrows furrowed. Entering the house, your eyes widened at the sight.

Exotic dancers, well over ten of them, all with wavy blonde hair and shades of blue eyes. A few of them were fawning at Lestat, but he paid none of them any kind of attention.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“For you, ma chérie, I’ll drain them, but I’ll let do whatever you please with them first,” he grinned.

“What are you talking about? Get them out, now,” you said, shrugging off a hand that was about to rub your shoulder. Watching as Lestat controlled them, sending them away, before he sat down, drained from the action.

“What is wrong with you? Bringing all of those women here? God, why don't you think,” you grumbled.

“I was just trying to appease your passions since they were more of your type, I mean, it only took a few months for you to find out,” he shrugged, making you realize he had been there.

“You can't be serious, you're such a creeper,” you laughed bitterly.

“For months, I’ve reached out to you, and you recoiled at my touch, just for me to find out you're having an affair with a woman, who looks too much like me”

“And how is that any different than what you've done?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I heard you both, making love to her, kissing her, touching her the way that you do me. Texting her throughout the day, you're in love with her,” Lestat cried.

“I’m in love with you, but you love Louis. I can't replace him, so I wanted to replace you,” you said, turning to storm away, when he caught your hand.

“I will always love Louis but don't think that I don't love you. You are my wife, my companion, the one who saved me from myself. I don't want to see you with another, only me,” he confessed. His face was covered in blood from the tears pouring down his face.

“And you have me, but you have to say it, I know you show it in your own ways, but to hear it from your lips, would help me so much,” you told him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I know, I am a hypocrite, but end your affair, I can't take knowing you love another, I love you” he pouted.

“Fine, you won't have to worry about her,” you told him, as he moved closer to embrace you. Swiftly, he lifted you, holding you in his arms.

“Are we made up now?”

“Yes, love”

“I don't know how much I could take of that excruciating cycle of neglect,” he expressed.

“Lestat?” you said, as he sat down, having you straddle his lap.

“Yes, chérie?”

“Tell me again, tell me you love me,” you said, sighing in fulfillment as his arms wrapped around your body.

“I love you and I’ll say it as many times as you need”

…

[silent-sanctum]

"Jotaro Kujo is Weak at His Core"

As a writer and avid character psycho-analyzer, I find this concept fascinating because I wholeheartedly agree with what OP has quoted from a "What opinion would get the community to do this? *Insert Johnny getting torn apart*" post.

Before I begin, I know some people will see this, misread it, and immediately say "lmao did we watch the same show? He's strong, badass, and can kick anyone's ass. Like do you know Star Platinum bro?". Trust me, I've seen the replies to this post and they said this same exact thing.

And I'm here to say that to said people, if you truly are not the illiterates I'd like to term you as, you'd take the time to realize that when we say "he's weak", we're not referring to his physical prowess because we know he's one of the strongest characters in the show.

If you don't like to, then you're just proving the accuracy of the last sentence: "You can't stand seeing your edgy badass image of Jotaro as vulnerable."

Pushing that aside, I'd like to expand on OP's opinion/headcanon with some depth to it and explain how exactly he's "weak" outside of being a skilled and strategic fighter.

I've learned that to be holistically healthy, one needs to develop and maintain all optimal functions of oneself: Physical, Emotional, Social, and Mental.

Obviously, Jotaro excels in the physical category. He's conventionally attractive, taller than the average male population, well-defined with a muscled build, fit as hell, street and book smart, and highly in tune with his environment making him adaptable in any circumstance.

He's "strong" in that aspect we all know at a superficial level.

However, we start to see the core problem once we strip this good-hearted man of his physical appeal:

Emotional? He believes he doesn't need to express them to others because why should he. He refuses to process them and instead keeps them behind a locked wall of stoicism and aloofness.

Social? Can't communicate to save his life. He's reclusive and doesn't know how to socialize outside of work. Guarded and skeptical around others. Too much of a workaholic to bother making new acquaintances (if he even knows how) outside of familial connections.

Mental? At 17, he went on a death crusade over Asia and the Middle East, almost died numerous times, and most likely lived with unresolved PTSD that carried over into adulthood, and further deteriorated his already poor social and emotional skills.

What do we have then? If we look past that powerful exterior of a man, we have inappropriate emotional expression, poor socialization, and constant fatigue of dealing with bullshit that relates to his trauma.

And this is what we mean by his "core": His mindset. His inner machinations. The soft spot his enemies would need to target in order to defeat or kill him, strategy-wise.

I. Emotional

We pretty much already know how this man handles emotions. And this may come off as "irrelevant" to the dudebros and the meme riders who believe "haha feelings are for pussies, I advocate for edgy autistic Florida man who don't give a fuck, elopes with dolphins, and berates women".

But believe it or not, he has them, just like any other human being on the planet. I said it once and I'll say it again: Not everyone will wear their heart on their sleeves. Some will convey emotions publicly with no issue, while others would prefer to keep to themselves.

But how does this contribute to him being "weak" at his core?

Essentially, it's similar to how someone with depression may behave (not everyone, some of them). One may appear friendly, sunny, and bubbly to everyone around them, not knowing they're actually suffering from a void that eats them up from the inside when alone.

For his case, it may look like he doesn't care about what happens to him and everyone around him, considering his nonchalant and aloof behavior, but beneath that cold exterior, he cares way too much for his family, friends, and allies. He feels too much to the point where once his allies are endangered, he would sacrifice his well-being without a second thought.

And that's an issue to him.

To him, emotions make him vulnerable and in his circumstance where enemies are actively hunting him down trying to find his weak spots, his emotions should be kept behind doors because he doesn't know how to regulate it on the outside so it's either total stoicism or lashing out.

I found someone saying this line about him that fits him so well: "He's a good person who doesn't know how to be a good person."

This is a man who means well and truly wants to help out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his inability to convey his emotions properly and is unable to pick up emotional cues, it can lead to shit tons of misunderstandings due to inappropriate tone & expression, and that can change how someone views him in the long run, thus leading to unintended deterioration of personal relationships (which contribute to the social aspect of his weakness).

I found a visual representation of what I just said above. Just to give context: The show is about a married couple who struggles to keep their relationship afloat, having to navigate through family politics, work & life balance, and miscommunications so they could find why they loved each other in the first place.

The emotionally-reserved character here with the poor communication skills is the girl. She's a CEO who just received a call, came out from work, and meets with her husband, asking him to accompany her to a doctor's appointment.

Observe how she thinks she views herself VS how others actually view her as.

Other's POV: Demanding, brash, and insensitive Her POV: Anxious, hesitant, and confused

Now remember what Araki had written about Jotaro? "He doesn't believe he must reveal his emotions to others because he thinks everyone can figure him out, leading him to be a victim of misunderstandings. Others think him to be cold-hearted, rebellious, and insensitive."

II. Social

With emotions as our base foundation to poor communication skills, this leads us to his weak socialization aspect.

In a recent quote reblog about how he was raised as a child may have contributed to his tough persona, I mentioned something about his need of "Security".

Growing up, it was mostly just him and his sweet pacifist mother Holly. Joseph couldn't have visited often (he hates Japan) and his dad is a busy musician with a packed schedule on tour. As a kid up to early adolescence, he was coddled by his mother and raised as a good student. Everything was going great for him.

[In popular headcanon] Once he passed puberty, the change to his Part 3 MC era began. People began picking fights with him and bullying him, and he began to see the world as a threat to his safety. Knowing his mother, he wouldn't rely on her to defend him against these dangers. She was too kind, too friendly, too loving for her to deal with the harsh life he now has to deal with.

So he had to be the stronger one for both of them. He already had the physical attributes for it, so why not use it to his advantage?

He got on the popular delinquent trend back in 80's Japan, integrated a couple of cool masculine-esque personalities as his own from his favorite Western and Crime media, and is then able to project this menacing aura everyone should be afraid of, to ward potential threats away from him and his mother.

But Mijin, how does this make him weak? What does this have to do with his need for security?

Think about it: The poor guy's already introverted, doesn't feel comfortable with his emotions that he can't express properly, and now he has to be skeptical with people around him because he realized how shitty society can be, which leads to intimidation that wards off not only potential foes but potential friends as well, making it look like he's anti-social.

On the outside, people are likely to think that he likes being this way when in reality, he seeks a reliable support system on which he can lean onto. Everyone with a sound mind wants that subconsciously because we are social creatures. It's part of our nature.

He's constantly fearful of his surroundings, growing even more vigilant as he ages, but he doesn't look afraid because he chooses to put on a brave face to challenge said fears instead of acknowledging he's scared. I read somewhere in an ask that's not mine that in the manga, some panels actually depict Jotaro shaking/trembling in a mix of fear and adrenaline during some of his fights.

He wants to be around people who he can trust. People who he can lower his defenses with. People who are capable of protecting him just as he is capable of protecting them. People who can face his intimidating aura and challenge it to stand on equal grounds with him or to remind him of his place when he goes too far with certain things. Hence, why he seems comfortable being with the Crusaders.

For once, he wants to feel safe.

To not feel like he has to be this strong pillar of hope that everyone depends on.

To be someone being protected, instead of the other way around where he was always the strong protector. He wants a life of normalcy where he can just be a marine biologist and a professor with a loving family he can come home to.

But that can't happen. The inner circle of friends he counted on is either dead or far away, leaving him even more fearful of the world around him. This results in even more guarded skepticism, always watchful of who's an enemy Stand user and what their Stand could do. Because of his cautious nature, this leads to minimized socialization with others.

With little to no solid support system he can count on, he has no one he feels completely secure with because he believes danger will always come to hurt and/or kill those near him. He doesn't want to burden others with the issues & responsibilities of dealing with Stand users. He wants them to live the normal life he could no longer have.

He doesn't trust in the capabilities of his loved ones when it comes to defending themselves against the amount of potential threats and dangers he has faced, and yet he cares about them dearly. So, he commits to what seems to be the most practical solution in his mind: Self-Isolation.

To be a distant beacon where danger is attracted to and away from those dear to him.

(As we see in the beginning of Part 3 where he willingly locks himself in jail as soon as he sees himself as the threat, and in Part 6 where he stays away from his family once he realizes his enemies were targeting him).

"Your family is your weakness."

All this leads him to become what Araki always envisioned him to be: A lone hero.

III. Mental

Now onto the last part, this part of the essay will focus more on the popular headcanon the community has made about him: "Jotaro has PTSD."

Considering what he's been through at only 17, it would be no surprise that he'd acquired major trauma after those 50 days. Think about it- he gets injured more times than he can count, almost dies numerous times, sees his grandfather get "killed" in front of him, and all this combined with the constant reminder that his mother's life is also on a time limit. A failure to kill DIO meant a failure to save Holly.

The amount of pressure and risk he had to endure for her (and there will still be people who adamantly believe that he hated Holly because he said "bitch" to her twice in the first two episodes).

Now, remember when I said about him having this mentality of over-independence when dealing with stressors? It was still manageable during Stardust Crusaders, but because of what had transpired in Cairo, that mindset carries on to the rest of his adulthood, more so if we consider that he most likely didn't get any therapy or treatment for his trauma.

It might be normal for a teenager to hold onto this stubborn notion of "I can do this by myself" and be casual about it, but with trauma now involved, that notion warps into a persisting belief of "by doing this myself, no one else will get hurt" (i.e. refusing help, doing solo fieldwork, self-isolation).

But Mijin, you keep saying "mentality" this, "mindset" that. What are you talking about?

There's an old Tumblr post I found that talks specifically about this in great detail, but to put it shortly: Jotaro has always wanted to do things by himself because he believes that not only will the task be done with, there would be no one else involved with it, making it better for him to cope mentally if ever shit hits the fan (tying back to poor emotional expression and insecurity in bonds).

If any injuries were to be inflicted, he would be the one to receive them, and he alone, because who knows how he'll react and/or cope when his allies are harmed instead of him over and over again? (refer to the trauma of Jotaro surviving Cairo while the majority of the team that went with him died a.k.a "survivor's guilt")

(Also, refer to how he had exhibited great distress when Jolyne was about to be struck by a rain of knives that Pucci sent)

This might also be the reason why he's more self-sacrificial as an adult: Will be the bait during the rat episode instead of Josuke, takes the brunt of Sheer Heart Attack's explosion to spare Koichi, dives straight onto a path of bullets to save Jolyne, etc.

The only possible solution so he could snap out of that belief he holds on to is that strong, reliable support system he internally needs. People who can help him without sustaining fatal injuries in the process [social]. People who he can approach to release any pent-up frustrations and inner conflicts [emotional].

If he had found those people, then he might have been able to deal and/or cope with his trauma better instead of letting it linger and change his outlook in life [mental].

But we all know how his life went in canon. One moment he's a kid playing ball with his mother, then in his last, he dies by having his head bisected by a time-altering Stand.

Jotaro is a person with a gold heart and a rough exterior. Someone who wants to help and protect his loved ones from the unpredictability of the world the best that he can. But even then, his best wasn't enough. His fear was masked with an air of strength and capability, perhaps as compensation for everything else he lacked:

Adequate processing of emotions.

Stable connection with familial, platonic, and romantic bonds.

