#of just all possibilities these two characters could come into

[ddarker-dreams]

A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

Next (TBA)

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.” 

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat. 

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles. 

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.” 

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.” 

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?” 

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.” 

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes. 

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings. 

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.” 

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come). 

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?” 

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?” 

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.” 

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”  

His compliment makes you frown. 

“Quit it with the flattery, already.” 

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.” 

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.” 

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.” 

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect. 

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?” 

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress. 

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.” 

“Are you upset?” 

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.” 

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way. 

“You’re closer to mine than you think.” 

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle. 

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.” 

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest. 

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.” 

His smile makes you squirm. 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?” 

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.” 

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.” 

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work. 

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart. 

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis. 

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes. 

Right and wrong no longer concern you. 

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table. 

-

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record. 

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance. 

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected. 

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple. 

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.” 

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent. 

A pair of approaching headlights blind you. 

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed? 

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged. 

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—” 

The man never finishes his sentence. 

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly. 

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind. 

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed. 

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.” 

“You… you know Chrollo?” 

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.” 

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror. 

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp. 

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.” 

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?” 

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades. 

It’s coated in fresh blood. 

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning. 

You take a step back. 

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥” 

Is that supposed to make you feel better? 

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with. 

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?” 

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦” 

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything. 

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣” 

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice. 

-

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough. 

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind. 

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant. 

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards. 

But you’re not. 

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago. 

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.” 

“Oh?” 

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—” 

“ —Greed Island.” 

You wave his correction off. 

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?” 

“Magic. ♥” 

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?” 

“Some more than others.” 

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause. 

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy. 

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.” 

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down. 

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment. 

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow? 

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit. 

“I need— need to get going…” 

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥” 

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together. 

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency. 

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense. 

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them. 

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater. 

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?” 

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?” 

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…” 

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift. 

You could’ve died. 

You almost died. 

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much. 

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”  

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks. 

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred. 

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation. 

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…” 

“Pathetic.” 

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly. 

He points to himself. “Me?” 

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled. 

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?” 

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.” 

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course. 

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥” 

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“But my car—” 

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures. 

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement. 

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…” 

“I’ll give it some thought.” 

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hm? For what?” 

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.” 

“Of course.” 

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked. 

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can. 

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames. 

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?” 

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?” 

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.” 

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air. 

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?” 

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober. 

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.” 

-

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened. 

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life. 

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available. 

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter. 

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar. 

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues. 

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…” 

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect. 

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life? 

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door. 

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole. 

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

[dirthenera]

Ok I need to get this out with the news about devs being fired dropping.

There will be spoilers for Veilguard here so proceed with caution.

EA fucked the game, and the more I think about it, the more angry I am with them.

It all starts with one choice- the devs wanted the veil to come down in that opening, and EA told them no. Told them they couldn’t bring the veil down at all.

It was never going to be a player choice- it couldn’t, it would create two entirely different worlds leading forward, so it would have to be something outside player control, and they were told no.

The veil coming down was outside forces and the veil staying up was Rook’s choice. And had to be Rook’s choice.

Because of that, our Rook could never see the veil coming down as a worthwhile option. Which means we could never engage with it as a reality. We could never ask what that would look like, or question the morality of the veil, either practically, or as a thought experiment. No companions will bring up what it might be like in any positive way or even just as an “I wonder.”

We only get to see veil =bad so Rook must be right.

They cut Solas’ elven followers because having even *one* npc on his side for noble reasons would make us question too much, and we were not allowed to have an opinion other than veil =good, because the devs were hamstringed by it.

No companions ever discuss what it could be like without the veil, and they *should*. Can you imagine Emmrich and Bellara debating it? Emmrich absolutely fascinated by how it would impact spirits and they wouldn’t need to possess anyone or anything, Bellara leery after seeing so much wild magic in Arlathan but wondering if uninterrupted etheric flows would create more stable magic over time. Taash surprising the party by being way more cool with it than expected due to their Rivaini upbringing, and more open to that than necromancy.

Lucanis and Harding being firmly against it to the point it causes some friction in the team, Davrin just staying out of it because he doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to. Harding has a moment of questioning at a weak point after reminiscing about Cole, and wonders how many like him there could be if the veil did come down.

Neve feeling extremely mixed about it, between it possibly allowing a reshuffle of power in Tevinter, removing the ability for mages to make deals with demons, but also upset at the potential raw chaos.

But we never even get to look at that. Because there was no option there. Even if each character landed on veil=good, we never even got to have the discussion, because we couldn’t do anything with it.

And we can see how that spirals out and created a much less morally complex game than we’ve previously gotten. Rook is the good guy because they said so, Solas is the bad guy who, despite being beyond willing to talk to anyone who will listen to him, refuses to expand on what the veil coming down looks like. Because he can’t. Because then we might agree with him.

We’re only allowed Varric’s point of view, which makes sense for the beginning, but there was never an option to expand it. There is one single dialogue option where we can tell Solas “whoops didn’t know that.” But that’s the beginning and end of that train of thought.

They even set us up as this FANTASTIC foil to Solas, having meddled in a ritual we didn’t understand and unleashing multiple blights and elven gods, essentially destroying the south, blighting most of the north, partially destroying a city, and a countless death toll. But taking actual responsibility with that isn’t allowed- because we may sympathize too much with Solas. Because we clearly did the right thing because the veil is still up. It’s not even addressed in the regret prison! Solas tells you thousands would still have died if he took down the veil, but thousands did die as a direct result of Rook meddling. And nowhere can you acknowledge that.

[aciddrattboyy]

Dɾυɳƙ αɳԃ Nαʂƚყ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "you and suna are at a house party and end up getting drunk and nasty idk what else to say"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Suna R. x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 2k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Adult Film] dirty talk(not much), cunnilingus, fingering(f!receiving) orgasming untouched, drunk sex, mentions of spit/saliva, dry humping(just a lil) (characters are aged up) ★ me?? posting???? no way???

▶▶

were loud house parties really suna’s thing? no, not really. he would much prefer a smaller crowd, a much quieter crowd. but the miya twins were notorious for throwing crazy ass parties and somehow suna always got roped into going. the house was almost suffocating, numerous bodies bumping and grinding together to whatever song was playing on speakers so loud suna could have they made the floorboards vibrate. the strobe lights were almost enough to give him a headache and he wouldve tried to sneak home already if it wasnt for you. 

there you were amongst the crowd, laughing and dancing with friends, look every bit of hot and sexy that had suna wanting to drag you back to his apartment. he knew this was more your scene though, and he wouldnt end your night out early. so he contented himself with watching, a lazy smile tugging on his lips everytime you looked over and waved at him.

but after what felt like a mere second of glancing down to check his phone, you were gone from suna’s line of sight. he immediately shoots up from the couch, head on a swivel as he already started preparing himself for the possible fist fight he might get in with some unlucky prick. just then he hears the sound of your beautiful, beautiful laughter and lets his feet follow. there you were in the kitchen, surrounded by a couple of your friends, atsumu, and aron, devising up some sort of drinking game. 

“c’mon we’re going,” suna murmured softly in your ear, already grabbing your arm and pulling you away. but you held your ground, pouting at him with those pretty lips that were begging to be kissed.

“what? no, i wanna play,” your words grabbed the attention of atsumu who was already sporting a shit eating grin.

“how ‘bout you join in. it’ll be fun,” suna was already saying no, taking a step back with his hand still gently wrapped around your arm. but atsumu’s next words make him pause. “or what? you afraid your girl could out drink you?” suna knew it was stupid, knew atsumu was taunting him just for the fuck of it. but pride may have gotten in the way as everyone around the kitchen island was staring at him expectantly.

“come on baby itll be funn. please?” you pleaded playfully, wriggling your eyebrows up at him with a bright smile. and that was all it took for suna to dive head first into a drinking game he knew nothing about. unfortunately for him, his rushed decision made him forget to consider a few things. one, suna hated beer. two, suna hated losinng. and three, suna was an extreme lightweight. 

now, suna was never a really touchy partner in public. but that was when he was sober. not now when you both were fucking shitfaced after a few rounds. it started with a few teasing touches below the countertop as your cheeks started to flush, playful glances that were not at all subtle in the slightest. 

but eventually it became too much and next thing you knew, you were both crashing through the door of the bathroom with his arms wrapped around your waist. suna nearly trips over both his feet and yours as you stumble into the bathroom in some sort of uncoordinated tango until your ass finally hits the counter. both of you were giggling like every bit of wasted idiots you were at the moment. if you were even remotely sober you’d record this moment to show suna later. because suna rintaro didn't fucking giggle. 

suna was definitely feeling the alcohol, everytime he blinked a kaleidoscope of color played behind his eyelids and made the world feel like it was tipping over. the darkness of the bathroom wasnt doing anything to help, the only coming from the strobe lights flashing under the gap between the door and the tile floor. he squints, trying to make out your face through the darkness and dim shadows with a stupid smile on his face that he would not have been caught dead showing sober. 

“y’er so pretty baby,” suna mumbles into your eager mouth, your tongues sliding against the other, exchanging the flavors of cheap beers and overly sweet spiked fruit punch. another giggle escapes his lips as he seemingly trips over nothing, falling against you before quickly uprighting himself enough to push his lips back onto yours. “sooo f’ckin pretty, ‘n so warm.” his slur only got worse with each passing syllable.

his hands sloppily find your hips, pawing at you like a desperate puppy. his breath was hot and heavy against your mouth, hands gripping onto your hips like they were the only thing keeping him upright(probably because they were). he’s giggling again as he struggles to raise you onto the counter. his cheeks were probably sore from the goofy smile that seemed to not be going away anytime soon but he couldnt feel it, nor would he care. because soon enough he did get you onto that damn counter and he didn't waste a moment before stepping between your legs.

“wan’ed to take you home allll night,” he murmurs against your lips, or at least he thought that was where he was kissing. he was extremely uncoordinated now, smearing a mixture of your spit against your cheek, lips, and chin as you desperately tried to catch your lips with his. “y’r jus sooo f’ckin hot,” the bass from the music playing in the house sent delicious vibrations up suna’s spine and god he felt like he was on cloud nine. spit was dripping down his chin now, the feel of your tongue and lips on his almost enough to make him cum on the spot. every little noise you made, every giggle you breathed out was sending heat straight to his cock which was now straining against the fabric of his basketball shorts. 

in a rush hes pulling both his hoodie and shirt off in one swoop when the room suddenly got waaay too hot, letting the clothing fall onto the bathroom floor. was it sanitary? probably not. did he care? no not at all. suna giggles when he sees you drunkenly try to lean in for another kiss through the dim light, eyes still shut as your lips searched for his. he pokes your nose light, his laughter only growing when he watches your eyes shoot open in surprise. you open your mouth to say…something? but his lips are back on yours before you can even attempt to form a thought, head tilting to the side to deepen the kiss. you press your palms against his chest, feeling the heat radiating off of his body as your hands start to wander, smoothing over his abdomen before resting at his waist, tugging him closer. 

“y’taste soo good baby girl,” he groans against your lips, pulling back enough to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. it takes suna a few tries, but eventually hes able to pull the straps of your dress down. his hands instantly find your tits, groping and squeezing all while rolling his hips against your core. the bathroom felt too hot, way too hot and suna was feeling dizzy, drunk of the alcohol and lust. “need ta be… to be…” his words were muffled, barely having enough strength to pull his lips away from your neck. 

you giggle breathlessly, grabbing onto his shoulders as you roll your hips in time with his. small whimpers escape your lips from the feel, the alcohol making you hyper aware of every point of contact, of the way you could feel every inch of the bulge in his shorts grinding against you desperately. suna’s kisses were wet, sloppy, and you shivered at the feel of the air cooling the saliva trailing along your neck and collarbone. 

suna’s hips began to work more fervently, he needed more of you. he needed all of you. with a strangled whine, he hastily pulls your dress up until its bunched at your hips, giggling lightly when the force causes you to almost fall of the counter. “s-sorrry pretty girl, jus need ya so badd.” with one last kiss that was aimed for your lips and may have missed the mark, suna falls onto his knees rather harshly. but he didn't care, could hardly register anything but the fact that your pretty pussy was now directly in front of his face. 

he doesnt skip a beat before grabbing onto the insides of your thighs and pushing them apart further before shoving his face against your panties and inhaling deeply. the pressure has you bucking your hips against his face involuntarily, clumsy hands finding their way into his hair to keep him close. as if he would ever leave in the first place. 

