#sorry for asking you to be a decent fucking human being toward me and treat me with respect

[ozymoron]

dude its always "be yourself" till youre trans and now suddenly oh i get to nitpick every little thing about you oh that gesture was very feminine made you look like a girl oh youre wearing a shirt thats cream coloured? seems a little feminine to me oh you paint your nails? so youre a girl after all like ???? youre giving me mixed messages here am i meant to be myself or am i meant to conform to your idea of what a man is in order to be accepted as one by you

[ravennaortiz]

Revenge

Summary: Little SOA/Mayans mashup. Angst, character death. Featuring OC Cori Lowman.

The silence in the house was deafening to Happy as he sat in his armchair across from his couch where his daughter Cori and two Mayans sat. What had started as a normal Sunday dinner for the two of them had turned into a deadly standoff. This situation right here was the direct result of being reckless in his early years as a killer for hire. Thinking he knew everything and was invincible that the past would never catch up with him. Happy was so lost in his own thoughts he almost didn't hear the roar of the motorcycle pull up. He closed his eyes as he heard the doorbell and the sound of Cori's strangled sob.

"Stay in here" ordered Angel to his younger brother EZ as he stood up to go and get the door. "Don't do anything stupid" he added before walking out of the room. The night was not going as planned and they couldn't afford a fuck up. Angel knew EZ was pissed at the trade the were making but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if they killed the girl. He believed no matter what a man did no woman in his life should have to pay for his sins. "You Juice?" he called through the door observing the other man through the door. He fit the description Happy had given and surprisingly had followed directions. "Yep" replied Juice as the door opened and he stepped in keeping his hands by his head as the tall Mayan shut the door.

"Sorry you got dragged into this mess. Your girl hasn't been hurt like Happy told you on the phone. My brother and I's beef is with her dad." stated Angel as he gestured with his gun for Juice to head to the living room. "Thanks I guess for being a decent human" replied Juice as they made there way to the living room. Angel sighed but bit his tongue on any response.

"Could we have a few moments to say goodbye" asked Happy quietly as he watched Juice make his way to Cori to comfort her. "No you-" started EZ his temper flaring before Angel cut him off. "Of course. We will wait in the hall give ya some privacy" replied Angel as he jerked his head at EZ to leave the room. "I really am sorry your daughter was here tonight. If we had known you had a kid we would have done some better surveillance" stated Angel before heading out. Happy nodded before he went over to join the other two on the couch.

"We should have just killed them. You really think she wont talk, wont get the SONS to track us down?" whispered EZ angrily as he shoved Angel. "You need to calm down little brother. Anger makes you make stupid decisions." snapped Angel as he pushed EZ into the wall and held him there. "That girl has nothing to do with the situation. She knows how the MC works and honestly I think if she decide she wanted revenge for what is to come tonight she will do it on her own." replied Angel after a moment once EZ had calmed some. "Just because someone is your enemy doesn't mean you have to treat them badly" he added.

*A few moments later*

Cori sat silently crying as Juice held her on the couch. Her dad had been walked out by the younger Mayan while the other stood in the doorway. Cori felt Juice tense as the Mayan came back towards them. "Relax, my word is good" stated the Mayan as he put his gun away and knelt in front of Cori. "I know this is hard to believe but I truly am sorry about this. You have my word your dads death will be quick and he will be buried properly. You also have my word you will be safe. If you ever need anything and cant get a hold of a SON you can call me and I'll make it happen" stated Angel as he handed a folded piece of paper to Cori before patting her knee and heading out of the house.

*Thanks for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!*

[fendixlexii]

A Thin Line Between Fame & A Genius: Chapter 2

(NOT MY GIF, BELONGS TO @chicastrology )

Faizah Alston. Better yet known as the Amorous Runway model. She's gorgeous, exquisite, magnificent, and much more. What happens when Faizah suddenly gets a stalker so viciously to the point that the FBI has to be involved in this case and someone catches her eye?