A sound mindset that stems from effective coping for his PTSD.

We could only hope in headcanon land that he had a better chance at life in the Ireneverse where he finally could develop his inner core better and get that long-deserved break he had always wanted.

[withleeknow]

how he would take care of you during shark week. ⤷ chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

pairing: jisung x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, mentions of periods bc duhhh erhm note: ok so i'm REALLY not sure what this is lmao but i switched up entirely compared to the first installation (with minho) and i think this is the format i'll be sticking with for the rest of the members. i'm still just experimenting and trying to figure how i want to approach doing drabbles/drabble series like this so pls bear with me a little for now lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / blurb masterlist / ko-fi

jisung, who can't be trusted with even the simplest of tasks. you should've known better. (and honestly? you did know better, which probably makes the whole thing so much worse.)

jisung, whom you ask to run to the store just because you were too lazy to brave the evening chill yourself and get the shit you need.

jisung, who texts you what size pussy u wear? while he stands in the middle of the aisle, feeling like he's illiterate as he's surrounded by products of different colors and shapes and sizes and wings.

jisung, whose eyes catch a specific pink packaging with pretty flowers that makes him pull out his phone and snap you a picture. this one looks better. yours is boring, he'd text you, to which you'd replied with a dozen question marks before calling him an idiot and telling him to leave the fancy pads and hurry home with the ones you usually use.

jisung, who returns about thirty minutes later holding two large bags in his hands, which definitely contain a lot more than what you had sent him out for - just a pack of overnight pads and some sweets.

jisung, who kisses you in greeting as your eyes narrow suspiciously, then he'd proudly show off the goodies that you didn't need - an assortment of sour candies and chocolates, chips, ice cream bars, your favorite cookies, and lastly, a random purple pouch.

jisung, whose love language looks a lot like making you get diabetes whenever your time of the month rolls around.

jisung, who beams like a kid in a candy store when you ask him about the pouch with a brow raised. "look!" he'd beam, holding the little thing up like it's the most magical invention he's ever come across in his entire life. "it holds your pads! and it has unicorns on it!"

jisung, who doesn't deflate at all when you tell him that you already have one, but instead, he'd tell you to ditch the one you have because it's too "boring" (re: it doesn't have unicorns.)

jisung, who volunteers to carry the pouch for you the next time you go out together, musing to himself about whether or not he should add a little strap so he could wear it like a crossbody bag, not even batting an eye when you stare at him and gape in disbelief.

jisung, who really uses your shark week as an excuse to buy dumb shit for himself and stuff you full of treats.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 25.04.2024]

[iamtired10]

out of focus

pairing - ??? x female reader x ???

synopsis - you have two sides to run from, but both are dangerous.

genre - yandere, stalker fic. nothing cute here

warnings - stalking, death threats, extreme, blood, idk, idk², cliffhanger ending, strong language, reader being dumbass, sorry to hyein, pt. 2 coming soon.

word count - 2.6k

a/n - lame-ass fic, im illiterate, my dark romance era is back!! imma write more yandere fics❤️

the first message had unsettled you, but you’d shrugged it off as a minor, albeit eerie, incident.

an unknown number had texted something vague and unsettling:

i’m watching you.

it seemed like the kind of thing you'd hear in some horror movie, but reality?

that felt unlikely.

it could have been a prank—a bored teenager with too much time on their hands or someone testing a spam bot. you rolled your eyes at the thought and went about your day.

but the messages didn’t stop.

in fact, they grew more frequent, more specific.

at first they were merely creepy—just enough to make you glance over your shoulder, but nothing that couldn’t be brushed off.

however as time passed, the texts grew far too detailed.

someone out there knew things no one should know: the exact time you left for uni every morning, what you were wearing, even the tiny, unnoticed things, like how you tapped your fingers on the counter when you were anxious or the way you hummed under your breath when you were deep in thought.

and then came the photo.

the one that made your skin crawl.

it was of you—sitting alone in your room.

the image had been taken from outside, through your window, the angle unmistakably clear.

whoever was sending these messages wasn’t just toying with you from a distance anymore.

they were close.

so close you could almost feel their eyes on you.

you tried to make sense of it, but there was no logic to be found.

every message came from a different number, each with a distinct tone.

some were desperate, almost pleading, demanding your attention with phrases like

why r u ignoring me? i just want to talk.

those ones felt needy, like a strange, twisted longing.

others, however were chillingly emotionless.

u need to be more careful.

those messages felt more like warnings, threats whispered in the dark.

cold, detached, and calculating.

it felt like you were caught between two different people.

one seemed desperate to get close to you; the other wanted you to protect you.

maybe it was just one person.

maybe they had split personalities, switching between obsession and cruelty. or maybe this was a sick game, a test to see how far they could push you, how much fear they could instill.

despite the growing dread, you tried to ignore it.

life continued, even as the dark presence lingered in the background of your mind.

your best friend, hanni, had been the only person you confided in.

she had always been your rock, grounding you when the weight of the situation became too heavy to bear.

when you told her, she didn’t hesitate. “i’m staying over,” she had said, her tone firm, no room for protest. “you’re not going through this alone.”

and for a little while, with hanni there, you’d managed to convince yourself that things were going to be okay.

but now, hanni had too much on her plate.

you didn’t want to burden her further, so when your other friend, hyein, invited you over for a sleepover, you agreed.

maybe a change of scenery would help.

maybe being at hyein's place would give you the distance you needed to think clearly.

you leaned against the cold metal wall of the elevator, the phone pressed to your ear. “i’ll be there in about 30 minutes,” you said, forcing your voice to sound light, normal.

hyein had picked up on it, though. “unnie, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“yeah, i just haven’t been sleeping well,” you lied. “i’m looking forward to tonight.”

she didn’t push further, and you hung up, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

just as you slipped your phone into your bag, it buzzed again.

you froze.

unknown number [+82 67 3573 2345]

dont leave ur house

your heart skipped a beat.

it was that unknown number again.

the familiar sense of unease crept up your spine.

a second message quickly followed. . .

unknown number [+82 67 3573 2345]

if u leave, u’ll regret it

a threat. this was a threat, wasn’t it?

your pulse quickened, and your hand trembled slightly as you clutched your phone.

did they know where you were going?

how close were they?

were they watching you right now?

the elevator dinged as it came to a stop on the ground floor, but your feet felt glued to the floor. your mind raced, spiraling into a storm of questions and panic.

should you go back to your apartment? but what if going back gave them more power, made them think they could control you?

what if tomorrow you received another message, telling you not to leave again?

how long could you play by their rules?

but then what if ignoring them was worse?

what if disobeying meant they’d escalate?

you stepped out of the elevator, the chilly evening air hitting your skin.

the world around you seemed oblivious to the terror that had taken root in your life. people passed by, chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the invisible danger lurking around you.

your phone buzzed again. this time, it was hyein.

hye🐣👶🏻

see you soon right?

be careful on the way unnie (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

you stared at the message for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you.

if you went to hyein’s place, maybe you could escape the immediate threat.

after all, the stalker hadn’t done anything physical yet…

but how long until that changed?

you slipped your phone back into your backpack after finishing the text exchange with hyein.

just as you were adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you suddenly bumped into someone. the impact was light, but it was enough to knock the other person off balance, sending them crashing to the ground.

“shi—! i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to—” you started apologizing hastily, looking down at the person who had fallen. your words trailed off when you realized who it was.

“oh… hey, haerin-ssi.”

it was kang haerin, a junior at your university.

you had crossed paths with her before—usually in the library, where she often sat alone, nose buried in a book. your classmates had often teased you, claiming the quiet, cat-eyed girl had a crush on you. you’d noticed her occasional shy glances, but you always brushed off the idea. still, there was something about the way she quietly observed you that made you feel… watched.

“hey, sunbae-nim…” haerin’s voice was barely above a whisper. she had her hood up, almost like she was trying to hide.

she seemed to be in a hurry, her posture tense.

your eyes darted to her phone, which had slipped from her hand during the fall. “oh, let me grab that for you," you offered, kneeling down to pick it up.

but just as your fingers brushed the edge of the phone, haerin's hand shot out, grabbing it before you could. “no!! i can get it myself...” she blurted out, her voice suddenly panicked.

you blinked in surprise.

this was the first time you'd seen her react like that—so flustered, so defensive.

you stood up slowly, eyebrows raised. “uh, okay, but i heard the screen crack. you sure it’s not broken?”

haerin stood up quickly, clutching her phone tightly. “you don’t need to worry about that, sunbae-nim,” she muttered, her gaze avoiding yours.

before you could say anything else, she brushed past you, her shoulder bumping into yours as she hurried away.

you tilted your head, watching her rush off in confusion. “weird…” you muttered under your breath. ���what’s she hiding on that phone?”

you shook your head, her sudden panic almost… cute, in a way.

later that evening, you were sprawled on Hyein’s couch, half-watching a movie.

or at least, hyein was watching.

your mind had checked out long ago.

every few minutes, your phone would vibrate in your lap, each buzz pulling you further away from the screen and deeper into a pit of anxiety.

then, a new message appeared, and your stomach dropped as you read it:

unknown number [+82 78 3573 1638]

darling my darling

u're going to regret what u've done

i told u not to leave last night

but look at u, out having fun with that kid

watching a movie like nothing’s wrong

you blinked at the screen, then quickly locked your phone, shoving it into your hoodie pocket.

“unnie, anything wrong?” hyein asked, turning her attention away from the movie to look at you.

“yeah, it’s fine,” you lied, glancing away. “just the stalker sending me another love notes, as usual.” you sighed heavily.

you had reported the stalker to the police, but they’d been no help. whoever this was, they were too good at covering their tracks.

changing numbers constantly, sending messages from random places—it was like they were a ghost, slipping through every crack and loophole in the system.

the police couldn’t pin them down, and it left you feeling trapped, helpless.

another vibration.

unknown number [+82 78 3573 1638]

r u u still ignoring me huh?

r u really having that much fun w her?

w that lee hyein?

is she that much better than me?

what r u going to do next?

sleep w her? w a kid? ㅋㅋㅋ

huh is that it?

this one was different.

more direct. more cruel.

the words cut deep, and something inside you snapped.

enough was enough.

you quickly typed back, your fingers flying across the screen:

stop messaging me

she's a hundred times better than u.

u’re just a pathetic loser who doesn’t have the guts to face me in person.

and dont u dare think about her again

you hit block for what felt like the hundredth time.

but even as the message disappeared, you knew it was only a matter of time before another number popped up, and the cycle would start all over again.

no matter how many numbers you blocked, the stalker always seemed to have infinite patience.

more patience than you, that was for sure.

you stared at your phone, frustration bubbling up inside you.

how long could this go on?

how long before they stopped playing games

and did something worse?

and it had gotten worse.

much worse than you could have ever imagined.

you hated yourself for going to hyein’s house that day.

every terrible thing that had happened to her was because of you.

the guilt gnawed at you like a beast with no mercy.

you stared at hyein, lying in the hospital bed, still unconscious.

her ankle was broken, a bandage wrapped around her head.

the doctor said she was lucky to be alive, but you couldn’t shake the words that haunted you:

unknown number [+82 90 5874 3663]

got a surprise for u, my love.

u're going to like it.

go to the gymnastics building.

i love u. so much

that’s where you found her.

hyein, crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, blood pooling beneath her.

someone—your stalker—had pushed her down the stairs.

the sight of her lying there, so still, so vulnerable, was burned into your memory.

and then the next message arrived.

unknown number [+82 90 5874 3663]

told u to stay away from her

but you didn’t listen

she’s lucky she’s not dead.

but the sound of her skull cracking was loud enough to satisfy me ㅋㅋㅋ

anyway i love u, my darling.

remember this is just a little showcase. i can do worse than that

all of this... it was because of you.

you couldn’t forgive yourself.

the guilt was unbearable, consuming you from the inside out.

mrs. lee’s sobs echoed in your ears as she clung to hyein’s brother in the waiting room.

the grief in their eyes was too much.

they loved her like you did, but they didn’t know the truth—their daughter, their sister, was in this hospital because of you.

you bit back your own tears, but they came anyway, spilling down your cheeks.

hyein had always been like a little sister to you, someone you wanted to protect. now she was hurt, possibly broken, because of you.

the thought of her dying because of your choices was like a knife twisting in your chest.

the stalker had done this.

and they could do worse.

much worse.

the only sliver of relief was that hyein was stable, though she hadn’t regained consciousness yet.

but you didn’t know if the stalker would come after her again.

that thought paralyzed you.

“it’s okay…” hanni’s voice broke through the fog of your mind.

she was sitting beside you, pulling you into her arms.

her hug was warm, firm, as she rubbed your back gently. “she’s going to be fine. don’t worry. she’ll be okay.”

her words were soothing, but they didn’t reach the gnawing fear inside you. “i’m here, okay? no one’s going to hurt you again. the police are here. we’re all here for you. you’ve got me. it’s going to be alright,” hanni whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as you collapsed into her, sobbing into her chest.