“y’r so wet,” the words were muffled by your underwear and suna himself might not have even realized he said them out loud. but that didn't matter. he was already pulling your panties to the side and licking a broad stripe up your slit. the taste of you on his tongue sent a shiver down his spine and heat straight to his dick. his hips thrusted upward and the feeling of the now damp fabric of his boxers sliding against the sensitive skin made him hiss softly. 

his lips immediately found your clit, sucking on it like a man starved as he pushed two fingers inside of you. just imagining how you would feel wrapped around his cock instead of fingers was enough to make him moan. and moan he did. by the noises he was making, it was starting to sound like he was the one getting head right now. he ate you out like a man starved and all you could do was take it.

your thighs were trembling, hips rolling to grind against his face. small moans and slurred whines of his name fell from your lips as your head tipped back against the mirror behind you. looking down, you could just barely make out suna’s face through the strobe lights creeping under the door. his eyes were shut tight, mouth working against you in a drunken fervor you had never seen before. 

“suna ‘m- a-ah ‘m close-,” your hips were humping against his mouth wildly now, so close to teetering over the edge of ecstasy that seemed to only be heightened by the alcohol in your system. and surprisingly enough, suna wasnt that far behind you. his hips were bucking desperately into the air and you couldve sworn you heard him whimper. his fingers moved faster inside you, tongue swirling around your clit in a way that had you seeing stars. his free hand gripped your thigh roughly, trying to ground himself. he was too focused on you, the way you sounded, the way you felt, the way you tasted, to hardly even register his own pleasure. 

but feeling you cum against his mouth, cunt spasming against his fingers, well it was enough to send a drunk suna overboard. he turned his head, biting down on the sensitive meat of your thigh with a guttural moan as he came in his shorts, hips thrusting upwards into nothing as his fingers still worked inside you. suna only stopped when he felt your body start to relax, going limp on the counter. 

whether it be from the mind numbing orgasm, or the sheer amount of alcohol in his system, suna fell right on top of you as soon as he stood. you giggled, opening your mouth to say something while trying to push him off. “y’r too heavyy,” you whined playfully, squirming under him. but then your thigh skimmed his now extremely sensitive cock and you paused when you felt him moan against your shoulder. “...did y-”

“‘m sorry baby,” he apologized with slurred words, lifting his head enough to press his lips against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as his palms ran along your sides. “y’just taste so good, make pretty sounds,” his breath was hot and heavy against yours, smearing your cum against your own lips as he kissed you sloppily, hips jerking against your thigh from slight overstimulation. “jus… gimme a minute an’ i’ll make it up t’ya,”

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[cybrasigilism]

Nothing Like A Sharp Dressed Man (Nam-gyu X F!Reader ONESHOT)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | roommates to lovers(?) | light choking | degradation | oral (m! receiving) | PiV (wrap your willy if your gonna get silly) | nam-gyu’s a bit of a dick (shocker i know) this is my interpretation of the character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: saw a drawing someone made of nam-gyu in his work attire pre the squid games and my mind got straight to work. i know this is not requested but i need to indulge in some OG works from time to time. enjoy!! (THE SMUT PART IS A BIT SHORT I FEEL, I APOLOGIZE)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

your experience with roommates was interesting, to say the very least. it truly was luck of the draw when it came to the array of characters you’ve shared a space with— but hey, anything to stay afloat and pay rent, especially in this economy.

when you first met your latest roommate, nam-gyu, you were certain the two of you would not get along. he was smarmy, standoffish, and just plain rude. not to mention he was a complete hypocrite; whenever you had a friend over at any point of the day, you would get texts from him telling you to keep it down (or rather “shut the fuck up”, if you were going to quote him directly) due to him having to work later that night. but whenever he had friends over at ungodly hours of the night, making all sorts of noise and blaring music, you weren’t allowed to comment on it. he wouldn’t fight you on it, but you may as well not say anything because it truly is in one ear and out the other with nam-gyu.

you two never agreed on anything. you were almost always at each others throats, it even got to a point where you would go out of your way to spite one another— for example, one of you might use the last of something without replacing it, or say if you wanted to watch TV in the living room; you had better make it snappy to claim your spot or else nam-gyu will have “spontaneously” decided that he wanted to watch TV too. i mean, god forbid you two actually watch something together, that would require tolerating each other’s presence for more than 3 minutes and that was definitely out of the realm of possibility.

or so you thought.

up until a certain point you actually had no idea what nam-gyu did for work. all you knew was that his shifts were at obscene hours, and he would always wake you up when he got back home with the ridiculous amount of noise he made coming in the house. you were mystified when you caught a glimpse of him all dressed up in his full-black business attire. you didn’t really get a chance to take the view in though, because he was out the door before he noticed you staring. you remember feeling your cheeks heat up, butterflies in your stomach— oh my god,

did you find him.. hot?

you doubted these feelings at first, telling yourself that even if this was how you felt about him dressed like that— nothing would ever come of it. as far as you knew, nam-gyu hated you just as much as you did him, right?

right?

you tried to remind yourself that this was your combative, hypocritical, asshole roommate. this was the guy who always got the last slice of pizza just as you were about to grab it; the guy who uses up the hot water before you take a shower; the guy who.. looked really good in those dress pants from the glimpse you got at him—shit. you were completely cooked. you knew you were cooked when you caught yourself waiting to hear nam-gyu leave his room, so you could sneak a peek of him in that damned uniform before he left for work; you definitely knew you were cooked when you found yourself fantasizing about him. you had to fill in some details with your imagination, which was the worst mistake you could have made because god that just made you crave him more. you should have been completely ashamed with your actions when he started coming to mind while you fucked yourself; imagining his hands in place of your own between your legs, wondering what his moans sounded like. fuck, you knew he would kill you if he found out about how perverse you had become. but that would never happen. i mean, you were being discreet…. right?

unfortunately, you weren’t being as discreet as you apparently thought. one faithful night, while you were trying to sneak a peek at nam-gyu getting ready to head out the door, he noticed you. fuck, you thought, whipping around the corner so fast you hoped he hadn’t realized what you were doing. the feeling of butterflies was more-so out of nervousness now, you tried to rationalize to yourself as you paced in your room, biting your nails anxiously. “maybe he won’t suspect anything, i mean how could he? it was just this once..” you tried to think critically here, how would he be able to deduce that you were undressing him with your eyes just then— and had been for the past dozen nights? you figured it would be best to just sleep it off, and hope he didn’t ask any questions in the morning.

⟢

a loud knock jolted you awake. you glanced at your phone. “4:22?” you knew who it was, but why was he knocking on your door at 4:22 in the morning? nam-gyu knocked again, to which you drowsily said “i’m coming, i’m coming.” as you threw on your sleep shirt, baggy enough to shield your lack of pants. you opened the door to see nam-gyu, still in that uniform. you must have been giving him quite the look, because he raised his eyebrow and snapped his fingers almost in your face. “hey, my eyes are up here dipshit.” you jumped, making direct eye contact with him, not realizing where you had just been looking. “what the fuck what was that earlier? didn’t take you for a stalker.” damn, he was onto you.

“a stalker? no i was just..” “just what?” he cut in, causing you to purse your lips in frustration. “just getting more visual material to jack off to later?” your eyes widened when he said that, causing him to laugh in a way that you knew was at your expense. “god.. i had a feeling that was it.” he scoffed, you felt your cheeks grow warmer by the second with embarrassment. “you really didn’t think i could hear you moaning my name through the wall? hell i’d be surprised if the neighbours didn’t hear..” you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, you were humiliated. had you really been so fucked out of your mind that you didn’t catch yourself moaning his name? “look, i’m sorry… i should have never even—“ you started, actively avoiding his eyes. he did something then that caught you off guard entirely. he grabbed your chin, redirecting your gaze to meet him. “sorry? shit, if you’re gonna be a dirty little slut, don’t apologize for that.” you were confused, even more so because that little name he called you made you feel.. something.

nam-gyu knew what he was doing to you, and he was about to take full advantage of that. for some reason, having you at his mercy like this was totally turning him on. he couldn’t deny the way his pants tightened when you looked at him like that— fuck it. “oh..” he noticed the way you pressed your thighs together just then. “oh, you like it when i call you that.. don’t you?” you nodded instinctively. his grip shifted from your chin to your throat, squeezing lightly as he moved in close enough to whisper to you. a light moan leaving your lips as he did so.

“then why don’t you show me how much of a slut you can be.”

⟢

you don’t know how you got into this situation, having nam-gyu’s dick shoved between your lips, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to mind. his grip on your head was almost strong enough to be painful, but you were too focused on the sounds he was making to be bothered by it.

“oh fuck… fuck, your lips—“ he groaned, bucking his hips up into your mouth. you whined around him when the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat, but that only egged him on. “yeah, you like being used like this, huh?” he was enjoying this way more than you thought, hell he was so eager to have your mouth on his cock he didn’t even take his clothes off. not that you minded, of course. “you’ve been waiting for me to fuck your mouth like this, haven’t you?” nam-gyu’s words were broken up by moans and whimpers he failed to mask; you really had no idea the effect you had on him up until this point. just then, he pushed your head down as far as you could go, mustering a gag out you.

“it’s rude to ignore people when they ask you a question.” he said through gritted teeth, chest heaving from how good your mouth felt on his dick. you looked up at him, eyes watering. “answer me, bitch.” whether it was the way he looked so. damn. good in the uniform, or the way he was ordering you around like a dog; you felt your pussy clench around nothing, god you needed him right were he wasn’t so bad it hurt. you nodded, hoping that if you did what you were told, then he would finally cut to the chase and fuck you. “oh, so you can follow orders.” he smirked, pulling your head off his dick and sitting back onto your bed. “in that case, ride me.” your eyes widened, but you did what he said without a word, straddling him as though you were in a trance.

both you and nam-gyu made an indescribable sound of pleasure when you sunk down onto his cock. his gripped your hips as you did so, sliding you down even faster. you cried out, and he kept you bottomed out on his dick for a moment. you thought for a second that it was to allow you time to adjust to the full length of him, but he wasn’t that nice. you were just getting used to him when he began to move you up and down his dick, biting his lip as he did so. “oh my fuck!” you moaned out, planting your hands onto nam-gyu for balance. his grip on your hips was so firm you were positive he would bruise you, but you didn’t really give a shit then; too focused on how fucking amazing his cock felt inside you then. “shit, you sound like such a whore—“ he was one to talk, becoming less and less able to cover up his own slutty noises. “it’s good i’m fucking you like the little slut you are then—fuck.”

even on top you were completely at his mercy, and you loved it. you loved the way he fucked up into that tight pussy of yours almost carelessly, you loved being able to take in the full sight of him in his work clothes while he did it to. the way his shirt, unbuttoned down his chest, looked disheveled as he used you this way; the way you knew you were making a mess of his pants when your hips collided; the way he was so desperate to put you in your place like this that he saw no time to change out of the outfit he knew got you off in the first place. everything that was happening to you right now under any other circumstance would have not turned you on this much, but for some reason that outfit changed everything.

and you definitely didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

thanks for reading! i apologize for the lack of dialogue, this was just an idea i had and i wanted to put it to “paper” as soon as possible! thank you guys for putting up with my self-indulgent nonsense again :P

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @kouzih @strangelife122 @gabbystinks

[grandline-fics]

The quote "No, don't give me those puppy-dog eyes!" with Trafalgar Law and possibly with gn!reader? (If not, then afab!Reader is fine too!)

Thank you. ✨

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: “No! Don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes!”