T/W: THIS STORY ALSO INVOLVES: Mature Themes, Smut (eventually), Mental Health, Stalking, Obsession, Violence, Abuse, Sensitive Content, Sexual Harassment/ Assualt, death, and drugs

I'D LIKE YOU TO BE WARNED, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

"AMOROUS! AMOROUS! AMOROUS! LOOK OVER HERE!"

"FAIZAH YOU LOOK STUNNING, WHO MADE THAT DRESS?"

"FAIZAH, TELL YOUR BODYGUARD TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY AND TURN TO THE OTHER SIDE!"

Sometimes, I wish the paparazzi would just do two things: stop harassing me and being rude to every person to get a glimpse of me to get a raise that's probably just worth two fucking dollars or treat people how they would want to be treated which is perhaps kind (if not, then they are just a sadist) and to treat me with proper respect. Unfortunately, that will never happen.

I turn to my bodyguard, James Wilson. He's been my bodyguard since I started modeling, and I love that man like he's my father. He has been there through my ups and downs, and I appreciate him for that.

"Frosty, I'm so sorry, the villains are being extra rude today," I said to him with remorse.

I call him Frosty because-

"It is okay, Faizah, these no-brainer having fucks don't have anything to do with their lives instead of pestering celebrities like yourself." He mumbles with no emotion on his face.

See what I mean?

I turn to the paparazzi, "I'm sorry, everyone, that will be enough pictures today, I have to go inside because I have to prepare for the show, but for the feature preferences, do NOT yell at me, my bodyguard, and my team again. You do NOT have to be rude to me and them; it's called being decent human beings." I said, trying to hold my composure

I turn towards my bodyguard.

"Let's go, Frosty; we can start heading into the building," I said as we started walking into the building.

As we walked into the building, I saw many people working, especially the police. Just the thought about why they are here sends shivers through my body. I approach the other models, standing around the show producer and backstage manager. As I proceed to do so, I hear whispers about my presence being here at the show and the latest gossip about my 'stalker.' What a pain.

"My dear Amorous! My light and my perfect fire that never goes out when you're on the runway. How are you, my darling?" The show producer asks me as he pushes everyone out of the way to get to me.

"I'm perfectly fine and extraordinary, thank you for allowing me to grace you to make your show, thee show that that'll never forget," I said with confidence.

"No, thank you, Amorous, for gracing ALL OF US with your presence."

"No, thank everyone, including the workers and the other models," I said with a smile.

Although I am the most popular runway model, I am very humble because it's either be humble or someone or something is going to humble you very quickly. Not only that, it took a while for me to get my popular status, meaning I had to start from the bottom to get to the top.

"I thank EVERYONE for being able to come here so we can have one of the best shows in New York! Now everyone takes a ten-minute break, then take your places so we can do what we need to do with no problems. MY LOVELY LOVELY MODELS! After your ten-minute break, start getting your gorgeous, beautiful selves ready." He said

"yes!" everyone says

I go towards James, standing at the beverages and snacks table. I almost giggled when I saw one of the models trying to flirt with him relentlessly, but he was not paying her any mind. He is married, after all.

"James, I need you to escort me to my dressing room, and can you grab me a water bottle?" I asked him politely.

"Yes, Ms. Alston," he says while getting my water and a couple of snacks for himself.

We began to walk towards my dressing room in silence. Normally, we hold conversations, but this stalker has me on edge, and on top of that, I just know what the other models are thinking, but what if they are right? I can't allow this stalker or myself to fuck this show-up, anything but that.

"Faizah, I know you are panicking, and it is completely normal to do so. You know that you are gonna knock em dead when you walk on this runway. You didn't hire me for anything; I can't say, don't let this stalker knock you off your game because if I was you, i’ll be scared shitless, but this is what im here for. As long as im alive and here, I won't let anything happen to you." He says, causing me to break my chain of thought.