“h-han, i’m so scared…” you stuttered, your voice broken. “why is this happening? why can’t they just leave us alone? why can’t they leave me alone? what do they want from me?”

hanni held you tighter, her voice low and serious. “love…,” she murmured.

you blinked and looked up at her, confused. “h-huh?”

she sighed, then met your eyes. “i mean... they’re obsessed with you. they want your attention, maybe more. maybe love. i don’t know... but let’s not think too much about it right now, okay? just focus on being here. on being safe.”

you swallowed hard, nodding as you let out a shaky breath. “o-okay…”

just then, minji’s voice interrupted the quiet moment. “are you guys leaving soon?”

she stood at the door, her eyes flicking between you and hanni.

you tried to pull away from hanni’s embrace, but she held on tighter.

“no—” you started, but hanni cut her off.

“yeah, i think y/n needs rest,” hanni said firmly, smiling softly as her hand continued to rub soothing circles on your back. “she was awake all night, and she’s exhausted.”

you shook your head. “but i need to stay for hye—”

“she has her brother and minji. doctors, nurses, and the police are here to protect her,” hanni interrupted gently. “you were here all night, y/n. you didn’t sleep. you need rest.”

you wanted to argue, but you were so tired.

the exhaustion hit you all at once, like a wave crashing down. you sighed in defeat.

minji nodded. “okay. i’ll keep you updated when she wakes up or if anything happens. and if you need anything, call me. do you want a police officer with you for protection?”

before you could respond, hanni spoke up confidently. “no, i’ll be with y/n. the stalker can’t do anything to her while i’m there.”

minji raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “alright. . . just let me know if you need anything.”

she gave you both a lingering look before walking away.

hanni finally let go of you and stood up. “i’ll grab your backpack. don’t move, okay?”

you nodded as you watched her walk off, the quiet hum of the hospital surrounding you.

nurses bustled about, doctors talked in low voices with patients, and the distant sound of machines beeped steadily in the background.

it all felt surreal, like the world was moving on while you were stuck in this nightmare.

and then your phone buzzed.

your heart stopped as you hesitantly pulled it out of your pocket.

you glanced down at the screen, and your blood ran cold.

unknown number [+82 67 3573 2345]

is typing. . .

dont go to her house

a/n - fell asleep while writing it -_-

my brain, butt, back, neck, fingers hurts 😣

[mywifealhaitham]

pre release boothill relationship headcanons!!!

a/n: I'm fiending off crumbs... I've wanted to read some x reader of him but theres none so I gotta write it myself. I hope the other 4 boothill fans enjoy

warnings: gn!reader, like 2 gendered pet names (pretty girl/boy), most of this is written with bias because we don't have alot to go off, obviously written prerelease, when we actually get content of him I'll definitely be rewriting

LEAKS AHEAD!!!

bc: Valentine_DD_ on twt

- Boothill is described as a righteous person if his bottom line doesn't get crossed, so he definitely treats you good. probably more on the protective side when it comes to you, he's probably not afraid to use his gun if someone is threatening you.

- and believe me he's intimidating. from his overall tough and "unruly" cowboy look to his mechanical body it leaves enemies just a little challenged. he lowers his voice too and probably has a more fierce look in his eyes too. after any threats have been delt with he probably turns to you and turns into the sweetest thing ever, a wide grin across his face and his hands on your cheeks peppering you with small kisses.

- Its said he's a bit sophisticated due to his experiences so I'd like to imagine sometimes he charms you with facts and details about other planets or just genuinely sharing some tips and tricks he's picked up from other cultures. he's also a person who can get along with others pretty well but he can easily give strangers an impression he's selfish and is a bad person.

- again this kinda feeds into he's basically you'd guard dog... but I mean who wouldn't want to be saved by a handsome and sweet cowboy. despite his unpredictable personality and looks he's a huge gentleman for sure. always opens doors and pulls out chairs for you, makes sure your behind him and okay if any danger approaches and practically listens to your every command (lowkey giving off my girl and I don't argue she tells me to shut up and I do)

- one part I'm so excited to see is what they mean by he's illiterate and using metaphors. it's probably just him using slang but it's still kinda cute. I feel like his cheesy and strange metaphors turn into pick up lines when talking to you. perhaps he'll pull a "did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" or something cheesier. Definitely a huge nickname guy, almost never uses your real name. I'm guessing he'd use stuff like doll, sugar, baby, pretty girl/boy and more teasing names. heavy on doll and sugar and just imagine him saying it in a deep southern accent... 😍 kicking my feet. also I imagine he loves making you giggle by not cursing (because he literally cant) and normally he'd get pissed if someone laughed at him like that if it's you he doesn't mind at all.

- that's pretty much it for like analyzing the leaks I saw but now the stuff up ahead is just bias yapping because I always project

- HE DEFINITELY IS A HAND KISSER. greets you by getting on one knee, holding his hat to his chest and kissing your hand. makes eye contact with you too and does that toothy smirk of his IM SWOONINGGG

- maybe he's a dancer! pulls you into his arms and places his hat on your head when a good song plays in taverns. even if your clueless on any type of dances then he'll pull you along to the beat whispering Instructions in your ear.

- gets so lovesick when drunk it drives everyone mad. any folks he's sitting with at a bar gets a whole speech on his wonderful beautiful darling who he owes his live and would happily die by their hand. and may God save you when you come pick him up because he'll be all over you. Immediately he wraps a arm around your waist as he slurrs his hello as he proceeds to tell you he loves you like 40 times. besides the mass amounts of kisses you'll receive once you both reach a private spot he let's some feelings that he might be too shy to share normally, holding your face as he calls you his pretty girl/boy and how he's so lucky to have you.

- honestly not the best for cuddling however unfortunately he needs to cuddle you to sleep so goodluck! his metal body isn't completely uncomfortable it's just cold alot. he tries to get around this by literally preheating himself with blankets before you go to bed.

very bad boothill brainrot atm... only a few more weeks until we get official content 😭 everyone hold hands we got this

here's the actual leaks if anyone is curious ^_^

[sunnyd666]

A LIL BIT OF 'FASHION' FUN (head-canons?)

Uzi Likes zip ups, hoodies, and leggings and since she's creative she definitely puts some work into customizing or making her own clothes. This includes painting, stitching, and accessorizing tf out of stuff that she already likes. I wanted to give her finger-less gloves or big ol' arm warmers but I couldn't figure out how to make if work. Scarf is there because why not, they steal clothes off of corpses, she would def grab a scarf.

V and J have to wear flexible clothing for obvious reasons.

V wears thin, stretchy, and durable material so you'd probably be able to see her little symbol through some of her tops and I just think that flared pants, ruffled or not, would look really good on both her and J. She goes through clothes so easily though, it's not intentional, stuff just rips or gets stained. Her top was originally supposed to be one piece but I said NAAAH. So she got a racer top...halter thingy... with weird lil sleeve bits. I'd love to give her loose sleeves but they'd get ruined so fast :(

J is all business she gotta have that cropped blazer. (My friend sent a pic to me and I was like THIS IS PERFECT) Her bottoms are based off of these weird leggings that flare out and kinda look like a skirt/garter belt/thigh high combo. I wasn't even planning on drawing J till I saw those pants. I wanted to slap a tie on her but I connected that to needing a dress shirt under the blazer and didn't wanna do that. J def wears business and business casual, cause she's classy like that. Type of person to unironically wear company branded stuff too. She won't ditch her cute hair ties though...why would she?

Excuse my grammar errors. I am illiterate as hell :(

Warning for flashing lights/colors

Thx to my friends for entertaining me and giving me ideas :3

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Alright, so there's been a lot of chatter about some of the most common racist takes in the fandom lately, and I know most people aren't engaging in good faith but I'm gonna spell some things out anyway. Here's a handy-dandy White Fan's Intro to Racist Fanon 101

Why is it racist to depict Ed as uncontrollably violent?

Because he's not actually depicted that way in the show. OFMD goes out of its way to depict Ed's relationship with violence as complex and intensely traumatic for him. Because he has so many hangups around violence, Ed is one of the least violent characters in a show full of violent characters. He is always shown giving people many chances before they're able to push him into reacting with violence.

Even if you think you're just doing a character study on a guy who is really very complex and nuanced, please take the time to consider if you're assigning more weight to Ed's violent actions than those of other characters or assuming he's worse than he actually is (for example, Ed never physically hurt the crew during his kraken spiral, just Izzy. His crime was being a shitty boss, not going on mindlessly violent rampages).

What do other common fanon depictions of Ed that are racist look like?

The biggest ones are depicting Ed as untidy/messy, as illiterate, and as needing a white man (most often Izzy) to clean up after him. I hope I shouldn't have to spell out why these are racist, but please keep an eye out for them in the fanon you consume so you can be critical of how you respond when they pop up.

Are you saying that all Izzy fans are racist?

Liking a character is morally neutral. Insisting that the viewpoint of an antagonistic character is the lens through which the show should be understood, though, especially when that antagonistic character's whole deal in the first season of the show was trying to control the behavior of the brown lead so he could gain power for himself, however...

Just please consider - why do you find Izzy's tears more deserving of sympathy and compassion than Ed's?

But my hot take/fic/meta doesn't say anything about Ed's skin color!

It doesn't have to. Most of the racist takes/fic/meta out there don't mention Ed's skin color explicitly. Racism doesn't just look like saying "this character is a brown man so he's bad." Everyone who grows up in a racist society (that's everyone on the planet, btw, you included) has biases to unlearn, and those biases impact how you interact with the world around you, including with the media you consume.

The thing is, OFMD isn't a subtle show. It's very consistent with telling us who Ed is, how he responds to situations, and why he behaves the way he does. If you find it easier to throw all that aside in favor of believing what a white antagonistic character tells you about him, then you should really take a bit to examine that.

And here's the most important thing to keep in mind:

This is not about you.

Trust me, it has to be pretty damn bad for fans of color to call out racism in fandom. Every time we do, we know we're gonna harrassment and just some truly awful shit in our inboxes. But you, random white fan who Did A Racism? No one is out to get you. No one thinks you're an awful person for including a racist trope in your stuff, we just wish you'd examine it so we can make this fandom a better place for everyone.

I have had amazing discussions with white fans who saw my posts on fandom racism and wanted a sensitivity read or a check so they could fix an instance where they uncritically included a racist trope. But most people who make similar mistakes will just double down and insist they didn't do anything wrong, and that makes fandom a worse place for all of us.

Fans of color deserve to feel safe and included in this fandom, and we're just tired of feeling like we have to beg to get some circles to see poc as people. You can do your part by being critical of these tropes and your reactions to them when they pop up.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ouahhhh 😭

wait a second. hand on wall. on floor.

So unless you're having this read to you from the bad side of a Ouija board, you made it out the other end of issue seven's historically-speaking-pretty-short seven year delay alive. Which isn't too bad. And, honestly, we can think of another, much more popular project we're involved with that you're STILL waiting on: The Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, which began construction in 1886 and still isn't done, and which the Spanish government hired us to write a delay-themed blog post about after seeing an early draft of the blog post you're reading right now.

several weeks late b/c i had no idea it existed....i Didn't suppose i'd make it out of the then-indefinite now 7-yr-delay on the next tf2 comic alive which isn't too bad 😭

[moonsaver]

Veritas Ratio is so illiterate when it comes to love languages.

And as such, he makes it a mission to understand it, through a bit of loosely held experiments and documentation for his private analysis.

1. Acts of service.

It is said a person may showcase their affection or romantic interest in a person by offering services, or by doing menial tasks that may help the object of their affections.

It is not a surprise when Dr. Ratio "helps" you lug back an entire shelf's worth of books, after he offers to pick out a few based on the current topic you've decided to study. The pile behind him grew larger as his fingers tipped and pulled every book off of the shelf effortlessly, as you stood, mouth agape, helplessly observing the pile grow immensely large to your dismay.

He clicks his tongue, and sighs when you stand there, confused and unsure of how to carry these books all at once. He picks the pile up, his arm muscles slightly pulling and tensing with the weight, as he continues walking forward, droning on about the books he's picked out for you, the authors, their contributions, etc.. as you trail behind him, bewildered.

[End of experiment #01. Success.]

[Dr. Ratio, for once, has made the effort to.. listen to you, and repaired a fountain ink pen you'd previously complained about having broken. He had to scold you on your lack of awareness of things, and then decided to take matters into his own hands. The cracked fountain pen has been repaired well, and the ink runs smoothly. He scoffs and asks if you'll do better on the upcoming test he has for you,now that he's repaired it and given it back. You return a reponse with a smile. Dr. Ratio crosses out the paragraph with one strike after the last sentence describing the upward curve of your mouth.]

2. Physical contact.

A person may, with consent from the other party, display their affections through physical contact with one another.

Dr. Ratio seems a bit stumped, his mind simmering at the ways he could initiate such contact with you. Perhaps the pressing of his shoulder into yours as he explains a problem at hand counts? Or the continuous touching of the sides of your knees with his? This is unfamiliar territory.

[End of experiment #02. Failure. Next Experiment shall begin shortly.]

[Dr. Ratio seems particularly troubled. A pat on your head is too childish. A good shoulder squeeze is too professional – goodness, he's not that uptight. Perhaps holding your hand shall suffice as he guides you through a 3d simulation? His alabastor head is on as he contemplates on the idea.]