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 750

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I struggled a lot with coming up with a situation for Law and this prompt but I hope I was able to bring something together to your liking. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all for your support

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

————————

“Law?” Law’s back went rigid at the sound of your voice drifting towards him. He knew that lilt, that almost innocent call, searching for him and the call a precursor to hear his response in order to gauge his mood before speaking what it was you truly wanted from him. To anyone else that would seem considerate, given how busy he was being both Captain and doctor for the ship. But to Law when he heard your call it set him on edge because he never knew what to expect. He heard the soft knock on his door and braced himself. Slowly he looked up just as your head poked into the doorway. Your bright gaze met his and you smiled. “Law? You busy?”

“I’m researching the island we’re heading to.” Law began carefully, watching as you came further into the room, letting the door shut behind you. He kept his eyes on you, taking in your soft smile and slow movements towards his desk. Lightly he cleared his throat and briefly tightened his hold on the book lying open in front of him, trying his best not to lose track of his work when you were around. “And after that I was to check on Bepo since he’s got the navigation charts.” You stopped at the side of his desk and nodded, lips pursing at his words. “What did you need?”

“Not need really but…” You began, reaching over to curl your finger around his hand that still held the book on the desk. At your touch Law immediately reciprocated by entwining his fingers with yours. He knew what was coming when you let out a small sigh before continuing. “If you weren’t busy I was wondering if I could get a hug?”

Law let out a small huff of amusement and got to his feet, his smile growing when you immediately closed the distance to wrap your arms around him, your body relaxing more when his arms pulled you closer. He knew he’d been busy lately and hated how his relationship with you had to be made less of a priority. The two of you only got to see each other at meals and at nighttime but in those moments you were both either surrounded by the rest of the crew or so tired you both barely got to give the other a goodnight kiss before immediately falling asleep. Now that he was holding you again, he was reluctant to pull away but he still had a lot more research to do. 

Squeezing you one more time and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, Law made a move to let you go and return to his desk only to stop when your arms tightened and you shook your head against his chest. Law all but kicked himself for not seeing this coming. One of you had to be strong, and unfortunately for him, it had to be his task. Gently Law rubbed your back and gently spoke your name only to sigh when you let out a grumble against him. “C’mon just another couple of hours and then I’m all yours. Okay?”

“Law?” He flinched at that same innocent tone and slowly looked down just as you peered up at him, unleashing the full power of your stare, compelling and fierce. 

“No! Don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes!” Law all but groaned down at you, unable to look away. How did you make your eyes shine like that in moments like these when you wanted your own way. Worse still he knew his resolve was crumbling faster and this was only going to go one way. 

“Please just a little longer?” You asked, attacking the final flimsy thread of Law’s restraint with your softly spoken request. “Five minutes and then I’ll let you work?” Law bit the inside of his mouth and cursed himself for being so weak for you. Immediately he used his shambles to take you both to the sofa in the room and pulled you close, unable to stop his own smile from growing when you beamed up at him happily before you got cosy in his arms. With a content sigh you nuzzled in close and absently wondered if you’d be able to stretch out this cuddle with your boyfriend a little longer than your previously requested five minutes. If any of the past times were anything to go by then yes, yes you could and you definitely would.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

I will be the one to say it, wherever we like this side conclusion or not, she dug this pit herself and Iskall provided the shovel

I've heard speculations of their relationship being a much closer than it appears online, and her deleting her channel to hide any trace of her involvement or his involvement while still keeping the comment on Iskall's channel is the nail in the coffin

The only thing that she has on her Channel right now is 36 comments that the majority tie back to Iskall in some way.

And additionally, I'd personally say it's come to a point of devotion and compassion for each other rather than what a normal "relationship" should be

And I want you all to keep in mind that if Stress isn't Iskall's "long-term girlfriend", then there is a woman out there who found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her with multiple of his employees and also possibly including his female best friend because of the amount of devotion they have to each other

But if Stress is the "long-term girlfriend", then this was a clear act of both devotion or she's been hit with trains worth of clarity and realization but I doubt this is the case because the comment is still up

And there was no single threat in her replies

YouTube's AI detection system will automatically delete replies with a threatening nature of that go against community guidelines before the person sees the reply.

Meaning that at the most cleverly worded insults have slipped through the hundreds of common worth of "You're so goated" and "Miss you too" and "We support you too" (update to make sure this was accurate I just checked it this than two minutes before this post and it is indeed compliments)

90% of her replies a positivity. And a couple months ago I even gave her the benefit of the doubt and said not to speculate on her situation because we didn't know any better. Aka even people who were skeptical like me and many others treats it her with integrity and dignity open till that reply was posted

I cannot speak on whether or not Iskall has gotten the threats he claims, but I always encouraged to not leave death threats, so I would imagine that it's a handful of people who do not have a life

But I could say with Confidence that if she got more than 8 threats, which is still not good but is a less considering the circumstances and general uncontrollable public, I would be mind-blown

So I'm very confident in the notion that she did this out of either realization to which I hope it is, and I hope for her community she seeks professional help because that level of devotion is unhealthy makes a steady bouncy back after some time OR it's another act of devotion

Because if he's in a legal case regarding this issue it is commonly advised to remove any incriminating evidence from social media so that it cannot be used against you; and it would be easy to argue their relationship based purely on her videos. Making the deletion of her channel an act of devotion rather than general clarity hitting her

Which is sad. I've never personally watched Many of Her videos only 30 at the most, but the general consensus of disappointment rather than anger putting her Direction leads me to conclude this is out of character behavior for her. And this would reinforce Iskall's repeated manipulation attempts.

It would mean his manipulation is effective and working.

The only possible way I could ever see people generally being outraged at her is if she was in on it too but that has already been confirmed by many of the victims they were unaware that she was also leaving, and were unaware of her general support.

This or will you find out that she's financially contributing to his legal case, to which I would argue the money would be better spent on therapy

But it just seems that she's digging herself into a pit or into a self destructive montage of being in support of someone who does not deserve it

[valentine-cafe]

i just imagined the herrera husbands discovering that maybe their new assistant (that they may be interested in) has a child, but not a biological one.

like, just an orphan that they found in the streets and took in because they were feeling sad to leave a child alone like that, and has little to no trust in orphanage or other children facilities. so, they decided to take care of that child to the point that even while knowing they are not their real parent, their child still adresses them as such.

and maybe one day while they go out to do some shopping, they see their assistant with that child, carrying the small toddler in their arms to let the small one chose a new plushie because their favorite one tore a bit, and they want to anticipate in case. and they act all lovey dovey with their little child, peppering small kisses until their face get shoved away by small hands and laughters coming from the two of them. (if i remember correctly they want to start a family, do they not ? so what better way than to start dating their favorite assistant and make a small family with the child they adopted and their pets <3)

˖⁺. ﹙ mad scientist x gn reader x mad doctor. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . build a family !! 🍒 :  villains ˖ yandere characters﹙ verse 209 rishen & jingyi. ﹚

they find out that the assistant they had been desiring has a kid, and can't help but feel soft 

Jìngyí and Rishen practically shone heart eyes the second they saw you with the little kid. How the both of you laughed and how you were just such a natural parent. The sight warmed their hearts in ways they couldn’t describe.

They has already been planning to try and get with you. They’d caught you bashful little interactions with them. This just sealed the deal. The next day they made their move and well — who were you to deny two criminally attractive men taking an interest in you?

You’d be whisked away and spoilt. You and your kid. As time went by and things got serious, the two will more than happily take on the role of parents for the child as well. After all, it’s all that they ever could have possibly wanted.

Jìngyí making sure that their health is in tip-top condition. Whereas Rishen is all for spoiling them rotten, while also teaching them the right ways of life. Sometimes you’ll walk in late at night to see Jìngyí and your toddler on his hip, getting a late night snack. Or return home when to find Rishen playing pretend with the excitable kid.

They’re both so tender, a part of you wonders why they haven’t considered adoption before?

Their darker deeds aside, they’ll be sure to keep that on the low so that they new family can grow happy and healthy. The white picket fence dream has never been sweeter. Their own little family, the things they’ve wanted the most.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Chapter One

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Nothing noteworthy on this chapter. There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.7k

A/N : I'm so excited to finally be able to share this one! Hope you all enjoy it!

Master List

Chapter One

Just smile and, eventually, you’ll find your reason to smile.

It was something your mother had always told you as a child, sadness filling her eyes every time a frown dared to cross your little face. You grew up believing it was a sage piece of wisdom, but the older you got, the more it started to seem like nothing more than an unhealthy coping mechanism.

But, still, you smiled.

If nothing else, you’d come to learn that it was easier to force a smile to your lips and pretend that the whole world didn’t feel like it was going to hell around you. Especially between the hours of 8am and 5pm.

Every morning was the same; you got up, got ready, and took the subway to work. You went out of your way to be a polite and conscientious commuter, taking up as little space as possible and making sure no one but you could hear the music playing through your headphones. Sure, your polite behaviour did nothing to stop you being shoved and elbowed, nor did your example to be quiet convince any of the finance-bros to stop yelling into their phones right beside you, but at least it made you feel like you weren’t an asshole.

Even on the street, on your two block walk to the office, you were mindful; never walking too fast or cutting in front of anyone, and never slowing down and inconveniencing anyone walking behind you. 

For all intents and purposes, you were just there. You existed but you were never an obstacle or cause for annoyance. A side-character, an NPC in someone else’s story, no delusions in your mind about being the main character.

God, what a sad and boring story it would be if you were the main character.

As per your usual morning routine, you stopped off at the little independent coffee shop across the street from Anvil. The Bean Grinder - a name that had earned some ridicule from your boss when you’d admitted to going there. (‘The Bean Grinder? It sounds more like a dating app’ he’d said, grinning that ridiculous grin.) But, after a few mornings of steaming hot Americanos and fresh pastries, he’d grudgingly had to admit that he was a fan.

So, it had become the norm every weekday, first thing in the morning and, again at lunch times, if you didn’t have time to pack a lunch for yourself. And, now, six months into your job with Anvil, the baristas knew you well enough to have your order ready to go - though, today, you had to inconvenience them by asking for an extra coffee.

Coffees and pastries precariously balanced in your hands, you crossed the street, shuddering at the ice cold wind and moving as fast as you dared towards the office. Once in the foyer, you began to awkwardly fumble for your keycard, when a hand appeared, relieving you of the tray of coffees.

“Thanks Carl,” you said as you rummaged through your pockets. “How are the kids?  Did Lyra’s clarinet recital go well?”

The security guard beamed, his face lighting with a genuine warmth for you. You’d  always tried to make an effort with the people you worked with, never knowing when you might need a favour - even if that favour was just someone to hold a tray of drinks while you found your keycard.

“She did amazing. I recorded the whole thing, I’ll have to show you when you’ve got a minute.”

Smiling, you told him how much you’d like that as you finally pulled out your keycard and tapped it against the reader. You stepped through the barrier and thanked Carl as he handed you the tray of drinks, and headed for the elevator.

As you stepped onto the lift, you took a breath and let your smile falter, enjoying the briefest moment of respite before  you’d have to spend the rest of the day forcing your happy, professional demeanour. 

And, as it turned out, your brief reprieve was even briefer than expected as a hand stopped the elevator doors from sliding shut and a man stepped on.

“Good morning, Mr Castle,” you said, bright and perky as always. Exactly what was expected of you.

He bristled slightly and looked about ready to remind you that he’d prefer to be called Frank but seemed to think better of it. After six months, you assumed that he’d finally started to understand that you were more comfortable referring to him as Mr Castle.

“Mornin’,” he grumbled in his usual, gruff tone.

The elevator doors slid shut and, for a few seconds, you were left thinking that the entire ride to the top floor would be spent in silence, but then you remembered the coffees in your hand.

“Oh, that one’s for you,” you said, indicating the large takeout cup at the front of the tray. “Large Americano with an extra shot, cream, but no sugar, right?”

He looked at you with a mixture of shock and confusion that had you wondering if you’d sprouted a second head for a few seconds. Unlike Mr Russo, he didn’t have a PA and he barely even bothered the secretary who was assigned to him, so he always seemed a little taken aback whenever you did anything for him.

“You got me a coffee?” He asked, taking the coffee from you and lifting it to his nose to sniff.

“I know you and Mr Russo have a meeting scheduled first thing,” you said, shrugging, “and he won’t want to start until he’s had his morning coffee and pastry, so...”