"But James, what if the stalker does something while im on the runway? What if they do something to the point I have to retire-

"That's nothing going to happen to you, not while im here say it." James cuts me off

"T-There nothing going to happen to me while you're here," I said nervously.

"Now, I will stand outside your dressing room and eat these snacks while you prepare for the show. Knock 'em dead, Faizah." He tells me while opening the door to my dressing room.

"I will, thank you, Frosty," I said, smiling at him and walking in.

When I finally closed the door, I was automatically greeted by the familiar faces of Evelyn and Sophia Haze, the twins of the runway and, as I like to call them, the queens of divorce. The reason for this nickname is because the men that they'll sleep with want to always divorce their wives to get with them. Other people can't stand them, and frankly, I can't either, but it's not because of their sex life no, I will never shame a woman for how many sex partners she has simply because they are just enjoying basking in pleasure when we get called all kinds of bitches and whores while a man could sleep with thousands and thousands of women and gets praised for it.

Another reason why I hate the way how our world works.

I simply cannot stand them because I believe that they are two-faced, and I believe that they told my business to Scarlet Cree.

"Oh my goodness, Faizah, how are you doing? I’m surprised that you are even here." Sophia says while walking to her side of the room

"Like really so bravee,” Evelyn slurs out

She's high, and everyone knows it because of her cocaine addiction. It's personally sad seeing her like this because she honestly has potential on the runway. I tried to offer her help once, but her sister accused me of trying to sabotage her, although I wasn't, I guess that's what I get for being in people's business.

I take a sit at the vanity to turn on the light, seeing my face clearly so I can start my makeup process. "I'm doing fine. Thank you guys for checking up on me, but I'm not going to let something or someone stop my success."

Sophia took a small baggie out of her bag and started to line up. " Honestly, you are so brave for doing that. I could never show my face again!" she exclaims while she snorts the drugs up her nose.

"Well, thank goodness you aren't me because if you were in my shoes, your career as a model would've been over in a snap of my fingers." putting my primer on.

As I suddenly felt eyes burning the back of my head, "What was that? Are you disrespecting me?" Sophia says

Putting my foundation on my face, not about to break a sweat about what I'm about to say, "I'm not disrespecting you; I'm just telling you what would happen if you were in my shoes. You couldn't even fit your feet in my damn shoes, little girl, because they are simply too big for you to even fill. You wouldn't last a day if you were me. By the way, you might wanna stop snorting those drugs in your nose; you're getting sloppy on the runway."

Evelyn gasped as she heard me say that to her sister. "She told you off, Sophia."

"Shut up, Evelyn!" Sophia says.

"Now, let's just cut the small talk so we can get ready," I said as Sophia and Evelyn started doing their makeup.

I just want this show over with already.

"OKAY! PLACES, PLACES, PLACES, EVERYONE TAKE YOUR PLACES, THE SHOW IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" the backstage manager says while clapping his hands.

As I began to walk with the other models, I couldn't help but look at the midnight blue gown that featured an engraved wave-like pattern in crepe fabric that sculpted my waist and fitted my waist perfectly. Luckily, it was made by Tony Ward, one of my favorite fashion designers. I love that man's work.

"My dear Amorous, are you ready, dear?" The show producer asks me

No

I turned to the show producer, "Of course, I am always ready."

"Let's go, everyone it's time!" I heard, so I made sure that I looked beautifully for the runway, and just in case I didn't have an accident on the runway, I jumped three times in heels.

Now I am ready.

I began to be first walking down the runway, clutching the bottom of my gown between my hands as I looked at the bright lights the cameras provided me with. Getting to the middle of the runway, I stop and let go of my hands, letting the gown fall gracefully, making sure everyone sees the gown that covers my gorgeous body. As I finally made it to the end, I made a turn, picked up the bottom of my gown, and started running like a runaway bride. 