3. Quality time

A person may offer their affections through the time they share with their romantic interest. This is a branched term, as other languages such as Parallel play fall under this category, as Dr. Ratio presumes.

For once, Dr. Ratio stays put, choosing to stay for longer, sometimes hours, helping you understand and learn a topic from start to finish. He explains a book in great detail, going paragraph to paragraph, and teaches you in any way you want to be taught. For once, his racing mind comes to an abrupt slowdown, as he's forced to sit down with you and help you with.. what he considers are problems so easy a toddler could do it with their eyes closed. But.. do ask him, if you have doubts. He's willing to offer up his free time if he must, as long as it's you he has to begrudgingly explain a concept to. And for someone like him, time is valuable.

He considers time spent with you more valuable.

[End of experiment #03. Progressive success.]

[He stays quiet, deep in his thoughts as you sigh, taking a well-needed break. You chirp up with a question, and he answers without breaking his daze. Back and forth exchanges turn into pleasant conversation, and a laugh soon spills gracefully from your chest. Dr. Ratio's face seems to be still, however, his heart beat may have sputtered for a moment to the exact rhythm of your laughter.]

4. Receiving and Giving gifts.

A person may either receive or lend trinkets, assortments, and items of various degrees of sentimentality to another individual in order to display affection.

Tricky. But nothing in Dr. Ratio's eyes.

He has you analyze curios thoroughly, study them under his supervision with all necessary safety protocols and procedures, as you awe at the glow of it. A part of him wonders if it'll make a significant academic gift..? He shakes his head, and the thought is banished immediately. He will not entertain the idea of even giving you something like that. Studying it from a distance should suffice for you.

As for the gift.. it's hard to say. At the end, he decides to ask you directly if you've been saving up for a specific item that you haven't been able to get your hands on.

[End of Experiment #04. Partial failure.]

[Dr. Ratio sighs, thinking over the exact words he would use to address the issue at hand. However.. he should be able to solve this problem quite quickly if he simply scanned your daily wardrobe. If he wasn't so distracted by the curl of your mouth, that dumb joke you kept interrupting with your own laughter, and the stupid questions you'd always distract him with.. goodness. Shall he just get you a hair-piece that matches his?]

5. Words of Affirmation.

An individual may express their intimate feelings through a plethora of words that appropriately convey their depth towards their interested person.

Perhaps this one was the hardest, or easiest for Dr. Ratio. He hadn't realised he'd done it in the first place, having to delay his documentation for the purpose of suspending such activities in order to help you push past a few particularly difficult tests. He may need to continue it's suspension, as unfortunate it is.

[Experiment #05 – in suspension. Yet to conclude.]

[Dr. Ratio scans through your answers, a culmination of your hard work and brain-wracking that seems to have polished your wits throughout the span of his rigorous course. He sighs, and sets down the paper on the desk, looking at you directly with a smile on his face. You look at him expectantly. Well done – 10 points. Your tense face relaxes and breaks into a bright smile. So does his.]

[hyewka]

YANDERE!BEOMGYU who isn't one at first--someone who, as far as anyone knew, was normal. in fact, he's sociable, charismatic, befriended almost everyone thrown his way, and is on good terms with all of his exes. yandere!beomgyu who's so nice, so charitable, so aware of his surroundings that most people who find themselves disliking him can't continue, falling into his natural charisma.

so his surprise when he met you, so closed off...continuing to be this way even after his various attempts of trying to talk to you. after a while, he deemed it to be useless. not everyone was going to like him, he was okay with that. he was sure you were uncomfortable too with him being so pushy, so, he backed off.

temporarily.

after hearing about your meltdown from his friends, rumors about you being insane and unstable--it drew beomgyu in, for some reason.

at first, it was because he was curious. hanging around you every lunch break, getting you strawberry milk--even when people would wound up whispering about him too. why was he hanging out with you? you were practically an outcast at work, the crazy person who somehow didn't get fired. and he was...beomgyu.

but he didn't care. even when most of his lunches with you would be completely silent, no words exchanged as he ate his lunch along with you. then you'd get up to leave after finishing your meal, he'd quickly eat--sometimes choking in the process, to follow behind like a puppy.

yandere!beomgyu who ends up becoming your friend, even when you deemed his sweetness and pure warmth to be annoying, you couldn't help it. you enjoyed it when he'd eat lunch with you--at some point, the silence being first broken by beomgyu, who was just so curious.

the rumors about you being unstable weren't far off, you were in your right mind but you sometimes felt detached from your own self. past experiences so traumatizing making you breakdown at the trigger of them. you wanted to believe you were better, especially after getting the pass to get a job, reintegrating to society again.

you were socially illiterate, unable to talk to people outside of necessities. after all, you've learned to think that it was useless to engage anyway.

beomgyu, who was now your best friend, your only best friend, never seemed fazed by the occasional breakdowns that you'd have-- he never got mad when you'd go off the grid, needing time to be by yourself.

after a while, beomgyu was by you almost every hour of the day. people would ask you where he was if he didn't come to work, and people would ask him where you were when you didn't come.

beomgyu who is now so familiar with your irregular patterns, that he knows exactly how to calm you down, how to soothe you with his hand against your back. who knows how to count down to five, getting your breathing controlled.

beomgyu who first felt curiosity, then pity, then the need to protect you, the need to be your guardian angel. beomgyu who finds comfort in holding you close to his chest, on your bed, as you sob--incoherent rambles of a hallucination.

gradually, you'd get better, the breakdowns becoming so rare your therapist had asked you what you've done different, genuinely astonished at your progress. at the news of this, beomgyu celebrates with you, pulling you into a hug about how proud of you he is.

but inside, he's confused. so torn because of a wish so horrible and disgusting--what would happen to your relationship now? would he get to hold you as often as he did before? but those thoughts are quickly pushed down, as he flashes a smile he knows you love so much. pretending that everything was okay.

yandere!beomgyu who notices that you start getting distant. not in a off-grid way, but in a you getting closer to people around work, opting to go out for work dinners instead of going home with him now.

yandere!beomgyu who has never felt so much blinding rage until he sees his friend and coworker, yeonjun, talking with you, making you laugh. yandere!beomgyu who can't stand seeing you expand your friend circle.

until now, hes been quietly observing because at least he can still hold you against him as you lay on your bed. his feelings growing stronger, the nights he spends by your side--even if you insist that you don't need him anymore, that you don't get those haunting hallucinations, and that he should go home and rest--so intimate.

when else can he grind against your ass, his bulge rubbing between your leg, as he whines lowly, getting off at the way you stir--probably dismissing the feeling as another hallucination.

every night, he wishes that instead of cumming in his pants, he could cum inside you--his idea of intimate skinship--of making you stay with him forever instead of running off to the likes of yeonjun.

yandere!beomgyu who gets told that he can't come over anymore, and not because you're worried about burdening him but because you have a boyfriend--who doesn't appreciate a grown man sleeping with his girlfriend every night.

beomgyu didn't know about this, about you getting so close to another guy that you started a relationship. what else were you hiding from him? did he even know you anymore? were you the y/n he met a year ago?

you changed. you didn't need him anymore.

beomgyu could back off again, like he did last time when he first knew you. he should do that. that's the only sensible thing to do. thats what the old beomgyu would've done.

but beomgyu changed, just like you.

yandere!beomgyu who knows that you take your medication every lunch break, who knows where you put them in the first place--switching them out for tylenol instead when you quickly go to the bathroom.

yandere!beomgyu whose memorized your triggers, who knows what sets you off.

in no time, your mental state deteriorates, all progress the past year, undone. you have no idea why! your therapist accuses you of not taking your medication, but after a point, you go insane from her not believing your word.

beomgyu who tells you to stop seeing her, that she's doing you no good, that she's a bad therapist if shes not willing to listen to her clients. you agree, you can't see her anymore.

this isn't good for you, you pretend you're okay, but you're not. the hallucinations are back--dates with your boyfriend become a nightmare, you reject every offer to go out for work dinners, youre back to square one.

even when your boyfriend assures you that he'll stay by your side no matter what, that your breakdowns won't ever scare him, that he'll hold you and never let go, that he'll stop the nightmares for you, you can't help but feel that you're a burden.

so, you don't call your boyfriend anymore whenever you need someone by your side. instead, the next best thing--beomgyu. your beomgyu.

it's like the old times, beomgyu holding onto your waist, head buried in the crook of your neck. it wasn't long before beomgyu started again, dry humping your ass, cumming in his pants.

he goes further this time, proud that he managed to get you back to your old self--he takes off his pants, only in his boxers as his hard cock grinds against you--you, still unaware, sleeping.

then, further. his bare dick feverishly rutting in you, moaning against your neck. further. you're only in your underwear, his cum spurting on it--he'd have to clean that up later.

further. he's in you--finally. it was better than all the nights hes spent humping you. its far better.

your eyes are open now--reacting with incoherent moans, beomgyu climbing on top of you, fucking into you ruthlessly, movement erratic as he repeats his i love you's, his pure declaration of his love for you.

beomgyu's going to make sure you don't chalk this up to hallucinations, not anymore.

when the breakup with your boyfriend happens, it was inevitable. he found out that beomgyu comes over somehow, even when your boyfriend previously expressed his uncomfortableness over the arrangement.

yandere!beomgyu who has you crying in his arms, but this time, he doesn't like it. because you're crying over your breakup. how could you? you should be happy! ecstatic! like he was.

beomgyu who fucks into you the night of your breakup, harder than hes done, overstimulating you, as he cums in you, over and over again--he'll make you forget about that bastard. he didn't understand you like beomgyu did. he didn't know you like beomgyu did. he didn't know about the small mole under your right eyes, nor did he know that you had three hundred and forty two lashes in total, that you'd often lose six a day.

no one knew you like beomgyu did. no one could take care of you like beomgyu could.

a/n: lol sorry very unexpected yandere!beomgyu brain rot. i just came back from watching a movie and i got inspired. now ill get back on track, working on my sub!beomgyu smut 😂

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 1: The Fall-Down House]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, alligators, kids, parenthood, smoking, cupcakes!

Word Count: 7.2k (she's very chonky for a first chapter).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Since this is the first chapter of a new series, I'm going to tag a bunch of usual readers, but I won't tag you again unless you want me to. 💜

@persephonerinyes @tinykryptonitewerewolf @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @dd122004dd @jetblack4real @joliettes @mariahossain @minttea07 @please-buckme @florent1s @tempt-ress @wintersire @w3ird11 @eltherevir @florent1s @maii777

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

“What do you want to do to me?” you whisper through the phone, stretched out across your bed like a cat as George Michael’s Faith plays from the baby pink Panasonic boombox out in the kitchen. It’s late afternoon, and fading daylight falls in tiger stripes through the window blinds. The May air is hot, muggy, golden; cicadas hum in the southern live oaks, an ancient earthen music like rattling bones.

A few seconds pass before he can reply. It was a bold way to begin. You are admittedly a little impressed with yourself; an idea like this has been pacing around in your skull like a beast behind bars for years, but you’ve only now set it loose. “That’s difficult to explain in words,” he says; and in the low, teasing purr of his voice you can hear that your gamble paid off like striking oil. He has a British accent, which you never would have expected. You only recognize it from clips you’ve seen of Prince Charles and Princess Diana on 60 Minutes. “But I’d enjoy showing you.”

It’s laid open beside you on the bed, his personal ad in the Bayou Journal: Educated white male in his mid-20s. Single and not looking to change that. Seeking an open-minded, adventurous, and spirited lady for short-term D/s arrangement. Be prepared to answer the following riddle: I’m small but loom large, I’m Italian but French, I give away much to gain little. Who am I? Best regards, An Indecent Gentleman. “I’m waiting.”

“You understand what is meant by D/s?”

“Of course,” you say, your best feigned flippantness. You only know because Amir told you; he’s been daring you to call for three days.

“Thank God,” the man on the other end of the line sighs. There is an inhale like a drag on a cigarette. You imagine what he might look like: broad or slight, dark-haired or blonde, striking or average or homely, treacherous or safe, forbidden fruit or just plain forbidden. “I’ve had four different women ring me thinking I’m going to be their boyfriend, dinner and flowers and everything. They’re functionally illiterate down here.”

How unfortunate, you think. He’s highfalutin. But alas, no one is perfect. That’s no prohibitive obstacle. He doesn’t need to be faultless; it’s not as if you’re planning to marry the guy. “I like when someone else is in control.”

“Why?” This is a test, you can feel it. You can sense his rapt attention across the wire, through the electricity and the lush treetops and the rust-amber sky.

“I have a lot of…responsibilities in my real life,” you explain. “A lot of pressure. I make the decisions, I look out for other people. Sometimes I want to be the one who’s told what to do.”

“I can make that happen. And the riddle?”

“It’s Napoleon.”

The grin is sharp and triumphant in his voice. “Good girl.”

“He was short but an emperor. He was born in Corsica to an Italian family, but he ended up ruling over France. He sold off a bunch of French colonies to focus on conquering Europe and still couldn’t quite manage it. But the U.S.A. got this charming little corner of the world as part of the bargain.”

“You’re a historian,” the man says, sounding pleased.

“No sir, we all had to learn about him in school whether we wanted to or not.”