That got a laugh from him, a rare sound that always seemed like it had sharp edges, but a laugh nonetheless, so you decided to mark it down as a win.

“Yeah, he’s never been much of a morning person.”

That was something you could agree with. Billy Russo was a man of moods and, while it had initially taken you some time to learn his routines and figure out when he tended to be more approachable, you’d learned your way around him now.

That was something you could agree with, but you’d quickly learned your way around the man and his moods, knowing what times and which days he was more approachable, and doing your best to keep your head down the rest of the time. It wasn’t difficult, even if Billy Russo was considered difficult by a lot of people who knew him.

“He have you fetchin’ coffee for him every day?” Mr Castle asked, though you couldn’t tell if he was just trying to make conversation or if he was genuinely curious. 

You offered up another shrug. “It’s part of the job. Besides, I stop off for coffee on my way in anyway, at least this way I get to put it on the corporate card.”

Fortunately, the stilted conversation was short lived and the elevator doors slid open. You gave him a look before glancing towards Mr Russo’s office door.

“I’ll go check if he’s ready for you,” you said, pausing only to put your bag down and to shrug out of your coat at your desk.

You took a second to smooth down your blouse and skirt, and to make sure your hair wasn’t in too much of a state from the wind, before grabbing his coffee and the bag of pastries. Your knock on his door was met with the usual grumbled ‘come in’ and, as you stepped into his office, you forced the smile back to his lips. 

Not that he saw your smile.

His back was to you, his eyes fixed out of the window, looking at the city - or maybe it was the weather that had his attention. You didn’t ask, figuring that it was really none of your business.

“Good morning, Mr Russo,” you said, heading towards his desk. “I’ve got your morning coffee and a couple of bear claws, and Mr Castle is waiting outside for your morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” he said, lingering at the window a moment longer before finally turning towards you. “Can you send Frank in and grab the files I asked you to prepare yesterday?”

“Of course, sir.”

You did as you were asked, sending Mr Castle in while you got the files from your desk. By the time you made it back into Mr Russo’s office, both men were perched on his desk, drinking their coffees and eating bear claws.

“However much he’s payin’ you, it’s not enough,” Mr Castle grinned at you, and that had the forced smile on your lips becoming something far more genuine.

It wasn’t so much that Mr Russo didn’t appreciate what you did for him - you knew that he did - it was more that he wasn’t particularly vocal about it. But you’d heard the horror stories of the PAs who’d come before you, the ones who’d quit mere weeks into working for him. At first you’d feared that it was him, that he was impossible to work for, but you’d quickly figured out that he wasn’t impossible, just... difficult. 

There was a lot of reading between the lines when it came to Billy Russo, and a lot of your time was spent trying to anticipate what he might want or need at any given time; when he was in a bad mood you’d found that food often helped, and frustration was usually mitigated by redirecting him towards smaller, easier to deal with tasks to distract him.

It wasn’t easy but you’d figured him out and, now, things ran pretty smoothly.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the files on his desk beside him. “I took the liberty of colour coding them; the green tabs are the ones most likely to want to engage Anvil’s services based on the research, orange means they could be convinced, and -”

“And what about red?” Mr Russo asked, pulling a file from the bottom of the stack.

The only file with a red tab.

“Red means it’s extremely unlikely that they would choose to offer Anvil a contract and that they’re probably not worth the money and resources that it might take to change their mind,” you explained, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

“And why do you think the Van Der Koy family wouldn’t be interested in contracting with Anvil?” He asked.

Immediately your cheeks started to heat as you tried to find the easiest (read: safest) way to explain it.

The Van Der Koy’s were old money, with dozens of high end resorts, hotels and casinos across North America. They were a literal goldmine for anyone who got to work with them. Landing a security contract with them would be worth millions of dollars, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that that was the file that Mr Russo wanted to concentrate on.

But how were you supposed to tell him that he was the reason the Van Der Koy’s would never work with Anvil?

“Well, the Van Der Koy’s have very old fashioned family values - it’s not about the money, it’s all about appearances and reputation...” you said.

“And what’s wrong with Anvil’s reputation?” Mr Russo prompted.

“It’s not Anvil...” you tried to explain, your voice turning quiet.

“Then what?” He asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“Jesus, Bill,” Frank said through a mouthful of pastry. “She’s tryin’ to be polite.”

There was a silence for a few moments before Mr Russo finally seemed to realise what was being said.

“You’re saying that they won’t contract with Anvil because of my reputation?” He asked, and you gave the smallest of nods. “What’s wrong with my reputation?”

“Sir, I really don’t think -”

“You can’t expect her to answer that,” Frank said, speaking at the same time as you.

He looked from you to Mr Castle and back again, as if he really had no clue what you could possibly mean.

“I won’t get angry or blame you,” Mr Russo said. “I just want to know what you know.”

You didn’t want to answer, but you knew that you had to.

“Well, from what I was able to learn, it’s... it’s everything,” you said, unable to even look him in the eye as you explained. “The parties, the women - it sends a certain, uh... message...”

It felt like his gaze was burning into you as you fixed your eyes on his desk and the stack of files.

“What message?” He asked.

“She’s sayin’ the uptight, old money folks don’t like that you’re a fuck-boy who spends all his time with bimbos, Bill,” Mr Castle answered for you. “Now, could you stop makin’ her feel uncomfortable about it and let her do her damned job?”

Mr Russo’s gaze softened a fraction when he noticed your obvious discomfort, and he opted to remain silent instead of continuing with all of the questions you were certain he still had. Some part of you even dared to feel bad, almost wanting to tell him that it was okay, that he could continue to question you but that you didn’t have any answers that he might want to hear.

The truth was, while you had your opinions about his social life, when it came to his work and to his company, Billy Russo was nothing short of a consummate professional, and it felt like a shame that anyone might discount his work because of how he liked to spend his free time.

“Thank you for your input,” Billy said, finally dismissing you. “I’d like my lunch at one today, and could you forward any updates to my schedule to me?”

You gave the standard ‘yes, Mr Russo. Of course, Mr Russo’  and quickly made your exit, holding in a sigh of relief until his office door was shut behind you and you were safely back at your desk.

You opened your laptop to start your day, immediately disappointed to find that your own coffee had started to go cold while you’d been in Mr Russo’s office. It wasn’t the first time, and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last, but you’d always just found something so depressing about a lukewarm latte first thing in the morning.

At least you were fairly certain that the detailed notes you’d made on each of the files would be enough to keep him from needing to solicit your opinion again, so you should be able to get through your daily mountain of emails and adjustments to his schedule before having to think about his lunch.

And that was the best part of your job; that you could lose yourself in it. It was nice, easy for the most part, now that you’d settled into a rhythm - the only difficult part of the job was the man himself. In the past, you’d struggled with office jobs, always wanting to be everything to everyone and ending up taking on far more than you could handle. 

Not that you were a pushover - no, you didn’t like to think of yourself in those exact terms - you just liked it when everyone around you was happy and content, because god only knew you had your own problems to deal with.

But, thankfully, things were different at Anvil. The management floor was Mr Russo’s private kingdom and, most days, it was just the two of you up there. And, on good days, it was just you. And, because of that, you were separate, able to work without interruption. Oh, sure, you still spoke to people, still got to know them, like Carl in security, but you were far enough removed that no one came to you asking for help or wanting to vent their issues.

In fact, being Mr Russo’s PA made a lot of people wary about asking you for anything because they knew just how important your time was.

All in all, the only thing you really had to contend with were Mr Russo’s moods and they didn’t stress you out nearly as much as they used to. You’d even go as far as saying that, for the first time in years, you were in a job that felt secure, safe. And that was something that mattered to you far more than you’d ever dare admit out loud.

After about an hour, Mr Castle left Mr Russo’s office but, instead of heading straight for the elevator, he approached your desk, causing you to automatically sit a little straighter.

“You okay?” He asked. “Know that probably wasn’t the most comfortable for you in there.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you quickly answered,” it’s all part of the job. I just -”

About to say something completely unadvised and unprofessional, you barely managed to stop yourself. But it was too late, he fixed you with a questioning look and it was clear he was trying to fight back a smile while he decided if you’d break under interrogation.

(And, yes, you absolutely would. There was no doubt in your mind that you’d crumple like a house of cards if you were placed under extreme questioning.)

“You what?” He prompted.

The only thing keeping you from panic was the fact that he didn’t sound angry or annoyed, just curious. He’d never heard you speak out of turn before and he seemed a little excited at the prospect.

Your cheeks started to heat and you bit your lip for a second.

“I just -” you glanced nervously towards the office door, making sure it was shut before continuing, “- well, I just always assumed that he knew how people saw him. Not that it’s my place, because I don’t -”

He cut off your attempt to - what? Apologise? Put a more professional spin on things?

“He does and he doesn’t,” he said, offering a shrug. “That’s the problem with Bill; he cares about appearances but he always forgets that sometimes he has a different idea of how a rich guy should be than people like the Van Der Koy’s.”

Cryptic.

Cryptic and entirely unhelpful.

Though it fit well with what you actually know about your boss. Sure, you could usually guess when he was in a bad mood and when he wanted to be left alone, but as a person he was as much of an enigma to you as anyone. Fortunately, knowing and understanding the inner workings of Billy Russo was not necessary for you to do your  job.

“‘s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he continued, “either he’ll try to go for the VDK contract and end up wastin’ everyone’s time, or he’ll take your advice and focus on contracts he can actually get.”

You nodded, knowing it wasn’t really your place to voice an opinion on the matter. As Mr Castle said, you’d already done your part.

He gave you a nod before turning and starting towards the elevator, only to pause after a couple of steps and glance back.

“Those bear claws -”

“From The Bean Grinder across the street,” you answered the unasked question through the laugh that had managed to bubble up from seemingly nowhere.

“Thanks. Don’t let him work you too hard.”

Once he was gone, you returned to your work and spent the rest of the morning scheduling and rescheduling meetings for the coming month. Then it was time to order lunch and, because Mr Russo hadn’t stated a preference, it was up to you to decide for him. You weren’t sure of his mood since you hadn’t seen him since leaving his office hours before, so you decided to go for something safe, something he’d enjoy and that would improve his mood if he was still feeling sore about the Van Der Koy’s. 

Spaghetti carbonara and tiramisu for dessert. A tried and tested combination.

Less than twenty minutes later, you had his lunch in hand and were at his office door, knocking lightly and waiting to be called in.

He was at his desk, the files you’d prepared still in front of him, the VDK file with its prominent red tag right at the top of the pile.

“I’ve got your lunch,” you said brightly, quickly starting to unpack his lunch.

He watched you with a strange sort of curiosity he’d never shown you before, his lips pulling into a smile when he noticed the tiramisu.

“Trying to make up for something?” He asked.

Despite his playful tone and the way he was smiling at you, the question had a nervous sort of tension filling you. You shot him a questioning look but couldn’t quite form the words to respond.

“You always bring me dessert when you think I’m in a bad mood,” he continued.

There was no keeping the confused shock from your face, just like there was no taming the wild thumping of your heart. In all the time you’d been working for him, you’d never once stopped to consider that he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Did you think I didn’t notice?” He asked, sounding thoroughly amused.

You were speechless and, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, all you could think about was how his spaghetti carbonara was starting to get cold. (And, from where you were standing it smelled far too delicious to waste.)

“I just -” you swallowed awkwardly, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat, “- well, it’s my job to make sure you’re happy isn’t it? Am - am I in trouble?”

Surely not. Surely he couldn’t punish you for going out of your way to try and make his life easier, right? Your forced happy facade almost dropped and gave way to the panic that was starting to claw beneath your ribs, but your face remained a hopefully unreadable mask.

“In trouble? God, no,” he shook his head. “I’m just - what I’m trying to say is that you’re clearly good at reading people. At reading me.”

“Oh.”

What else could you even say to any of that? Did he even want you to say anything? It wasn’t like you were doing anything manipulative or nefarious. All you were doing was keeping him happy so your job was easier.

You almost breathed a sigh of relief when his attention dropped to his food, and you started to hope you’d be able to go back to your desk to try and forget any of this weirdness had happened. But, as he lifted his fork, his eyes caught yours again.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr Russo.”

“Do you agree with what Frank said earlier?” He asked before taking a bite of his spaghetti.”Do you think the women I date send the wrong sort of message?”

“Oh, uh -” 

The shocked little noises slipped out before you could stop yourself. All you could do was stare at him for a few seconds, wondering what you’d done in a past life to deserve the uncomfortable day that you were having.

“Hmm?” He prompted through a mouthful of pasta.

“I thought -” you forced a breath, “- I just assumed that you were going to ask me something... something more related to my actual job?”

Something about your obvious discomfort seemed to tickle him.

“I’d argue that if you have insight into why Anvil might potentially lose out on a massive contract that it would fall within the scope of your job,” he countered. When you didn’t answer straight away, he continued; “so should I take your silence to mean you agree with Frank?”

“No, that’s not -” you hesitated, trying to find the most professional way to answer, “- I don’t agree with everything he said.”

“No? Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair to call a woman a bimbo just because she likes to wear expensive clothes and go to parties,” you said flatly. “And it’s really not my job to have opinions on how you spend your evenings.”

“But you do think it gives the wrong impression to people like the Van Der Koy’s?”

“The Van Der Koy’s built the VDK chain on traditional values, they avoid controversy and anything that will tarnish the VDK name, it’s what they’re known for. It’s their professional reputation,” you explained, forcing an awkward shrug. “And you’re - well, you’re not subtle. You make a scene wherever you go, whether you want to or not. Half the society gossip blogs have stopped asking who you’re dating and only concern themselves with who you’re fucking.”

You could feel your cheeks burning hotter with every word. You didn’t want to have to say any of it and, honestly, it was making you feel awful, but you were starting to realise that he really didn’t understand how he was perceived. But, of course, he didn’t - he was rich and attractive, and while many people might want to write him off because of it, there were just as many who accepted and wanted that side of him.

It just seemed that this was the first time he was hearing a no that he couldn’t throw money at or change with his smart mouth.

“So, you’re saying I should settle down and clean up my act if I want to convince them to take me seriously and offer Anvil their security contract?”

You let slip an exhausted sigh, feeling like he was only hearing half of what you were saying to him. “I’m saying that it’s probably a waste of time to even try at this point. The other files I -”

“Thank you for your input, it’s been very informative,” he interrupted, not caring about the other files or potential clients now that he had VDK in his sights. “And, thank you for my lunch - I really do appreciate everything that you do for me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Quickly, you started towards the door, desperate to get out of there before he could ask your opinion on anything else. You held your breath all the way back to your desk, the burning in your lungs giving you the dreadful confirmation that all of that had really just happened and you weren’t having some bizarre, anxiety induced dream.

Fortunately, for the rest of the day, you were left alone. He had a couple of brief meetings in the afternoon that had him out of the office and, when he returned, he seemed too lost in thought to cause you any more awkwardness.

Bu, as you started to pull your coat on, getting ready to leave for the day, he all but burst out of his office like a man possessed. There was a nervous sort of energy about him that you hadn’t witnessed before, and it was more than enough to set you on edge.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Proposition? Your stomach automatically started to tie itself in knots at the word.

“What kind of proposition?” You asked cautiously, already sensing that nothing good was going to come from whatever he had to say.

“I want to take you out. On a date, just -”

“What? No - no, that’s not -” the words started to clumsily fall from your lips.

A weird panic quickly took hold of you and you couldn’t rightly say why. What had inspired it? What had suddenly changed? 

You didn’t want to be one of the women he dated, you didn’t want to be on his arm one minute and then kicked to the curb the next. What had you done to make him believe that you were worth that sort of treatment?

Not to mention the fact that it was entirely unprofessional and it would make it impossible for you to keep your job. A job that you happened to like.

“No-no-no, not like that,” he said quickly, almost sounding as panicked as you felt (and that didn’t exactly help you feel better). “Not like - I don’t mean for real.”

Oh.

Suddenly, your reaction seemed very silly and your panic was quickly replaced by confusion and an odd sense of numbness.

Of course Billy Russo didn’t want to take you - plain, boring you - on a real date.

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and shame at how easily you’d let yourself believe something so utterly ridiculous.

“Then -” you struggled to find your voice again, “- what are you suggesting?”

“To get the VDK contract I need to make the Van Der Koy’s see me differently -”

It was like being dropped into ice cold water. Though you doubted he was actively trying to insult you, you were insulted nonetheless. He wanted to use you to rehabilitate his image because, unlike the other women in his life, you wouldn’t turn heads or cause drama. You were just you, plain and safe, average and inoffensive. 

Inconsequential.

“You mean you want to lie to them? Pretend that you’ve settled down?” You asked (emphasis on the word settled) and shook your head. “I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.”

“I’ll pay you,” he added, almost managing to sound desperate. “Five hundred thousand for six months if Anvil gets the contract.”

Your jaw almost dropped and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds.

It was a lot of money, money that you really needed. It was almost enough to make you agree. Almost.

“Okay, just - let’s go back a couple of steps,” you said, still not sure what you felt about any of it. “You want to pay me to pretend to date you for six months just so you can win a contract?”

“Well, yeah, but it sounds sleazy when you say it like that.”

“Is there a way to explain it that doesn’t sound sleazy?”

Billy paused for a moment, clearly thinking about it. “You’re my PA, just think of it as assisting me out of office hours for overtime pay?”

That did make it sound better - not by much, and not enough to soothe your bruised ego.

“So, what? We’d pretend to date and if Anvil gets the contract we just break-up and go back to normal?” You asked, as you struggled in vain to wrap your head around the absurd idea.

“I’ll admit, there are a few things I’ve not entirely thought out, but if you -”

“No,” you said suddenly, coming to your decision. “I’m sorry Mr Russo, I can’t do that. I really don’t want to have to lie to that many people.”

He looked ready to argue, to try and convince you but that look quickly faded and he shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” he conceded. “It probably wouldn’t be enough anyway.”

Again, ouch.

“Right, well, if that’s all...” you trailed off, glancing longingly towards the elevator.

“Of course, sorry for keeping you.”

He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing into his office, closing the door behind him, and you didn’t waste any time heading to the elevator and getting out of the building as quickly as possible.

The next hour passed in something of a daze, stopping off to grab some groceries on the way home and having to listen to more loud and obnoxious finance-bros on the subway before you finally made it back to your apartment building.

Given the sort of day you were having, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that your mailbox was full of bills, but there was one in particular that caused your stomach to drop; a notice from Saint Martin’s Care Facility, informing you that their prices were going up. 

It was enough to have you reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring yourself a very large glass as you sat down and went over your finances, trying to find a way to afford your brother's care that didn’t involve having to leave your apartment for somewhere cheaper or move him to another care facility. It was the same thing year after year but, this year, the price hike seemed particularly egregious.

You spend hours going over bills, wondering if cancelling Netflix or downgrading your phone contract would help. But, of course, it wouldn’t.

Your brother’s care had been your responsibility since you turned eighteen and, little by little, you’d managed to scrape together enough to give him the life that he deserved in a place you knew that he would be well cared for. You wouldn’t let anything change that.

After your third glass of wine, you started to allow yourself to think about Mr Russo’s offer, wondering if it would really be so terrible - and, if it was terrible, would you be able to endure it long enough to get paid?

Could you really afford to turn him down when there was so much at stake?

The next day, you woke with a headache, but also with a resolute idea of what you needed to do (because it definitely was a need and not a want). Your day started the same as it always did; an uncomfortable subway ride, a stop off at The Bean Grinder, then up to Mr Russo’s office.

He was already sitting at his desk, the VDK file still on top of the stack. He barely even looked at you and you weren’t sure if it was because he was busy with something or because he felt the same level of awkwardness about yesterday as you did.

Placing his coffee down, you lingered, trying to find the words while your cheeks started to warm.

Finally, he seemed to notice you just standing there and turned his attention to you, frowning.

“Is there something you need?” He asked.

“I - I’ve reconsidered your offer,” you said, hating yourself for letting it come to this.

“Oh?”

You could tell that he wanted some sort of reason or explanation for your sudden change of heart, but you weren’t prepared to give it; your brother was none of his business. So, you simply nodded, telling him all he needed to know - that he didn’t need to know anything at all.

“That is, if the offer’s still on the table?” You added awkwardly.

“It is,” he said, his lips pulling into a wide grin. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Tonight? You want to start tonight?”

Fuck. What had you just gotten yourself into?

A/N : That doesn't count as a cliffhanger!!! 😅 I hope you all enjoy the slightly different starting dynamic between reader and Billy with this one, I wanted to have them on good professional terms to start with to make it a lot more fun later on. I've not got much else to say since all of this chapter is just set up for what's to come.

Also anyone that submitted a request for my 500 follower celebration, I'm still slowly working through them, I just had to take a couple of days to make sure this chapter was ready on time!

As always, thanks so much for reading! I should be updating this every fic every Friday around 730pm GMT.

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!

Tag list :

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[canmom]

Hello me from November. I don't entirely disagree with the ideas I expressed back then, but I do think I was neglecting the socially inflected process of consumption of art, where the viewer brings interpretations that may not be intended or considered by its creator, as a fairly integral part of the process. I still think art is basically about communication, but the noisiness of the channel in combination with a lot of feedback cycles is a feature, not a bug.

I would say that the significance of Impressionism to humans can't really be separated from its history - the context in which these works were made, what they were responding to, how audiences interacted with them. The context in which we make expressions is continuously evolving. A 'simple' utterance can have a lot of significance in context. For audiences in the 19th century, familiar with the conventions of academic painting, impressionism entered as a challenge to that paradigm, proving by example that another form of expression was possible in this medium. We can think of it like an utterance in a conversation - one whose participants come and go, listen in for a bit, and speak up when they're ready.

So, with the example of the calligrapher adjusting the line weight of characters - it may not require much sophisticated technique to adjust the line weight of characters. But the master in question apparently discovered that a certain technical move (fiddling the line weight) evoked a certain emotional effect. That is part of a feedback process - both the artist interacting with their medium and themselves, and then interacting with their audience.

If aliens came along and trained a neural network on human artworks, and then sent us the results of this process, assuming they paid attention to how we responded and didn't just spam up our networks, our response would also create a feedback loop. We might get bored of one type of the aliens' output and favour another, form personal relations to what it creates, etc. etc.. If the aliens have their own art, and we could perceive them, it could go both ways. It is similar to the process of two people from different cultures meeting each other and figuring out how to communicate. At first you start with just 'point at thing' and figure out basic vocabulary. You copy sounds made in the target language, gradually filling out their context so that they start to acqurie meaning.

The aliens may not really understand what emotional responses they are invoking, but in a way that's true of all art - as an artist I can't know exactly what people will think and feel when they encounter my creation, just try to infer it based on how they communicate back to me and extrapolation from my own experience. Perhaps as they got to know us better, the aliens would form a more sophisticated model of different things that humans respond to...

So I don't think it's ultimately corrosive for some categories of artwork to reproducible by surprisingly simple means. Any more than it is corrosive for it to be possible to photograph a painting really. Every form of meaning is contextual. And indeed, a lot of "expertise" in art is actually in finding effective ways to simplify and distil - the expression might seem simple but knowing which simple expression is appropriate to the situation and executing it cleanly is a trick.

As far as creating impressionism algorithmically - while diffusion models have been one way to generate novel 'this looks impressionist to me' art on the computer, there is a parallel strand that has been seeking to replicate 'painterly' visual styles through the more traditional type of computer art - that is, figuring out ways to generate that 'coarser brush work' and render it controllable by artists. The main purpose of this is to apply 'painterly' looks to computer animation and games, so computational efficiency is a major concern. Numerous techniques have evolved in this field, with slightly different nuances, slightly different characters of glitch, etc. etc. - in part because the problem is not perfectly posed, and we discover nuances as we try different approaches. Here's one that I find quite good:

Typically approaches start with a traditional rasterisation render, and then apply the painting as a post-processing effect, e.g. by layering up textured Bézier-curve arcs based on the contents pixel buffer. But if you do this, you need to figure out how to best handle the noise introduced by a moving camera and objects, to maintain some notion of 'coherence' frame to frame.