“Sir,” he echoes, tasting it, savoring it. You imagine a pink tongue flicking out to skate across his lips. Then he is abruptly cool, impersonal, businesslike. “Listen, I’ve got a scar down the left side of my face. It’s thin, it’s clean, but it’s noticeable. The eye is glass, although you can’t really tell unless you look closely. Is that a problem?”

A scar? Is he a veteran? A lion tamer? A motorcycle enthusiast? You try to remember what kinds of hobbies British people have. Isn’t there some kind of sport where men swing sticks around while riding horses? That sounds like it could put an eye out. Perhaps to your own surprise, you find that you are more intrigued than uneasy. Oh, you realize, dull like dawn through mist. I like him. I want him. Not just THIS, but HIM. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Brilliant. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

“That’s fine.” You hesitate. “There’s actually something I should tell you too.”

“Hm?”

The hum of his voice is arrogant, hungry. You try not to get distracted. Blood rushes hot and ashamed into your cheeks. “Um, well, uh, sometimes it’s difficult for me to…you know. Finish. Not when I’m alone, just when I’m with a guy. Especially if I’m anxious. And I don’t want to feel worried about faking it or making sure it happens or dealing with you getting offended or upset or whatever. Because it’s fine, really. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time. I’m just…stuck in my own head.”

There is a sound you can’t quite match to an expression, an exhale, a scoff. “Obviously I wouldn’t be mad at you. But you’ll come. I know you will. I’ll make you.”

And you’re flooded with a relief that you never dared to hope for. A confession spills out in a trembling whisper: “Please.”

“When?” he says, eager, urgent.

“I think if we don’t do it now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