Another approach is to treat the brush strokes as 3D data in the scene, which artists can modify; this is the basis of a new tool recently added to Blender, developed through 'Project Gold':

Here there is a strong emphasis on artistic control; the strokes are generated algorithmically but the tools give humans an intuitive way to direct the strokes and adjust their properties. It is all about that feedback loop between the artist and their tools.

Another approach still involves painting onto an object-space normal map so objects catch light in a brushstroke-like way, and feeding that into a toon ramp.

All of these approaches have slightly different effects, dimensions that humans immersed in this field can become familiar with; then they can be chosen and applied in games and films etc., suiting whatever is being conveyed in that piece (from at least Ōkami onwards). Far from reducing painting to simplistic application of algorithm, we've opened up new avenues of expression, inspired by previous human expression, and our close study of the paintings that inspired these efforts in computer graphics leads us to appreciate the paintings' nuances in new ways. I think humans tend to inject complexity into everything we do; every effort to simplify tends to result in new complexity springing up, because we are terminally, delightfully restless creatures.

And also we still paint, because it's fun, because making paintings lets you relate to light and colour and shape differently - even if we don't attach so much prestige to creating new Impressionist-inspired paintings as we did when Impressionism first arrived on the scene. But fuck prestige tbh. Art is a game and a conversation.

Reasoning such, I am ultimately not too worried by AI fundamentally disrupting humans' respect for our own creations by revealing it to be a sham at heart - though of course its economic effects on the context in which artworks are made and distributed is another story.

Thinking about that that "slop accelerationism" post, and also Scott's AI art Turing test.

I also hope AI text- and image-generation will help shake us loose from cheap bad art. For example, the fact that you can now generate perfectly rendered anime girls at the click of button kindof suggests that there was never much content in those drawings. Though maybe we didn't really need AI for that insight? It feels very similar to that shift in fashion that rejected Bouguereau-style laboriously-rendered pretty girls in favor of more sketchy brush work.

But will we really be so lucky that only things that we already suspected was slop will prove valueless?

As usual with AI, Douglas Hofstadter already thought about this a long time ago, in an essay from 2001. Back in 1979 he had written

Will a computer program ever write beautiful music? Speculation: Yes, but not soon. Music is a language of emotions, and until programs have emotions as complex as ours, there is no way a program will write anything beautiful. There can be "forgeries"—shallow imitations of the syntax of earlier music—but despite what one might think at first, there is much more to musical expression than can be captured in syntactical rules. There will be no new kinds of beauty turned up for a long time by computer music-composing programs. Let me carry this thought a little further. To think—and I have heard this suggested—that we might soon be able to command a preprogrammed mass-produced mail-order twenty-dollar desk-model "music box" to bring forth from its sterile [sic!] circuitry pieces which Chopin or Bach might have written had they lived longer is a grotesque and shameful misestimation of the depth of the human spirit. A "program" which could produce music as they did would have to wander around the world on its own, fighting its way through the maze of life and feeling every moment of it. It would have to understand the joy and loneliness of a chilly night wind, the longing for a cherished hand, the inaccessibility of a distant town, the heartbreak and regeneration after a human death. It would have to have known resignation and world-weariness, grief and despair, determination and victory, piety and awe. In it would have had to commingle such opposites as hope and fear, anguish and jubilation, serenity and suspense. Part and parcel of it would have to be a sense of grace, humor, rhythm, a sense of the unexpected and of course an exquisite awareness of the magic of fresh creation. Therein, and therein only, lie the sources of meaning in music.

I think this is helpful in pinning down what we would have liked to be true. Because in 1995, somebody wrote a program that generates music by applying simple syntactic rules to combine patterns from existing pieces, and it sounded really good! (In fact, it passed a kind of AI turing test.) Oops!

The worry, then, is that we just found out that the computer has as complex emotions as us, and they aren't complex at all. It would be like adversarial examples for humans: the noise-like pattern added to the panda doesn't "represent" a gibbon, it's an artifact of the particular weights and topology of the image recognizer, and the resulting classification doesn't "mean" anything. Similarly, Arnulf Rainer wrote that when he reworked Wine-Crucifix, "the quality and truth of the picture only grew as it became darker and darker"—doesn't this sound a bit like gradient descent? Did he stumble on a pattern that triggers our "truth" detector, even though the pattern is merely a shallow stimulus made of copies of religious iconography that we imprinted on as kids?

One attempt to recover is to say Chopin really did write music based on the experience of fighting through the maze of life, and it's just that philistine consumers can't tell the difference between the real and the counterfeit. But this is not very helpful, it means that we were fooling ourselves, and the meaning that we imagined never existed.

More promising, maybe the program is a "plagiarism machine", which just copies the hard-won grief, despair, world-weariness &c that Chopin recorded? On it's own it's not impressive that a program can output an image indistinguishable from Gauguin's, I can write such a program in a single line:

print("https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gauguin,Paul-Still_Life_with_Profile_of_Laval-_Google_Art_Project.jpg")

I think this is the conclusion that Hofstadter leans towards: the value of Chopin and the other composers was to discover the "template" that can then be instantiated to make many beautiful music pieces. Kind of ironically, this seems to push us back to some very turn-of-the-20th-century notion of avant-garde art. Each particular painting that (say) Monet executed is of low value, and the actual valuable thing is the novel art style...

That view isn't falsified yet, but it feels precarious. You could have said that AlphaGo was merely a plagiarism machine that selected good moves from historical human games, except then AlphaGo Zero proved that the humans were superfluous after all. Surely a couple of years from now somebody might train an image model on a set of photographs and movies excluding paintings, and it might reinvent impressionism from first principles, and then where will we be? Better start prepare a fallback-philosophy now.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

What would a threesome with reader and 2003 Raph and Donny, or 2003 Leo and Donny look like? 👀

Doubt Entrance (18+)

2003!Raphael x reader x 2003!Donatello

A/N: I let the wheel decide, and it decided on 2003!Raphael and 2003!Donatello. I decided to keep it a little bit short, and focus more on how Raph and Donnie would share you together, along with how they would speak to you and each other. Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy❤️💜

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Doubt penetration, dirty talk.

“Good girl”, Raph groaned in your ear, as he slowly slid his member in through your rear end from behind, feeling you slowly make way for him, whimpering with face against Donnie’s thigh. “That’s it, babe. Relax that ass for me”.

“Fuck”, you moaned out loud, letting the nails of one of your hands dig into the skin of Donnie’s other thigh, while wrapping the other around Raph’s arm, that was wrapped around your neck, closing your eyes as you took in the feeling of Raph stretching you out. “You’re so big”.

Raph chuckled at your words, smoothing one hand over your love handle. “That’s right babe. Ya take my big cock so well. So, so well. Ya like taking big cocks?”

“Yes”, you whimpered, resting your cheek against Donnie’s thigh as you nodded your head, feeling Donnie’s hand smooth through your head, clearing your face for both of them to see. If you were to open your eyes at that moment, you would see Donnie’s member, standing hard and in all its glory, just waiting for its moment to be inside of you.

“You think you can take another one?”, Donnie asked, letting his fingers glide from your hair to your cheek, feeling your warm skin against his fingertips.

“Yes”, you said, still with your eyes closed, letting out a moan of relief as you felt relaxed against Raph’s still member, just waiting for you to relax further, before he would start moving.

“Then come here babe”, Raph said, moving his arms underneath you, pulling your back against his plastron, leaning back against the wall with your following. You tensed around Raph as you moved, causing him to hush you, as he made sure you were comfortable against him. He and Donnie encouraged you with sweet words, with Raph kissing and licking your neck, as his hand moved from your hips to your chest, massaging them with his strong hands, feeling you relax once again, causing Raph to nod to Donnie, letting him know that he could move forward.

“Spread your legs for me, babe”, Donnie said, grabbing onto your ankles, before slowly spreading them apart for you, exposing your most intimate area for him. Donnie could feel his member ache at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be buried deep within you.

“Hold your legs open for me”, Donnie said, watching as you moved your arms underneath your legs, holding them up and apart for him. “Look at your”, Donnie groaned as he moved between your legs, letting his hand slide over your thighs. “So wet. Is it because of us, (Y/N)?”

“Yes”, you nodded, sounding more and more desperate by the second. “It’s all because of you two”.

“What do you say, babe? Do you want Donnie to get inside of you?”, Raph asked, squishing your right breast a little harder.

“Yes!”, you yelped, jolting slightly in Raph’s arms, causing him to chuckle against you, resting his chin against your shoulder. “I want it!”

“Then I’m not going to keep you waiting”, Donnie said, grabbing a hold of his member, before guiding it towards your wet opening. Donnie gave himself a few mumps with his own hands, before rubbing the head of his member over your folds, gathering up as much of your slick as possible. He made sure to move his head over your clit, making both him and Raph chuckle at your sudden move, from the pleasure that shot through you.

“You play with her more than me”, Raph laughed, his fingers moving over your nipples.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it”, Donnie smirked, before finally pushing the head of his member into your desperate opening. This caused a loud moan to fall from your lips, as you let your head fall back onto Raph’s shoulder, with Donnie groaning as he slowly pushed himself further into you. You felt like you were filled to the brim, yet you loved it, only wishing for Raph and Donnie to continue what they were doing to you.

“Fucking hell, she feels amazing”, Donnie said, as he finally managed to push his hips against your, with his member buried deep with in you.

“She is amazing”, Raph said, letting one of his hands move down to his ass, in order to support you, as he slowly got ready to move in and out of you. “Now, let’s she how amazing she is while getting fucked by two dicks at once”.

[mysterialistic]

Review/Ramble on Yingdu and Overall Thoughts

Okay, first of all, I think the fandom needs to chill a bit, especially on Twitter/X, because some people are overdramatizing the criticism from others. Criticizing a piece of media doesn’t mean you hate it, nor does it mean it’s bad—it just means it didn’t fully meet your expectations, and you have a different opinion. It’s as simple as that. Of course, I believe criticism should always come from an objective standpoint, not just for the sake of complaining.

Having said, let’s start rambling!

Yingdu had an amazing start. Those first few minutes, transitioning from the basketball game straight into the scene of Cheng Xiaoshi’s death, were so well done. Overall, the first episode was fantastic—the perfect mix of drama and tension. It answered some of our lingering questions before bringing us back to the Season 1 format, where they tackled individual cases, only for it to all build up to the arc’s main conflict. I won’t go into every single episode since that would make this way too long, but I had to highlight episode 1 because it was my favorite.

There were several aspects of these episodes that I really enjoyed. Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang’s bond was portrayed so well—every little moment between them, every dialogue exchange—it perfectly showed why these two are so willing to risk their lives for each other. I looked forward to seeing their interactions every week, and I was never disappointed.

Xia Fei was also a great addition, and I’m glad they didn’t kill off his character like many people theorized, because he has so much potential. I really enjoyed his complexity—he’s a spy, but he has his own morals and values. He dislikes Liu Xiao, yet he has a close bond with Vein despite his odd personality. He’s clearly intelligent, and I think that will really shine in Season 3. He already seems to suspect something, and I have no doubt he’ll get to the bottom of it. Right now, he’s angry and confused about what happened to Vein, convinced that someone killed him. But how will he react if (or when) he finds out that Vein was the one who initially killed Cheng Xiaoshi—one of his other friends, and probably the only truly innocent one? And don’t even get me started on how he’ll react when he finds out that Lu Guang tried to kill Vein or that Vein is still alive. I’m excited to see where this goes.

That said, I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see much of Vein and Liu Xiao. We mostly just saw what we already knew—two shady guys with their own agenda, pretending to be friendly. As an introduction, it was fine, but considering how much attention the promotional material gave them, I really thought we’d see more. Still, I don’t have a huge issue with it since they’ll obviously play a bigger role in Season 3. Liu Xiao, Vein, Li Tianchen, and possibly Xia Fei—a group of unstable individuals as antagonists… well, good luck, Lu Guang!

Now, something that does bother me about Yingdu is the inconsistencies between its plot and what we’ve seen in Seasons 1 and 2. For me, this was the laziest part of the writing, because no, Link Click isn’t flawless. In fact, no piece of media is. But in Link Click’s case, some of the flaws were painfully obvious. With every episode that aired, I kept thinking, “okay, this has to be an alternate timeline”, because so many little details just didn’t fit with the main storyline. The most obvious one is how Cheng Xiaoshi awakened his powers—he did it on his own, yet in Season 1, it was shown that he didn’t know he could do this. That makes absolutely no sense unless he has selective amnesia, which is definitely not the case lol. As for the inconsistencies with his parents, that could at least be explained by the promise he made to his mother to “not get involved any further.” He clearly remembers that promise and is likely just keeping everything he learned a secret.

Speaking of parents… Damn, Cheng Xiaoshi’s parents are awful lmao. I hated how his father acted like he was the victim, justifying his actions with, “yes, I abandoned my child, but now I take care of other children to make up for my mistakes.” That’s just… bad parenting. I actually made a whole analysis about it in another post. And then there’s Cheng Xiaoshi’s mother. The way she dismissed her son’s feelings and abandonment issues with a casual “oh yeah, it was wrong of me not to say goodbye, but who cares? That’s in the past” felt so off. The entire scene with her was weird—the humor felt misplaced. I was expecting something more emotional, more dramatic—anything but this. But based on what I’ve seen, almost no one liked her, so if the creators were hoping we’d find her eccentricity endearing, this introduction definitely wasn’t the best. Since Season 1, we’ve been repeatedly shown how deeply this abandonment affected Cheng Xiaoshi, and this is the reunion we got? It was… underwhelming.

Now, something I really, really loved was how they handled Lu Guang in this arc. From start to finish, it was just so good—his reaction when he first saw Cheng Xiaoshi again, his nightmares and PTSD, the way he carefully planned everything to manipulate events and create change. But my absolute favorite part? How morally gray he is. He planned and actually succeeded in killing Vein, eliminating the threat (though he’s definitely going to freak out when he finds out Vein is still alive). That cold smile? The scene where his hands moved like he was pulling the strings of a puppet? The way he said, “I hope we’ll never see each other again”? PERFECT. I’ve always said I wanted Lu Guang’s motivations and actions to not be entirely good. He comes across as someone selfish, willing to sacrifice others if it means protecting the people he loves—because he has the power and the knowledge to do it, and he wants his happy ending. Such a good character, I swear.

Of course, I wasn’t expecting every single question to be answered in Yingdu—that would be ridiculous lol. But I’m satisfied that the plot is finally moving forward. They gave us a piece of the puzzle—Cheng Xiaoshi’s parents, the origin of his powers, the antagonists’ apparent goal (some sort of notebook?), and hints at what we can expect in Season 3. That said, my biggest fear is that Link Click will lose its essence—the powerful message from Season 1 about how they shouldn’t intervene in the natural flow of time, no matter how painful it is, because the past and future should be left alone. Based on what Lu Guang said about the butterfly effect, we can argue that time itself is like another character—a force that, no matter how much they try to change things, always corrects itself somehow, some way. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what kind of ending I want for Link Click, but right now, I just hope it makes sense, that it isn’t forced, and that it unfolds naturally.

And… that’s all I have to say for now.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to make a fic or writing longer how to add stuff without making it boring

Writing Ideas: Adding Details to your Story

Keep engaging the reader every few pages. Do not spend the first act introducing your characters. Let the reader discover your characters as they are catapulted into the concept. Let the reader learn their motivations and arcs as they are bombarded by the conflict that you are hopefully throwing them into from the get-go. Let there be a mystery to it. Why show your whole hand when you can keep a reader invested and engaged by slowly peeling away the layers of the character as they deal with the conflict and overall concept? Continue to build and build and build, whether it’s with the laughs, the drama, the screams, the mystery, the thrills, the action, etc. Offer as many twists and turns as you can. Lead that reader towards something, only to pull the rug out from underneath them just when they feel that they know where you’re going with it.

The HCM Plotting Method

List the Heart-Clutching Moments you’ve already thought of—you know, those pivotal points in your story that will evoke all the intensity of that “look behind you!” response in your readers.

Think of more.

Construct your story around them. Don’t focus on your loosely formed storyline. Focus on the key points in your story.

What Is an HCM? Some examples:

Love at first sight (Marius Pontmercy meets Cosette)

A huge moral lapse (Judas takes the money)

Murder (Miles Archer’s sets Sam Spade in motion)

Death by other means (Injun Joe starves to death in the cave)

A refusal of grace (Mayella Ewell sticks to her story in spite of taking the courtroom oath)

Nature gone wild (shark dines on first recreational swimmer)

Someone standing up to corruption (Shane picks up his gun again)

A change of heart, for good or ill (Michael Corleone offers to kill Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey)

An act of depraved violence (Bill Sykes cudgels Nancy)

Betrayal (Sandy puts a stop to her mentor Jean Brodie)

Forgiveness (Melanie insists Scarlett join her in the receiving line)

A revelation (Pip’s secret benefactor is none other than … !)

HCMs can be active, whole scenes. Some examples:

A lifesaving attempt

A chase

A battle

A seduction

A caper

Make a list of Heart-Clutching Moments and put them on index cards in rough order. Then you can build an outline based on any form you desire, be it classical drama, farce, or anything in between. If you get stuck, do any of the following:

Start writing one of your HCM scenes. Immediately the scene itself should prompt ideas, perhaps for new courses of action or even new characters.

Write deeper into an HCM scene you’ve written already. You’ll likely find yourself coming up with bridges between scenes—and thinking of more elements to enhance your story.

Look for places to add conflict, suffering, or frustration.

Example: Shakespeare wanted to take Macbeth from conquering hero to murderous traitor whose decapitation at the hands of one of his countrymen is the only possible, imaginable end.

How does he do it? Reread the play and you’ll realize that one HCM leads to the next, fast and furious: The witches’ stunning prophecies, Macbeth’s realization that he could be king, his wife’s corrupt ambition, one murder, two more murders, and more upon that, and prophesy again, and insanity, and suicide … all in the space of 98 pages!

Introduce a ticking clock. A ticking clock is an important element that ramps up pressure on your characters and piques your readers’ curiosity as to how your protagonist can possibly succeed. Set up big promises and obstacles early in a narrative and layer in a time crunch to make a character’s predicament seem dire.

Weave subplots into your narrative. Use subplots effectively to add variety and texture to your narrative and explore characters and backstory. When used well, subplots can artfully pose and answer key questions and flesh out characters.

Add dramatic irony. Dramatic irony is one of the many literary devices that can keep your reader engaged and increase the suspense. If a reader is aware of impending plot points that your characters are not, you can foreshadow plot twists and raise questions in your reader’s mind as to how your characters will deal with the trouble that lies ahead.

Invest in the details. Good writing generally contains sensory details and specific observations that remind readers of real life. A longer story can be much more powerful and less boring with detailed descriptions of the environment in which it takes place.

Open loops. This expands a bit on the idea of hooks and page-turning chapter endings, but the concept here is much broader. Basically the idea is to open boxes … and then take your sweet time in getting around to closing them. If you’re interested in a situation and the story cuts that situation off without resolving it, you’ll do that OH COME ON thing and then keep reading. You can’t rest until you close the loop. So if the story is well-told, you’ll just keep looking for that dropped loop … even if it takes chapters to pay off. It takes many chapters to find out what did happen, and your readers just keep blasting through them, cursing us all the while.

Relentless pacing. Take your time and meander when writing your book. What happens, happens, and try not to rush it. Characters talk and the reader learns plot points. On the contrary, let your readers keep asking, “What happens next?” The answer to that question needs to be exciting. Threatening. Maybe violent. Don't let your characters have much time to catch their breath, because the goal is to keep your readers breathless.

Learning from the Classics. Some Examples:

Armadale by Wilkie Collins, 1864 - Armadale was regarded by author T.S. Eliot as "the best of [his] romances" and includes Lydia Gwilt, a character considered as one of the most astonishing wicked female villains in literature. Drawing on scandalous newspaper headlines, Collins creates a story of confused identities, inherited curses, romantic rivalries, espionage, and murder – making for an action-packed 752 pages.

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo, translated by Norman Denny, 1862 - Adapted into one of the most successful musicals of all time, Les Misérables’ running time in London’s West End is an impressive 2 hours 50 minutes. But for a more immersive experience, try the original novel – a full 1,232 pages of injustice, heroism, and love in 19th-century France.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, 1846 - (1,240 pages) On the day of his wedding, Edmond Dantes, master mariner, is arrested in Marseille on trumped-up charges and spirited away to the cellars of the Chateau d'If, an impregnable sea fortress in which he is imprisoned indefinitely. Escaping from the chateau by a series of daring manoeuvres, he unearths a great treasure on the island of Monte Cristo, buried there by a former fellow prisoner who bequeaths to him the secret of its whereabouts. Thus armed with unimaginable wealth and embittered by his long imprisonment, he resolves to devote his life to tracking down and punishing those responsible.

Ulysses by James Joyce, 1922 - It is one thing to write a novel of 1,040 pages, but quite another to dedicate the entire page count to one single day. Ulysses follows characters Stephen Dedalus, Leopold Bloom and his wife Molly across a day in their lives in 1904 Dublin. Dedalus and Bloom, who are are unaware of each other, are trying to find a missing loved one: the former, his long-lost father, and Bloom, despite being childless, for a son.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, 1869 - (1,225 pages) At a glittering society party in St Petersburg in 1805, conversations are dominated by the prospect of war. Terror swiftly engulfs the country as Napoleon's army marches on Russia, and the lives of three young people are changed forever. The stories of quixotic Pierre, cynical Andrey and impetuous Natasha interweave with a huge cast, from aristocrats and peasants to soldiers and Napoleon himself. In War and Peace, Tolstoy entwines grand themes - conflict and love, birth and death, free will and faith - with unforgettable scenes of nineteenth-century Russia, to create a magnificent epic of human life in all its imperfection and grandeur.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ On Pacing

Here are some tips and ideas I found from different sources. Choose which ones you would like to incorporate in your story. Hope this helps with your writing!

[slasheru]

Whoaaaa that's right Act 2's Alpha/Early Access has a SEXY OFFICIAL RELEASE DATE! Come on down to bonertown (non-gender-specific) this Feburary 14th for Part 2 of America's Horniest Horror Movie University!

🔪 https://suiteddevil.itch.io/slasher-u-act-2 🔪

WHAT'S NEW IN ACT 2:

Main Quest: Continue solving the main murder mystery!

Dateables Storylines: Tons of reactive choices, scenarios, and quests abound as you continue each dateable's storyline! (Currently Implemented: Tate, Juno, Hex, Laila)

The Passage Of Time: Experience a whole gore-geous Fall world palette (and events!) when Football Season hits during Act 2!

Side Quests AND New Quests: Finally get around to managing and decorating that speakeasy - and more!

Pass Your Midterms with new major-specific questlines and bigger scenarios - like Paisleigh's timed Saw trap (with contextual differences based on who you're dating)!

Brand New Layered Outfit System & Wardrobe UI: Outfits are now layerable with separate parts - design your fit with tops, bottoms, jackets, facewear, and more!

Piercings and Tattoos: Enter the body mods shoppe for realistic piercings (get pierced and swap out jewelry!), or get a tattoo! Story events will trigger characters to possibly get tattoos, as well!

New (Huge) Zones: Explore a world beyond campus, from Juno's hometown of New Ontario, to the bustling cyberpunk town center Slasher U is nestled next to, to the elaborate Final Girl Ball at the mysterious Heatherington Mansion!

New Minigames: Explore the art of slushie-making, fight Mr. McGillicutty to the death, and more!

New Characters: Tons of new folks integrated reactively into the Slasher U campus ecosystem!

New Scenarios: Just like Sawyer's big party and Hex's Rapture blowout, there's tons of new adventures, inset scenarios, and puzzles with brand new mechanics within the world!

ROADMAP: COMING SOON IN THE NEXT FEW MONTHS

Sawyer Main Quest - just like in Act 1, since Sawyer is a later addition, his content's just a little bit behind! Expect the full Sawyer suite to be up in the next few months.

New Repeatable Scene Content: New text messages, hookup scenes, dorm scenes, and more!

More Common Chats: Topics for each dateable to talk about, now that Act 2 is underway!