There is a razor-thin pause, and then he asks for your address.

~~~~~~~~~~

You haven’t had a man in your bed in years; you are abruptly and unkindly reminded of this when you paw through the top drawer of your bedroom dresser and find only practical, deadly unsexy cotton Kmart underwear. You dash to the closet, yank open the squeaking door, and—tucked away in a cardboard box of winter clothes like sweaters and jeans, forgotten, needless—unearth a sprinkling of insubstantial silk and lace, all in luxurious gemstone hues: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, onyx, emerald.

“Oh, hallelujah.” You throw off your sunshine yellow shorts and tug on what were once upon a time your favorite panties. They don’t fit nearly as well as they used to; they fit horribly, in fact. They evaporate the thrill and leave nauseous trepidation in its place. “Oh God. Oh no. Oh no, oh no.” You steal a harried glimpse of the clunky black alarm clock on your nightstand. The flashing red numbers inform you that you have approximately ten more minutes until he arrives.

You jog pantsless to the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea—ice cold, bright with a squeeze of lemon juice—and pace back and forth across the wooden floor as you sip it. The pine boards slope at just the slightest angle; if you laid an apple by your feet, it would roll. The house is sinking. It was built at the turn of the twentieth century, but it won’t live to see the next. Ailing sunlight casts your shadow against the wall, mint green, spider-leg cracks inching through the paint. Outside cicadas buzz and doves coo in long, mournful whirrs.

You pick up the phone—pink to match the boombox that is now playing Poison’s Nothin’ But A Good Time—next to the refrigerator and dial with one finger, your other hand still clutching the frosty glass of sweet tea. It rings twice before he answers.

“Wassup?” Amir says distractedly. You can hear a commotion from his living room on the other side of town: his grandmother squawking, ambient applause, Wheel Of Fortune.

“Quick, what should I wear?”

“Huh?”

“The guy! The guy from the ad! I called the guy! What should I be wearing when he shows up?”

Amir cackles. “Ho, you must be truly desperate, why the fuck are you asking me?” There is some shrill protestation in the background. “Grandma, don’t you dare try to act like you’ve never heard that word before, we just rented Aliens.”

“You know what men like,” you plead.

“Not the straight ones!” And then, not to you: “Grandma, calm down. Grandma, Grandma! It’s my homegirl. She has an emergency. She’s got a man coming over and she doesn’t know what to wear. What did you wear for Pop Pop? What? What?! You expect me to believe you got seven kids out of that dude with just some old floral nightgown?! Prairie girl fabulous? Looking like you’re on your way to join the Donner Party? Okay, if you say so! Phyllis knows best!” Amir’s attention returns to you. “Grandma suggests a nightgown.”

You are skeptical. “That seems slutty.”

“You’re inviting some stranger over for an all-expenses-paid ride on the Pussy Express and you’re concerned about looking slutty?!”

He has a point. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

“You wear that nightgown with confidence and you take that random kinky man directly to bed, do you understand me?” Amir orders.

“Totally,” you say, gulping sweet tea with a shaking hand.

“Good luck. I gotta go, it’s the Bonus Round. Hope you have a few rounds to tell me about tomorrow.” Then he hangs up.

Back in your bedroom closet, you find a black satin slip that runs to your ankles and flows like a ballgown. You put it on some nights when you’re feeling desirable, after a bath of bubbles and steam, candles and Madonna, freshly shaved legs and shimmering with Pond’s, when you want to lounge around daydreaming, when you want to remember the fantasies you once had about what your life might turn out to be. Now you wear it in the fading daylight, nothing underneath and golden sunbeams turning your skin to something that warms and glows.

You appraise yourself in your dusty dresser mirror, and you think: Not too bad, actually. You’ve had your hair up in a haphazard bun. You reach to take it down, then stop yourself. You like the wayward wisps, the I-don’t-care-too-much casualness. Your breathing is slow and calm again. There is a noise outside: tires crunching on gravel. Your glass of sweet tea, now mostly just ice cubes, is sweating on top of your dresser. You grab the glass, swipe the Bayou Journal off your bed, and take both to the kitchen counter, still speckled with flour, powdered sugar, flecks of cinnamon. Then you pad across the sloping wooden floor in your bare feet to open the front door. Amber dusk streams in; you can hear bullfrogs croaking and the hoots of the long-eared owl that lives in the collapsing, overgrown shed behind the house. Spanish moss hangs like cobwebs, like chandeliers. The tree swing rocks idly in the breeze. The first notes of You Shook Me All Night Long play from the kitchen boombox.

His car is red, sporty, with a logo on the grill that you don’t recognize, a series of circles intertwined like rings. He cuts the engine and steps out into the driveway as you watch from behind the screen, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He’s tall, trim, blonde, wearing Adidas sneakers and light-wash jeans and a Marlboro jacket that it’s far too hot for. He peers around, taking in the trees and the house through his black aviator sunglasses. He puffs one last time on a cigarette before putting it out on his own windshield and starting towards the porch. And immediately, primally, you crave him like water or air.

He climbs the groaning steps, splitting wood and rusty nails. You open the screen door to meet him in the threshold. And he takes off his sunglasses so he can look at you, stowing them in a pocket of his jacket, his gaze not wavering from yours, his lips not saying a word. Yes, he has a scar, but it doesn’t diminish him in the slightest. Yes, his left eye may be glass, but you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already told you. You’re too tangled up in the right. His iris is a brisk greyish blue, not like the ocean, not like the bayou, more like the sky before a hurricane, heavy with the threat of wind and rain. His face is strong, jarring, beautiful in a rare way. His full lips are curling into a grin.

At last, you speak first, an inane observation that feels somehow significant. “You found me.”

“I did.” He nods towards the large lavender sign out by the mouth of the gravel driveway. Hand-painted on it are the words Hummingbird Bakery and a logo that Amir designed, a hummingbird feeding on the frosting swirl of a cupcake as if it’s a flower flush with nectar. “You told me to look for the sign. That helped.”

“What kind of car do you drive? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s an Audi Quattro.”

“Audi,” you repeat, like a hopelessly distant place, New York City or Los Angeles or Paris or the moon. “Is that British?”

“German, actually.”

“You’re from a very different world.”

“Yeah, I am.” His eye flicks up and down your body, black satin that curves and clings; his grin widens. “But I could learn to like yours, I think.”

You step back so he can follow you inside. The screen door shuts with a bang. Under the shadows, as the sun sets into the west, he unzips his Marlboro jacket and tosses it onto your living room couch. Underneath he wears a white t-shirt. We’re opposites, you think dazedly, wondering what he will taste like when he kisses you. He grazes his fingertips down the front of your throat, continues to your chest, stills when he hits the satin of your slip.

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want to,” he murmurs, and you breathe in his smoke and cologne and dauntless, dizzying self-assurance. “But until you say stop, I’m gonna keep going.”

Your heartbeat is drumming beneath his hand, part exhilaration and the rest nerves. You are afraid of disappointing him; you aren’t sure what to expect. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Aemond.”

Aemond. Foreign, like Audi, like Paris. You give him your own in return. He leans in, presses his hips to yours, denim and satin that you can feel his heat through. And you think he’s going to kiss your neck, or bite it, bruise it, mark it, claim it, claim you; but he only ghosts his parted lips from the edge of your jaw to your bare shoulder, inhaling slow and deep, drawing your atoms into his lungs until they tumble down the narrowest corridors and into his capillary beds, into his bloodstream. You moan softly, helplessly, and turn your face to kiss him.

“No,” Aemond growls, teasing you, catching your chin with one hand to hold you still. His other hand glides down the front of your slip and stops between your legs. Through satin the color of a starless midnight, his fingers stroke you roughly, commandingly. Animalistic yearning bolts low to weaken your knees, high to rip a gasp from your throat. “Nothing underneath,” he notes in approval.

Oh, I like him, you think, in equal parts ecstatic and petrified. I REALLY like him.

But are you going to be able to impress him too? Are you going to ruin this?

You whimper, unintentionally and almost inaudibly. Aemond is studying your face; furrows appear in his scarred brow, so faint and fleeting you might have imagined them. Then his hand retreats as he says: “Show me your toys.”

You gape up at him; this is not what you anticipated. “What?”

“I want to see how you make yourself come. You have toys, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit, though you’ve never used them with anyone else before.

Aemond smirks mischieviously, then commands: “Show me. Right now.”

You lead him to your bedroom and slide open the middle drawer of your dresser. You glance at his reflection in the silvery glass of the mirror; he’s staring, not at your body but at your face, his gaze locked with yours, his mouth open, entranced, hungry. You move to stand against the wall, smiling sheepishly as Aemond shoves aside folded sheets and pillowcases to reveal your collection. It’s nothing too adventurous: five vibrators in different colors, styles, sizes.

“Quite the assortment,” he praises.

“They were gifts from a friend.”

Now Aemond is dubious. “A friend?”

“Don’t be jealous. He doesn’t like women.”

Aemond laughs, warm and boyish like he’s breaking character; and you are alarmed by the wave of fondness for him that crashes through you. It’s something that could pull you under. It’s something you could drown in. He picks up the largest vibrator: long, thick, pink like soft feminine vulnerability, like love. Then he is darkly, deliciously stern again. “On the bed.”

“No.” Not because you’re genuinely protesting. Because you want him to make you.

Aemond grabs you around your waist and drags you towards the bed as you squeal, giggle, fight him halfheartedly. He throws you down onto the wildflower-patterned duvet and climbs between your thighs, parting them as he pushes the hem of your black satin slip up to your waist. Abruptly, you are bare for him, exposed, fiery dusk air cool against your wetness. Aemond is still fully clothed, white shirt and pale blue jeans. He is holding your legs open with his own. You can see the bulge of his cock beneath the denim: at least as large as the vibrator and hard with insistent longing.

I want him, you think as you hear the vibrator click on. I want him, I want him…

Aemond brings the pink silicone tip to your flesh, and instantly you’re ravenous. It shocks you how much more erotic this is when someone else is holding it, when someone else has you entirely at their mercy. You cry out, loud and shameless, euphoric. Your back arches; your fingers twist into the duvet. As he presses the vibrator down more forcefully, Aemond braces his hips against yours, grinding into you through his jeans, taunting you, conquering you.

You fumble for the button and zipper of his jeans. “Please—”

“No,” Aemond snarls, beaming, snatching your hand and pinning it up by your head. His other hand is still circling your clit with the tip of the vibrator. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Aemond, please, I need you—”

“No,” he says, defiant. He makes the rules. He has the power; he’s in control. Suddenly, he pulls the vibrator away. You yelp in dismay. “You know,” Aemond quips cavalierly. “It’s a shame you have such a difficult time finishing when you’re with a man. I bet you’re not even close.”

“I am,” you whine, in agony, in ecstasy.

Aemond pretends to be surprised. “Hm.” He returns the vibrator to your skin, slick, hot, aching in the most wondrous way. You sigh as the pleasure surges through you, as you soar up to the previous plateau and then begin to ascend beyond it. You must have repositioned yourself without noticing; Aemond releases your hand to smack his palm against the inside of your thigh. “Keep your legs apart. I want you wide open for me.”

“I will, I promise.” I’ll do anything you tell me to.

Aemond’s hand ventures lower. Two of his fingers glide inside you and thrust in time with his hips. “Fuck,” he hisses, breaking character again; and something rocks through his shoulders, his spine, a divine temptation that he is battling.

“Aemond, more,” you plead, looking at the massive outline of his cock under his jeans.

“Not yet,” he pants, fucking you with his fingers as the vibrator hums against your clit. “You have to come for me first, baby. You have to earn it.”

And you’re close, you really are, you’re closer than you ever would have imagined you’d be with him tonight, this stranger, this elusive British man, this man from a personal ad in the Bayou Journal that you almost never replied to. Your hair has come undone and is wild around your face; your heart is pounding frantically; your skin is bathed in a sheen of victorious perspiration. When was the last time someone made you feel like this? You can’t recall; the answer might be never. There is a spellbinding, intensifying sensation of warmth, of opening, you’re only seconds from the brink, you’re ready to step off the precipice and into open blue air the same color as his eyes—

Aemond yanks the vibrator away again, grinning toothily down at you.

“No!” You scrabble for him with shaking hands, pulling yourself up as you reach for the vibrator. Aemond pushes you back onto the bed. Despite your protests, you love the feeling of his weight on top of yours; you love the organic symphony he’s built of, muscle and bone and skill and power. His fingers are still pumping in and out of you, keeping you soaked and throbbing, pinning you to the edge of an orgasm without permitting you to succumb to it.

“It’s going to be so good for you like this, baby,” Aemond insists, low and raspy. He’s reading your face, attentive to every detail, drinking up your desperate body and quivering voice. “I swear I’m not torturing you for no reason. Let me show you. Let me take care of you. When it happens, it’s going to blow your fucking mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes, now, please, do it now,” you whimper as you lie beneath him, open, bare, senseless, vanquished.

Aemond drags his tongue over the tip of the vibrator, moaning with lust as he tastes you. Then he at last presses the pink silicone to your clit once more. In your electrified nerves, in your scalding blood, there are sparks and momentum and currents rushing towards the cataclysmic breaking of a rogue wave. “Nice and slow,” Aemond murmurs. “Let it build.”

Instead of the peak, you reach another plateau, so high and so rapturous you can’t stand it, you can’t fathom climbing any farther. It’s becoming so sharp and intense it’s almost painful. Fresh anxiety flashes in your mind like lightning. The momentum begins to dissipate like dewdrops under the late-morning sun. Oh no, I’m going to lose it, I’m going to disappoint him—

Aemond lifts the vibrator off you again; before you have time to collect yourself enough to speak, to apologize, he’s slipped his fingers out of you and carefully guided the vibrator inside, stretching you, filling you, thrusting rhythmically but not too viciously or too deep. He places his thumbprint on the place where the vibrator was just seconds ago and circles quickly, once, twice, again, and then…

You try not to scream, but you can’t help it, can’t stop it; the climax wrenches out of you indescribable pleasure, vanished fears, awe and relief, twisted muscles and gasping breaths, every electrical impulse of every atom, and each time you believe it’s over it rolls a little farther like an endless summer afternoon. When it’s done—truly done—you aren’t sure exactly how it happens but suddenly you’re sitting upright on the bed and the vibrator is lying forgotten on top of the duvet and Aemond is laughing, kissing you—sweat and nicotine, smoke and salt—and caressing your face with his hands, saying: “You were such a good girl. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Okay,” you exhale unsteadily, smiling. You nod to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Your turn.”

“No,” Aemond says primly.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats. “Not today.”

“But…but…why?”

The curl of his lips is crooked and playful. “To prove I’m not just here to get myself off.” He kisses you again, far more tenderly than any random dom from a personal ad should. “You don’t trust me. But maybe next time you will.”

“How could I trust you? I don’t even know you.”

“We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“You seriously aren’t going to fuck me right now? Me? A mostly-naked stranger you met up with exclusively for the purposes of fucking?”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

In truth, no; your pulse is slowing, your thoughts are calm, your lust is satiated, you’re reasonably certain that you’ve sprained no less than four muscles. You feel like the sky after rain: emptied, unburdened, untroubled, at peace. “Not at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be complaining.”

You reach out to touch Aemond’s unscarred cheek and he smiles. You try to ghost your fingertips over the left side of his face and he flinches away, leaves the bed, takes the vibrator to the bathroom to scrub it with soap and water. “Can I at least pour you a glass of sweet tea or something?” you call after him. “I feel guilty. I feel like I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain.”

“You exceeded all of my expectations,” Aemond says with a strange sort of somberness. “But sweet tea sounds great.”

You take five minutes to clean up and change into real clothes—ratty denim shorts and a red, white, and blue Pepsi t-shirt, chaotic hair, no bra—and then meet Aemond in the kitchen. He’s surveying the large circular table, which is littered with covered cake plates in a hodgepodge of sizes and colors; you found most of them at yard sales and thrift shops. The sun has set and the stars have risen; the kitchen is illuminated by yellow-hued florescent light. Night air flows in through the screens of the open windows. The boombox is currently playing Tiffany’s I Think We’re Alone Now.

“What’s the deal with that?” Aemond asks about the cluttered kitchen table.

“They’re the baked goods. For my bakery.”

“Right,” he says, remembering, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “The sign out front.”

“Would you like anything? Today we had butterscotch chiffon cake, coconut custard cake, blackberry dark chocolate cupcakes, pecan pie, red velvet brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, lavender black tea cookies, chocolate meringue pie, butter pecan muffins…”

“How about those?” He points.

“Oh! Those are banana bread cupcakes. One of my favorites.”

“Banana bread…cupcakes?”