More Customization: Empty holes in those UI slots in your Wardrobe window are waitin' to be filled!

ROADMAP: COMING IN THE NEAR-ISH FUTURE

Steam Version: Once the game's out of beta and as un-buggy as I'd like it, it's off to Steam!

Headless Horsemike Hookup: You'll notice the START of a Horsemike flirtationship in there already, but the full thing's yet to come! (This was a reach goal from the Crowdfundr!)

This is an ALPHA / EARLY ACCESS game, so there'll be some chunks missing, things will ALWAYS been changing and be added, and bugs will feature aplenty - but as Just One Guy (tm) I could always use your help hunting them down so I can fix 'em! If you were here for Act 1's launch, it'll be almost entirely like that! (Although with more people here. Hi, people!!)

Thank you SO SO SO MUCH for all your support, love, playthroughs, and absolutely unhinged fanart throughout these last two years! May your campus always be horny and your goblet always full (of blood, maybe), Student Disembody!!

xoxoxooxoxoxoox Professor Plutonium

[uselessmoonlight]

Stranger part 17

Reader is Telemachus' friend, and when he leaves for his "diplomatic mission" he asks her to watch over his mother. Later, once the king has returned, she stumbles upon an injured Poseidon.

Previous / series masterlist / character sheet / next

☆☆☆

Content specs: she/her pronouns used, afab reader, Platonic! Telemachus x reader, Epic!Poseidon x reader, possible OOC!Poseidon, Polites’ daughter! Reader, unrequited love, blood, fighting, nudity, illusion, possibly more?, trying to avoid using y/n, slowburn, suggestive themes.

☆☆☆

When she did not show her face the next day, the towns people thought she was tired from the festivities of the day before. When she did not show her face the day after, they decided she was likely ill. The day after that, Irene went to Ónoma’s home, a basket with necessities in hand, but her friend did not open the door.

Concerned, she approached the prince and enlisted his help in contacting their mutual friend, but to no avail. Ónoma was not in her house, nor had anyone seen her. Perikles was no where to be found, either. Irene had hoped to find the man and ask him about Ónoma, but now she feared that he might have taken her.

She was proven wrong when the next day her friend appeared for her duties at the temple, then disappeared again. The village started to feel the strain of her absence. They’d known she was a great help around town but had not realized just how much they relied on her.

The day after the ritual, Irene and Telemachus set out to find her. With the help of his mentor, Telemachus was able to track her down in the woods of the island. When the two confronted her, she was not as emaciated as they’d expected, just downcast. Neither had seen their friend in such a state before.

“What happened?” Irene asked softly. Ónoma had been in some sort of trance and had not heard their approach. She tensed at the unexpected company, but did not look up at them.

“Nothing.” Barely a whisper came from her.

“Nothing happened?” Telemachus retorted. “So you’re just hiding for the fun of it?” Irene wanted to interject, not agreeing with the prince’s anger. Her friend looked broken, fragile, she needed soft words, understanding, not this. But before she could say anything of it, the prince continued.

“My father was about to send out a search party, confront that man himself.” He spat the words, disdain for Perikles clear. “But it wasn’t even him, you just ran away, like a coward.”

“Man? He didn’t even tell you what happened, then?” Ónoma countered, looking up now, eyes blazing, but cheeks still tear streaked. “You come here to chastise me, yet you don’t know what happened.” She spat at her friend.

“Oh stop the dramatics.” Telemachus was angrier than she’d ever seen him, but there was no reason she could think of that could have angered him so. “You’re never this emotional, what makes this man so special.” Once again he spat the word, and something clicked.

“You’re jealous.” She stated, followed by a humourless laugh. “I’m more emotional than you’ve ever seen me, clearly in need of a friend, but instead you yell at me because you’re jealous?” Her voice turned venomous. “Was I ever really your friend? Or was it all because you liked me?”

She looked even more hurt now than when they’d found her. Telemachus paled, this was not what he’d wanted to happen, he’d thought she’d snap out of it at his words. Irene was scrambling to find a way to calm her friend.

“Perhaps it’s best if you leave us, prince Telemachus. You two should talk again once you’ve both calmed down a bit. This is not helping.” She decided on. The prince wanted to refuse, but the look on Irene’s face halted him. She was right, he would only make it worse.

☆☆☆

Irene and Ónoma had sat in silence for a long time. The former having moved to sit beside her friend on the ground, she’d worry about her dirty dress later, or perhaps she’d let Ónoma worry about it, as payback. Ónoma had moved her head to rest on Irene’s shoulder, silent tears dripping down her face.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Irene asked, softly.

“Always the peacekeeper, huh ‘rene?” Ónoma tried to joke, only to be met with a stern look. “I was a fool, that’s what happened.”

“I gathered as much.” Her friend joked.

“Oh so you’re allowed to make jokes, huh?” Ónoma replied, a soft smile growing on her face. “Fine, I’ll tell you everything. Promise you won’t judge?” Irene said nothing, but interlaced her pinky with Ónoma’s.

And so she went into a long explanation, telling her all that had happened between her and the man, and how she discovered that his name was not Perikles, how she now doubted everything he told her, everything he’d done, and everything he may have intended to do. “It’s why I left for the woods, he’s been knocking on my door all hours of the day, I just got so sick and tired of it that I left. It’s been surprisingly peaceful here, I even started practicing my archery skills again. Perhaps I’ll become a priestess, like my mother always expected. I wouldn’t have to deal with men anymore, or at least not like that.” She rambled.

“You’d have to work with Apollo, last I knew that was something you did not want to do.” Irene replied, emphasizing the not.

“I’ll manage, it’s better than this at least.” Ónoma countered, though in reality she realized the flaws in her plan. Irene smiled at her, recognizing the joking tone.

“Have you let him explain his side?” She asked.

“What is there to explain? He deceived me, then expected me to just welcome him back with open arms. He thinks I’m a fool, too, or he would not have expected that of me.” She said, dejectedly.

“Perhaps you should hear what he has to say, not now, but just, he’s still a God, alright. What if he gets mad at you for not hearing him out?” a hint of fear palpable in the girl’s voice. “With that said, I need to get back before dark or my mother will freak out, but just think about it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it, thank you, Irene. Don’t worry about me too much, will you?”

“With how much trouble you get into? How can I not?” She teased. “Bye Peach! Love you!” she yelled behind her as she walked away.

“She’s right, you know. You are pretty ballsy to deny a God like this.” A familiar voice sounded, the mischief surprisingly comforting. Ónoma smiled. Hermes.

Next.

☆☆☆

Taglist:

@apollos-dodgeball-target

@barrythestrawberry041

@doodle-with-rhy

@h0ne4bee

@isla-finke-blog

@keikeiluvyou

@suckerforblondies

@trashcannotbealive

[brightvelvet]

Does anyone else imagine scenarios where Sauron had been able to infiltrate Eregion successfully? I'm watching S1E8 of Rings of Power and it's all I can think about. Halbrand has always been a subdued character, wary and introverted, and yet his arrival in Celebrimbor's city spells a complete 180 in personality. He's not hiding anymore. His gait changes, his accent comes through more as his voice grows demanding, and he isn't waiting for others to come to him. He hunts Galadriel down twice to where she hides from him (however unintentionally), and their dynamic is new and unsettling. It's throwing Galadriel off too, which makes sense since we as viewers see from her persepective. All this to say, why reveal himself now, so close to the end?

What does he stand to gain from burning the "gifts" he had so generously given Galadriel? To ruin Halbrand's face, to leave her last memory of a friend who had seemingly understood her plight in ruins as he digs through her mind. Is he panicking and reacting to a situation he wasn't prepared for? Playing tough? When Galadriel confronts him, he doesn't back down. Even as her facial expression sinks into something devasted, he keeps pushing. The pieces of his facade have been rapidly falling for a while now so it can't have been a total surprise. If you consider him revealing the truth as an act of respect or care for Galadriel, it doesn't fit with the sheer disrespect he shows in using the memory of her brother. He knew he would be found out, I think he even knew it would be Galadriel given his subtle threat in the courtyard. And yet despite anticipating, he doesn't lift a finger to hide evidence or argue for himself. There's just so many possibilities for Sauron's motives and not enough screentime to narrow them down.

If, IF, Sauron had decide to hide a little longer, had decided to manipulate Celebrimbor into making the rings from the shadows, had asked permission to see documentation of his family history and tampered with the evidence, who would have stopped him? Sauron wanted to hurt her and I want to know why. A tactic to weaken her mind? It makes me wonder if there was any kind of genuine goodwill between the two or if was just a kind of fascinated recognition of vulnerability from his side. An ego boost and new servant. But still, no way he could have expected his mind games to work. I once again circle to the thought that maybe he panicked and made a shit argument.

My final thoughts are: I think emotion over logic was the root cause for Sauron's reveal and attack on Galadriel. Whether that emotion was impatience or fear, I have no idea. Had Sauron stayed undetected, I wonder how he would have approached converting Galadriel.

[sleepypanda01]

CB theories/thoughts part 5 (Did Prunella's mom actually buy the second key from the flea market?)

After overthinking a bit a thought occurred to me.

Was Goldie indeed the key that we saw at the flea market with Bronze? Was Prunella's mom the one who actually bought the other key? Where am I trying to get at, you may ask. Well, if we take a look at the second key and the key in the craft box of prunella's mom, doesn't the colour seem a bit different? (Or it is just me,I could have sworn they looked a bit different for a second, but it could be the lighting) The second key in the market looks greenish while Goldie looks light brownish when covered in dirt (if you look hard enough? lmao😭)

Also when we take a look at the back of Goldie we see that the dirt is not in the same places as in the key in the market. But what is more is that their keyrings also seem to have a different colour. The keyrings of the keys in the market are dark while the keyring of Goldie is of a lighter colour.

What is weird is that the seller says he doesn't remember who he sold it to, but Prunella's mom has a very unique style. You would think that a woman who dresses as if she came out of a fairy tale would be memorable enough. 

you're telling me he would not remember this woman?

Then when Chase wonders who bought the key we see a bunch of Shadow of people, you could think that it is not important and they are just shadows meant to depict unimportant characters that we will never see again, unless not really. Next to Chase's bubble of asking who bought the other key there is a shadow who kinda looks like one of Chase's friends. 

(It is more believable that the seller forgot who bought they key if it was this dude lol)

Maybe the answer to who bought the key was all along right in front of Chase (or well, behind him at that moment cause his back was turned lol). 

If Goldie and the key in the market are not the one and the same,how did Agatha acquire Goldie? Why is he in her possession? Well the same goes for the market guy, why did he have two keys? In previous parts I theorized about people being connected to Ex Libris but having no memory of it due to someone's involvement. They both seem to be unaware of what is the keys' true worth. Going back to my theory in part 4 where I mention that the old man is missing 4 keys, if we accept the theory of the market key not being Goldie for the sake of theorising, then market key is the fourth missing key. 

If that's true then here are the possible missing keys and their (possible) keyholders:

1) missing key: Bronze ,keyholder : Deacon 

2) missing key : Goldie, keyholder: Prunella

3) missing key: villain key,keyholder: Simon?

4) missing key: unknown identity but since it looks so much like Goldie the metal could be brass, and if we look at the paper with all the key symbols there's a crown near the sun and opposite of the apple which is Bronze’s symbol and he was found in the market with some other key, mind you.

 Deacon also mentioned some key roles when they were trying to figure out what key prunella had and he mentioned the ruler key. 

So if I had to guess which symbol the ruler key has I would say the crown because a crown defines rulers and the role has similarities to the hero whose symbol is close to it. And if I had to guess the keyholder, I would say Chase's friend whose name I am not sure is mentioned.

So to summarize, the missing keys are the following:

Bronze, the helper key

Goldie, the hero key

The villain Key

The ruler key

Bonus detail: in my previous post I said that Simon might have put up the reward poster but it could have been the other friend too since the posters started appearing a few days later after the flea market day. Besides, birds of the feather flock together and either of Chase’s friends could have the same idea as him and put up posters.

Honestly, out of all the theories I have come up with, this is the most insane one, but the keys at the market were turned around so we could not see their symbols and this could have been on purpose, so who knows?