“Here.” You plop one on a plate for Aemond, then go to the refrigerator to pour two tall glasses of sweet tea. “A lot of people put chocolate chips in their banana bread, but I feel like any chocolate really eclipses the banana flavor. It’s so subtle, you know? So what I do instead is cinnamon, honey, cream cheese frosting, and a tiny bit of sea salt mixed into the batter. If you get the ratio just right, there’s this really great blend of saltiness and sweetness, and the banana is still the star of the show. Of course I’ve fucked up plenty of times too and almost given myself dangerously high blood pressure. If I ruin a batch, I’m the one who has to eat it. We can’t let anything go to waste. Our profit margin is thinner than a crescent moon on the best months.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He’s taken a bite and is now gawking at the banana bread cupcake. “You made this?” He gestures to the table. “You made all of this?”

“My best friend Amir runs the business with me, but most of the recipes are mine. My mom used to bake all the time when I was little. Now she has rheumatoid arthritis and has given it up, more or less, but that’s where I learned a lot of what I know. And I try to come up with new ideas each week to add to the rotation.”

“This is exceptional,” Aemond says. His mouth is full of the rest of the cupcake. He washes it down with a few gulps of sweet tea; ice cubes jangle in the misty glass. “This is, like, insanely good. Can I have another one…?” He’s already lifting the cover off the cake plate.

You chuckle. “Yeah, seriously, have as many as you like.”

“How much do you sell them for?”

“The cupcakes are $1, but you don’t have to pay me. You get the unrequited orgasm discount.”

“Just $1 each.” Aemond is incredulous. You aren’t sure what that’s about. He sets the second cupcake down on the table, tugs a black leather wallet out of his jeans pocket, and gives you a $10 bill.

“Aemond, really, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. Take the money. Stop talking about it.”

You smirk up at him. “Is that an order, sir?”

He grabs your jaw with one forceful hand, kisses you roughly, bites your lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He tastes like cinnamon, honey, sugar, sex. “Yes,” he says, grinning wickedly. Then his hands drop to unbutton your shorts. The idea of stopping Aemond doesn’t even cross your mind; your desire for him—him specifically—is back, flaring red and primeval and irresistible. “I want you on top of that counter—”

Outside there are footsteps bounding up the front porch, loud on the creaking boards. You tear away from Aemond and hurry to re-button your shorts. What? Already??

You know exactly who it must be.

Well, now I’m definitely never going to see Aemond again.

He’s terrified, he’s wondering whether he should try to jump out of a window. But really, he’s already been spotted; his Audi Quattro is still waiting for him in the gravel driveway. “Please don’t tell me that’s your homicidal armed boyfriend or something.”

“No,” you say. “It’s my daughter.”

“Wait, your…?!”

The door swings open; you hardly ever lock it. Cadi trots in just as you are flipping over the copy of the Bayou Journal on the kitchen counter so Aemond’s personal ad is no longer visible. Instead, what now faces up—dotted with flour, powdered sugar, cinnamon, grease stains of butter—is a column about the rigs opened in Lake Verret. Just what this town needs, you think distractedly. An environmental disaster.

“Mom, whose radical car is that—?” Then Cadi spies Aemond and blinks at him a few times. She is ten years old but thinks she’s your age, short hair, short temper, denim overalls and a t-shirt underneath patterned with multicolored horses.

“This is Aemond,” you explain. He waves awkwardly and then resumes nibbling on his second banana bread cupcake, avoiding her scrutiny. “He’s a friend.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Cadi replies.

“Watch it, Child Of The Corn. I have friends.”

“You have like one friend.”

“What happened to your sleepover with Mawmaw? I thought you were excited to trick her into watching Hellraiser.”

“Blockbuster didn’t have it. Then Great Aunt Ethel called and said she broke her hip. Mawmaw dropped me off here on her way to the hospital.”

“And she didn’t even think to check with me first, huh?”

“As if you’d have anything better to do.” Cadi races to the refrigerator—careening around a shellshocked Aemond—and heaves open the door. “What’s for dinner?”

“I think we have some Swanson’s meals left. Oh, and spaghetti.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Who made it?”

“You’re in luck! Not me. Amir.”

“Yay!” Cadi trills, then drags out the pan and begins spooning mounds of spaghetti onto a plate. Aemond looks to you, intrigued.

You say: “I bake, I don’t cook.”

“She really doesn’t,” Cadi concurs.

“Completely different skillset.”

Cadi places a few paper towels over the heaping plate so sauce doesn’t splatter all over the microwave and then sets it to three minutes. As she waits to eat, she wanders over to where the Bayou Journal is lying on the counter and scans the page: Viserys Targaryen, three state-of-the-art oil rigs, Lake Verret, an additional 50 employees hired, Jade Dragon Energy. “Those bastards are going to get their way, I guess.”

You sigh. “Yup.”

Aemond is alarmed. He polishes off the last of his cupcake, frowning as he licks frosting from his lips. “You don’t approve?”

“They’ll blow up the whole town,” Cadi says matter-of-factly.

You smile wanly at Aemond as you sip your sweet tea. “You work for Jade Dragon, right?”

He stares back at you��stunned, perhaps even fearful, a deer flooded with headlights—but doesn’t speak.

“It’s alright. I figured you must. Some smart British guy way out here in Cajun Country? It’s gotta be for a job. Don’t worry. We won’t shoot and skin you or anything. It’s not your fault. You’re just collecting a paycheck, it’s not like you’re running the company.”

“Right.” Aemond grabs a third cupcake and gnaws at it. After a moment he adds: “I have a degree in petroleum engineering. I just moved to Napoleonville last week.”

“I knew it,” you say.

“Boo!” Cadi heckles jokingly. The microwave beeps, then she disappears into her bedroom with her plate of spaghetti. You hear Cadi turn on her little television and flip through the channels until she finds Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Aemond watches her closed door for a few seconds—still processing, you assume—and then turns back to you.

“Her name’s Katie?”

“Cadi. C-a-d-i. It’s short for Arcadia.”

He is impressed. “Greece?”

You titter nervously. You don’t know what he means. “It’s a town up by Shreveport, it’s where Bonnie and Clyde were arrested or killed or something. I’m not sure. Her father picked it.”

“You didn’t have an opinion?”

“Um, I wasn’t really…uh…conscious for a few days after she was born. By the time I was up and around again, he’d already filled out the birth certificate.”

What is that you see flicker across his face like the transient surge of a lightning bug? Curiosity? Apprehension? “I see. And her father is…” Aemond raises a blonde eyebrow, the one his scar cuts through. “On an aircraft carrier somewhere?”

You laugh. “He’s not deployed. We’re divorced, Willis lives about fifteen minutes down the road. It’s amicable.”

“So I don’t need to worry about him showing up on your front porch to murder me with a 2x4 full of nails.”

“No. Although he is the town sheriff.”

Aemond smirks. Is this a challenge or an inconvenience? “Why’d you two split up?”

You shrug, glancing at Cadi’s bedroom door. She is quite aggressive with her television volume; you’re confident she won’t be able to listen in if you keep your voice low. “It’s not that interesting a story.”

“I’m extremely interested.” And he sincerely appears to be, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on you (though you know the left one sees nothing), thoughts whirling like storm winds.

“Well…we only ever got married because of…” You gesture towards Cadi’s room. Aemond nods, following along. “And I was too young and I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man, I didn’t even know I had the right to set standards to measure a husband by. Willis wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hit me. He just wasn’t really who I wanted.” You chew at your lower lip, peering down at the kitchen counter, drawing circles in the sparse flour dust. “He never even proposed to me. Not properly, I mean. I told him I was pregnant and he said: Well, guess we oughta get married, huh sugar? and then drove me to the Kmart up in Gonzales to pick out a ring.”

“Classy,” Aemond mutters.

“I had to buy it myself, actually. Willis didn’t have enough cash on him. He paid me back later, but still. It wasn’t about the ring. I don’t need gold and diamonds. But I need someone who really sees me and understands me and chooses me, you know? I’ve never felt chosen. And I decided I didn’t want to settle for that. If I ever get married again, I want the whole goddamn thing. The real thing. I want the candles and the flowers and a boombox blasting Heaven Is A Place On Earth. And if that’s not in the cards, I guess I’m not the marrying type.”

“And you’ll make do with occasional visits from your friendly neighborhood dom.”

You grin up at Aemond. “Yeah, exactly.”

“You really hate Jade Dragon?”

“Companies like that…they just use us. Our land, our labor. And then when they decimate the place they pack up and disappear overnight, no pensions, no retirement, no unemployment, no meaningful cleanup, just Thanks for the millions! Bye! and we’re left to live in their filth.”

“That’s a rather cynical perspective,” Aemond says.

“It’s a realistic perspective,” you counter. “In 1965, there was a pipeline explosion in Natchitoches, in ‘79 there was an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, in ‘80 a Texaco rig accidentally drilled into a salt mine under Lake Peigneur and destroyed the whole ecosystem. Two weeks ago there was a refinery explosion an hour east of here in Norco. 4,500 people had to be evacuated from their homes. So no, the jobs sound nice, but in my humble estimation they’re not worth dying for.”

Aemond considers you, a look that is not patronizing or combative but not convinced either. And there’s something else too: a caginess, a nervousness.

“And these Jade Dragon people, the Targaryens? They have a history,” you continue. “I read about it in the Bayou Journal. Last year they had an oil spill at an offshore rig near Ketchikan, Alaska. They poured hundreds of thousands of barrels of poison into the ocean and killed a bunch of dolphins and whales and everything. Fishermen went bankrupt, people committed suicide.”

“Mistakes happen.” Aemond places his empty sweet tea glass in the sink.

“But they didn’t make it right. Their lawyers blamed a defective piece of equipment and kicked liability back to the manufacturer. They’ll be battling it out in court for the next decade. And meanwhile, the people of Ketchikan get nothing but misery. I don’t want Napoleonville to end up like that.”

Aemond gazes out the kitchen window and into the cicada-rattling night, faraway, pensive.

“But seriously,” you say, more casually now. “I get that it’s not your fault, Aemond. I don’t hate you or anything. You’re working for a living like anyone else. You can only do so much.”

He looks back to you and smiles vaguely. “I just go where they tell me to.”

“And that’s why you like to be in control when you’re with me.”

“Yes,” Aemond says; and on his face—strong, scarred, perfect—you can see that he is reminiscing, that he is planning what he wants to do to you next. But he can’t do any of it. Not here, not now.

“I’m sorry about…you know. The kid thing. I really didn’t think she’d be home tonight. I would never subject her to something like that, walking in to find a strange guy in the house. And I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“I don’t usually do this. I’m sure you think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’ve had two boyfriends since I got divorced seven years ago, and both times it didn’t last long and Cadi never met them. And it wasn’t…like it is with you. The dynamic, I mean. The…control thing. They were just normal dudes.”

“And they couldn’t satisfy you,” Aemond says, taunting, proud, setting your blood on fire.

“No. They couldn’t. Not even close.”

You both stand silently in the kitchen amidst a cascade of inconsequential noise: Eurythmics from the little pink boombox, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from Cadi’s room, cicadas and bullfrogs and the long-eared owl from the world outside that is primordial and feral and green. For the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel not like the piecemeal potential of a desirable woman but whole. Aemond’s right eye traces every curve and edge of you in a way that makes you think: Maybe I will see him again after all.

“Come on,” you say, turning towards the front door. “I’ll walk you out.”

But when he steps onto the creaking porch—pulling on his Marlboro jacket, watching lightning bugs bloom like daisies in the yard—Aemond seems to be stalling. “This is lopsided,” he says, tapping the wooden boards with his Adidas sneakers.

“I know. The whole foundation is, it’s sinking. We’ll have to move eventually. But we’ve been in this place since Cadi was five, it has a lot of memories. She calls it the Fall-Down House.”

“Cute,” Aemond says, but he’s pondering something. “Do you own it?”

“Oh no, God no. We rent.”

“Are you saving for a down payment to put on a new house?”

This is a rude question. “A little,” you reply curtly. Not enough. You need to make money to save money.

“Okay.” Aemond senses your discomfort. He’s good at that; it’s an advantageous skill for a dom to possess, knowing when he’s approaching a limit long before you have to shut him down. He descends the porch steps. “I’ll be back for more of those cupcakes—” There is a shrill, alien hissing from out by the tree line. Aemond shouts and scrambles back onto the porch, throwing an arm in front of you to shield you from his enigmatic nocturnal adversary. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Just a gator,” you reassure him, amused.

“A what?”

“An alligator.” You show him the shadow that lurks beneath a young oak tree draped with Spanish moss. “She’s over there. Just stay on the gravel once you get off the porch.”

Aemond is puzzled. How does anyone live in this hellscape? his face says. “How do you know it’s a female?”

“She’s not too big, and she doesn’t bellow. But she sure loves to hiss.”

“I think alligators should have gone extinct with the rest of the dinosaurs.”

“Well, there’s a secret to dealing with them.”

“Yeah?”

You smile, skating your fingers into the sleeve of Aemond’s Marlboro jacket and up his forearm until you feel goosebumps rise on his skin. “If she gets mean, you just have to bite back.”

Aemond chuckles, turns your face towards his, kisses the apple your cheek…and then, for only a moment, his teeth close around the sensitive flesh there leaving a whirlpool of pulsing, forbidden heat. He whispers through your hair: “See you soon.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” he says, severely now. It’s a commandment, it’s a need. “I absolutely will.”

Aemond leaves you, strides across the gravel driveway without glancing back, ducks into his car, lights a cigarette; you can see the rust-colored glow through the windshield as he takes a drag. You wait in a flurry of moths under the dim florescent bulb of the front porch until his Audi Quattro veers onto Route 401 and disappears.

I hope he meant it, you think as a lightning bug lands on your knuckles and illuminates there like the gemstone of a ring. I hope I’ll see him again.

Then you shake away the insect and go inside to see if Cadi wants to help you clean up the kitchen and get a brown sugar pie baked for tomorrow. As compensation, you’ll offer her the $10 bill Aemond gave you for the cupcakes.

[silentghosttimez]

Since everyone's reading comprehension clearly just went out the window when the person in the Epstein documents asked about Michael Jackson. The girl literally said nothing happened. And to go into more detail, this was before anything about Epstein came to light and when Epstein was still fronting as one of those financial businessmen. MJ was LITERALLY THOROUGHLY investigated and HEAVILY survellienced by the government/FBI for over 2 decades BEFORE and AFTER meeting Epstein, the FBI REALLY wanted MJ gone from the public eye, they even tried to use his childhood photos and some playboy magazines to prove he was guilty. In the 2000s MJ was in conflict with Sony and was going broke, some people(we dont know who they were yet) recommended he go to Epstein to solve financial issues. MJ dipped out and Epstein never got his number, his name literally was not in that black book. Y'all keep bringing up those false accusations with the boys when if you actually look up anything on it, the boys came forward and said their parents lied, and the bed thing was false because MJ's room was huge and had two beds, he had the PARENTS AND THEIR KIDS sleeping in the beds in his room while HE slept in his own GUEST ROOM.

Stop making shit up when the people who wanted so badly for him to do something criminal literally couldn't find anything at all in all those years that he was looked at so closely to the point he was literally having mental breakdowns from being watched every where he went, during every call, and so on.

(edit: To add to this, people constantly lie about his skin and how he felt about himself and his body too. When for one, his autopsy was right there and literally says he suffered from lupus and Vitilogo and his hair was literally the way it was due to it being set on fire in that one Pepsi commercial, there are literally graphic images of just how badly his scalp had been damaged. He never hated himself or his blackness, infact he actively tried to hide his white splotches for as long as he could. He used makeup and skincare stuff that he was unaware had any bleaching affects in the ingredients. He was very open and loud about being proud of his African heritage, he even was crowned in an African village.

I made this post cause I started tweaking because the singular black breadtuber I was watching was reading the Epstein documents and when he got to Michael being mentioned he and everyone in chat suddenly became illiterate and he was talking some shit like "it would seem he really was that guy if those documentaries, court stuff and articles didn't already convince you" like WHAT??? And chat was agreeing and someone was like "the Twitter stans are still gonna find a way to defend him after this" mind you, if you weren't bread dead and believed all that slander, all the court stuff declared and pretty much proved his innocence and later one people including his own friends and family came forward saying they were forced and coerced into lying. Those documentaries that came out and so many of those articles were straight up slanderous because they were damn tabloids, I don't get why people are still trying to use tabloids as proof when they were known for spreading rumors that often were not true in the slightest. This shit actually has me genuinely heated. Like, the breadtuber didn't bother reading the rest and was just like "well that proves it" even though it was stated right below that Epstein did not have his contact. Then there's the dumbasses on Twitter too making this shit worse. You'd think that most people at some point would bother to actually use their brains and seek out as much info as possible instead of taking lies and running with it, especially if they have a platform where they literally should be doing such a thing but nope. The guy was iffy about the star wars guy and whether or not he was actually a contact in Epstein's list but that same grace was not afforded to MJ.

Another edit:Oh and also it's wild MJ's false accusations are always brought and people say Elvis and Prince are better than him meanwhile Elvis and Prince were known pedos and abusers. Like are you fucking kidding me!!!)

[zwolfgames]

Yandere Platonic MHA x child!reader

Requested by: jocru046

Part two/sequel of this.

(Warnings: kind of kidnapping, kicking a child, creepy overbearing behavior, yandere in general.)

(3rd person POV)

Life sucked.

No really, it did.

Atleast for you, that is. Y/N, not even a last name. Just a small kid, no parents or guardian. You can't even remember how thar happned. Did you have parents? Did you just spawn in one day? Only god knew. No wait, that didn't exsist. Trust me, you had begged that god for help and received nothing.

Never having gone to school or kindergarden you were far behind other kids. Now, as a illiterate 8 year old with no hopes or dreams you live on the streets. Luckily, your quirk kept you alive.

A simple concept. You cried pearls. Or well, thats all you knew of it. It would be sad if that was the only thing you could do but you didn't care at the moment. Survival was your top priority.

So, when you ran low on money, you cried and collected the little pearls. Selling them to who-ever you could. It worked... well enough. You were a kid, you definitly got scammed a lot.

So that brings us to this faithfull moolit night. One where you were drawing on an old newspaper. You couldn't read it anyways.

All was calm untill you began to hear footsteps. Loud frantic footsteps and heavy breaths. Like a group of humans running from a bear.

You held your breath and shrunk into your make-shift dumpster house as the footsteps came into your alley.

You expected them to just run past, like everyone always did. But no...

They stopped... Right in the middle of the alley.

It was quiet for a moment, just a moment. As if they were scanning the space.

"Oi! Kid. Come out, right now! We know you're here!" Some loud man screamed. A sudden crash of a thrashcan being thrown against a wall was heard. You gulped.

Surely they were thinking if some other kid, right? I mean, surely there was some other poor orphan child in this alley besides you?

Nope.

Just as you finished the tought the lid of your dumpster home smashed open and before you could even gasp one of the men had a crushing grip on your upper arm. Ripping you out of the dumpster as if you were nothing but a twig.

"Got it." He huffed to his boss as this henchman, or whatever, held you beside him in the crushing grip.

"Who are you? Let go! You're hurting me!" You growl and bare your teeth, a trick you had seen the stray dogs use on weirdo's.

"Shut it. Hurt them." The boss man said harshly. He looked disgusting. Like some vile criminal. Whatever his quirk was wasnt helping his appearance. This man had the skin of a fish yet the appearance of a man...

The thug holding you complied and bashed your head against the rough brick wall. You let out a pained sounded and started slightly crying at the pain. Your head feeling heavy as you saw stars. If you guessed right you were even bleeding.

Two small pearls streamed down your cheeks and fell to the dirty alley ground with a small sound.

The fish man grinned, revealing scary, shark-like, teeth. "Thats them. The pearl seller. Take em away. We'll be rich by the end of the week!" He laughed and you were dragged along. Your head still spinning.

This was going too fast. What was happening?! Who were these people? Why did they hurt you?

You began realising the situation when their black van came into vieuw. They'd stuff you in there and you'd never be seen again! You knew it! You've seen it happen to kids before!

So in that moment you let out the most blood-curdling scream of despair. Shrill and loud, just like you wanted it.

The chance someone would come to rescue you was small, seeing how humans were.... But it was worth a shot.

The man holding you growled in anger and kicked in your stomach. You almost fell to the ground if it wasn't for his deadly harsh grip on your arm. The air knocked out of you.

The thug was about to throw you into the dammned van before you were suddendly back on the ground again.

No longer having your arm crushed. Now curling up into a pained ball on the ground as you cried. Shiny perfect pearls rolling down your face.

There, infront of you, stood some darkly dressed man. Somehow, his scarf somehow floating...

Just a moment ago all those bad men were ready to drive off.... and now they were either knocked out on the ground or too pained to move...

What was this... mosnter? How did he do this? The scary looking man came closer to you, taking light steps.

You could see his face now. Some ridiculous yellow goggles on his eyes. His long, messy black hair swayed with his steps. Overall, he didnt look too bad... maybe a bit sleep-deprived and dead inside but oh well... What made him scary was the fact that he just wiped out this gang of men that wanted to kidnap you.

The unknown man kneels down in front of you. Not too close, not too far.

He observes you. Just faintly, you can see his eyes stare into yours from behind his strange yellow goggles.

"Are you alright?" He asks after a long silnece. You had alreadt seized your crying... now just a pile of little pearls on the ground.

"Im... fine." You whispered. In a broken choked voice. Who could blame you? You just released the loudest scream you ever had in your short life.

"Sounds like a lie. You're bleeding kiddo." The mysterious man sigh and reaches his hand towards you, to wich you flinch and scamble to your feet to take a step back.

The man frowns and stand up aswell, way more intimidating at his full height.

"There's no need to be afraid. Im here to help." He said, keeping the distance as to not scare you further.

This man... He may be scary but he didn't feel the same way the thugs on the ground felt.... More... safe.

How could some-one so scary feel safe? You wondered.

The man seemed to notice your questioning look but said nothing, merely making sure you didn't run off. You were injured and he needed the whole story.

"Whats your name?" He suddendly said, his voice soft and caring, as if he was speaking to a small child- oh wait, you were a small child.

You hesitated for a moment but decided to just answer before he bashed your head in like he did with the thugs.

"Y/N..." You answer softly. Not looking him in the face anymore.

"Where are your parents, Y/N?" He asked calmly. That question stunned you for a moment, maybe you should have expected it but somehow... no-one had asked you that before.

"...Non-exsistent." You answered bluntly. Not a hint of care for the subject in your voice.

The man had expected that but not in... such a careless way.

"I see... Would you trust me to help you?" He asked. This man only asked questions, how annoying.

"...No." You answered after a moment of silence. The man seemed baffled, as if no-one he had rescued had ever said 'no'.

He opened his mouth to say something yet before he could a groan was heard from the fish man on the ground behind him.

He shot into action at the mere sound and before you knew it you were off the ground and in his arms.

The wind blew into your face before the man tucked your head into his chest. Now you had no clue what was happening.

But judging from the loud air sounds, you were going fast as fuck.

As the surprise faded and you came back to your senses you started struggeling, to wich the man simply tightend his hold on you.

"Don't struggle, im taking you somewhere safer." He said calmly, tough the wind made it hard to hear. Was this dude doing parkour or something? You were getting sick from these abrupt movements! But i guess that did make you struggle less.

You tried to speak but this mans clothes were smothering your face. That weird scarf fluttering against your head as the man jumped and ran.

After an agonizing whileof running and wind he set you down on a chair. No wait, this was a car...

"Mister, what do you think you're doing-" You quickly asked but he held a finger to your lips and buckled you in. You were utterly confused.

First, some thugs tried to nab you for unknown reasons. And now this random man shoved you into his car?!

You gulped in slight fear yet looked around the car curiously, never having been in one before.

The man seemed satisfied with your silence and got into the car, taking the wheel and driving off.

"I know this is going too fast for you, but you'll be alright. Im EraserHead. A pro-hero." He side-eyed you and you simply looked up ahead. He was right, this was going too fast. And a pro-hero? This slobby dude? Really?

You said nothing and simply stared ahead. This was too complex for a child. You felt as if you should be scared but he had infact saved you... untill he grabbed you himself but eh.

EraserHead eventually stopped the car and got out before walking over to your side and unbuckeling you. Taking your hand as he leads you into a huge building.

"See, this is U.A. You've heard of it, haven't you?" He smiles slightly down at you. Those stupid goggles off of his face now so you could actually see his eyes.

You wanted to say no... but decided just to nod to avoid any boring info.

EraserHead led you into the grand building and after an endless amount of twists and turns you arrived at some sort of hospital room.

There, at a desk, set a tiny old lady. She turned her head and greeted EraserHead before turning her attention to you. You didn't know what it was about her but she immeadiatly had your trust.

"How are you feeling sweetie?" She asked softly and observed your still bleeding head and multiple scrape wounds. Wich now that the adrenaline had stopped working, hurt quite a lot.

"I-Im fine." You meekly uttered, shrinking into yourself slightly. Eraserhead was about to comment 'Lies.' Once again but he didn't have the chance as the old lady shot him a glare.

"Is it okay if I help you dear?" She smiles at you. It was quite comforting since she wasn't way taller then you. You nod hesistanly.

The lady somewhat kisses your forehead and you can littarly feel your wounds being healed. Wich was really really weird!

The lady nodded and pat your head before gesturing to EraserHead that you were now fixed.

He nodded back and took your hand again. Seeing as this man claimed he was a hero, you'd seize your struggeling..  for now.

After another long trip of twists and turns youre back outside. Now walking on a nice path with a bunch of tall buildings next to it.

Where the hell did you end up?

"Students... This is Y/N. They'll be staying here temporally, untill I figure out how to solve their living situation." EraserHead ordered a group of weird looking teens. Wait, stay here?! Your consent was not asked!

Your eyes widen and you instictivly hide behind EraserHead. An action he found just adorable, tough he would never admit that.

The students stared for a moment untill you were suddendly swarmed.

Some pink girl squished your cheeks and you felt observed by everyone.

"Y/N, you're such a cutie. How did you end up here hmm?" The pink lady asked, to wich you had no answer. Luckily, EraserHead still exsisted and shooed the teens away.

"Y/N almost got abducted by a gang. They got hurt so I took them here. They don't seem to have parents or a guardian so untill that is sorted they stay here. If I hear even a single complaint from the kid, you're all dead." He sneered and glared at some spikey haired blonde specifically.

You gulped at all the attention and took a step backwards only to bump into some green haired guy.

He smiled such a friendly smile down at you, it was impossible to feel scared. That was what you tought untill he hugged you.

"Whats your quirk, little Y/N?" He asked sickingly sweet as he held you. You bet he tought it was comforting but after today and the amount of grabbing you've lived trough it was not..

"I um... cry pearls..." You uttered weakly. Overwhelmed by all the states and attention.

He nodded and seemed fascinated. Patting your head. "Thats so cool! Do they stay forever or is it temporary? Is it real pearl or does it just look like it? Does it hurt? Are there drawbacks? Do you get tired? Does i-"

"Shut up you stupid nerb!" That spikey haired blonde dude yelled harshly and his hand suddendly exploded.

You yelped in surprise and clung onto the green haired boy for dear life.

Not a moment later the blonde get wacked in the head by EraserHead.

"Stop bothering them. Introduce yourselfs so I can show them their room, they must be tired." He instructs and they did indeed introduce themselves. Some more elaborate then others but hey.... Its not like you'd remember their names anytime soon...

Like he said, EraserHead, also known as Aizawa now, led you up the stairs and showed you a vacant room.

There was a bed, a coffee table, a desk and a chair.... Thats more then you've ever had! Oh my god?!

Aizawa noticed you absolute bafflement and had to surpress a chuckle.

"Will you be able to sleep kiddo?" He asked softly and looked down at you. You slowly nodded, still taking the room in.

He smiled and pat your head before leaving you in the room. Closing the door behind him. You were now alone. And very tired. So you slumped onto the bed and fell asleep.

"Y/N. Wake up. Satou made breakfast." Some sweet female voice called out to you in your sleep. You slowly opened your eyes and were met with... Momo.... And her last name was too long for you to remember, so Momo it was.

Her black hair was nicely tied up and she put some clothes at the end of your bed.

"Come down when youre ready." She smiled and left your room. You were still sleepy but complied. Wow, these people were nice.

You put on your clothes, you had no clue how they got your meassurements but whatever.

You came downstairs and followed the sound of loud teens.

It led you to the dining room in this weird dorm like building and the room went quiet when you stepped in.

You were almost scared you did something wrong untill the students began argueing on who you should sit next to.

You stood there awkwardly before you were grabbed of the ground by none other then Aizawa and he just plopped you into an empty chair.

Now the people argued over who got to sit next to you but you just shrunk into yourself and quietly ate your food. It was amazing!

The students finally stopped bickering by the time you were done with eating, so, it was all for nothing. You jumped of your seat and went back to your room, unsure of what you were supposed, and allowed, to do.

Like that, life went on for some weeks. Tough you had noticed the way the class had become way more clingy and affectionate. You almost felt like some baby-doll they were assigned to take care off and got too attached to.

Your room had slowly been filled up with gifts and toys you had never seen before. But as much as you wanted to ignore it.... you had noticed how your balcony window did not open...

"Kiri, put me down! I can stand, I have legs!" You huff and struggle. Thats another thing they liked to do. Just pick you up.

"Would you rather not have legs, hmm?" He smiled sickingly sweet. It shut you right up. Another one of those scary remarks.

Something was wrong with these people.

You were hoping and praying for Aizawa to finish finding where you would go. Maybe an orphanage? Perhaps directly to a family?

He would never tell you he stopped searching long ago.

As Kirishima carried you to the living room for a movie you noticed everyone had gathered there.

You were put right in the middle, nicely tucked into a blanket. The movie started and you tried your best to pay attention... but you felt more watched then the movie...

You wanted to go home... But there was no home. You used to live in a dumpster for gods sake! They really had you stuck here.

The evening commenced and you fell asleep on the couch. It was way past your bedtime afterall.

The next day, you just woke up back in your bed. Probably carried there by who knows who... Everyone of these kids was strong enough to carry ten of you!

It was a nice loop. Wake up, eat, get left 'alone' for the school hours, play with the teens, eat, sleep. The same, every day.

You were so stuck in this routine. Figurativly and littarly.

You were used to it yes.... But they wouldn't ever let you leave either.

You hadnt tried yet... But each time you wandered outside you were quickly dragged back... It's like you were watched 24/7.

They didn't want you to play outside. It was dangerous. You could catch a cold, or scrape your knee.

All very normal things. You tried to reason. Back when you lived on the streets you got hurt and sick all the time. It made them even more protective.

Soon, you began noticing. The hushed whispers they tought you didn't hear. The hidden cameras. The damm baby monitor under you bed.

They were crazy! They had to be! What was all this? Why weren't you sent away yet?

What were you doing here?

Answers never came. You just had to stay in the loop. Wake up, eat, get left 'alone' for the school hours, play with the teens, eat, sleep.

Thats what they wanted.

You didn't have to know how dear you were to them. An innocent child. Waiting for them at the end of a stressfull day. Smiling and laughing.

You were precious to them.

You didn't have to know. You just had to stay.

None of them had ever expected that they could agree on something this... unhealty. Yet they did.

These teens, with such diffrencess, agreed to keep you with them.

How absurd.

But it happned anyways.

All was fine untill these 'villains' attacked their school.

From what you've heard, it wasn't the first time. You had seen nothing of the fight.

Aizawa had handed you to Jirou and Asui right at the beginning. They had a simple task. Bring you to the safest possible place.

Wich to your displeasure was a basement.

It was dark and you could hear fighting, but you couldnt go see. Couldnt move.

They made sure of that.

You were like their sibling. Their dear younger sibling.

You had suffred enough.

If they couldnt keep you safe now, how would they ever be great hero's?

So thats how security became even stronger after the attack.

No longer were you even allowed to step a foot outside. Not even look at the door if they could help it.

There was always someone with you.

Some nicer then other.... Surprisingly, Bakugo had more chill then Midoriya.

The angry blonde tought you how too cook omelets while the green nerd didn't even let you lift a finger.

Life was dull, repetitive and utterly.... boring.

What was fun if there were no risks? You couldn't go down a slide without someone holding you the whole way.

Couldnt build a pillow fort without Uraraka standing by for if anything fell.... Not even a pillow could graze your skin or panic would break loose!

You could argue as much as you wanted. In the end it didn't matter. You were the child. You were helpless. You needed them.

They made that clear.

And you would never, ever leave.

Where could you go?

It was them.... or nothing.

Have a nice day/night!

Words: 3543

[lokisprettygirl]

You know last year before I was obsessed with Daemon or had seen HOTD or knew anything about it really, I'd often see gifs and pictures of daemon, positive ones albeit, and now every other post in Daemon Targaryen tag and I'm going to emphasize this , every other post about him in his own tag is downright negative and cringey because most of it reads as if it was written by an illiterate person who only speaks in lingos.

The tag is also filled with people comparing him with other characters from the show which really is an irony in itself because newsflash nobody is a saint in that show (except Helena maybe). Also why am I seeing posts about Aemond Targaryen in Daemon tags? His fans are as obsessed with Daemon as Aemond himself is 😂

People go as far as to make fun of Daemon's looks and his face which means that you're so far gone in your hatred for a tv show character that you'd make fun of the actor's looks for portraying him, a guy who's just doing his job. I often wonder what goes around in these people's heads like how insufferable and attention starved they must be in real life to act this way online so like minded folks would give them the validation they crave so badly?

Can't even go on reddit these days because as soon as there is a post praising him or saying anything positive about him, people somehow make it negative and aren't afraid to divert the main topic altogether. I have literally seen Daemon related posts both on Tumblr and reddit where the scums would start to discuss everything else but Daemon because they can't handle that people actually like him.

I blocked anti daemon targaryen tag a few months ago but what's the point really?