As I turned at the end of the runway, the crowd erupted into applause, but I barely heard them. My heart was pounding, not from nerves but from the thrill of commanding all eyes in the room. I glanced over my shoulder as I blew a kiss, a playful wink to everyone watching—a reminder that this stage was mine.

Backstage, the energy was electric. Models whispered last-minute encouragements, stylists dashed around with brushes and pins, and someone shouted to bring more hairspray. I sank into the chair, letting the stylist's gentle hands work magic on my hair.

"You're a star out there, Ms. Alston," the stylist murmured shyly.

I smiled, catching my reflection in the mirror—a woman owning her moment. "You're part of the magic. Remember that." For a second, their fingers stilled, and they nodded, a flicker of pride lighting their face. This was more than a runway—it was a shared dream.

As the backstage buzz faded into the distance, I finally slipped into the sleek black car waiting just outside the venue. The city was alive with energy, neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked streets, but the silence inside the vehicle felt like a sanctuary to me. As James sat beside me, his eyes scanned their surroundings with vigilance.

"Great show tonight," James said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was a hint of admiration in his tone.

"Thanks, James," I replied, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she sank back into the plush seat. I glanced out the window, watching as the chaos of the city whirled past. My mind replayed the evening's moments—the glowing runway, the applause, the stylist's kind words. It felt surreal, but as the car pulled closer to my apartment, a calm determination settled over me, making me forget all of my problems at the moment.

As we began to come up, that 'calm determination' feeling suddenly went away as I felt like something was about to go wrong. 

"Hey Frosty, how's your wife? I miss her so much, and I miss her cooking." I said to him

It was silent for a few seconds until he finally spoke, "She's good on some days if she doesn't have morning sickness, we're expecting."

I turn to him in shock. " Oh my God, James, congratulations!" I said as I hugged him.

"Thank you, Faizah," he murmured, returning my hug.

"Well, go back to your wife, I don't want to keep you away from her long. Oh! Also, tell her I say congratulations as well. I'm so happy for you guys." putting my key in the lock so I can open the door.

God, I'm so happy to be home. 

I just wish I could've turned back around because, in a moment, I was eating my own words.

As I opened the door to my apartment, all I saw was my stuff being destroyed and damaged. Vases were shattered, books were torn into little pieces, and my furniture was ripped and destroyed beyond repair.

"Faizah, get behind me now!" James yelled as he pulled me behind him, taking out his gun and making sure that no one was there. As we walked back toward the door, I saw another letter beside another dead cat. 

"Faizah, come on, we got to go!" James yelled at me as I grabbed the letter to read it. Then I opened it.

"Hello, my beloved, you looked so beautiful on the runway that no one would ever compete against your beauty. Not only are you beautiful on the outside, but you are also beautiful in the inside. I wish I could be inside of you, but not yet, time is patience. Also, I heard what Sophia said to you, that little bitch is always trying to cause you trouble, but when you put her back in her place, you just don't know what that done to me. God, I love you so much that the devil couldn't even punish me well because not being near you is hell enough. But don't worry, Beloved, we will be together soon." 

I froze while clutching the letter in my hands, reading it was too disturbing to the point it physically made me sick. "J-James," I tried to speak, but the words weren't leaving my mouth until James pulled me closer to her.

"It's going to be okay, breathe in and breathe out for me," he told me while gently rubbing my back as I took deep breaths. When I finally got control over my breathing, I finally spoke, "Call Alex and tell him to get me on the first flight to Quantico, NOW!"

A/N: this is the longest chapter that I have EVER typed but forgive me for not adding the tigger warnings for the first chapter, I will make a separate post for that so people will be aware about it in the future so please forgive me. But I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter! Happy reading and MERRY CHRISTMAS!

*I DON’T GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANYONE TO TRANSLATE/ REPOST MY WORK!*

[bohemian-nights]

I can't believe I saw a Tumblr post DEFENDING Rhaenyra for pursuing and wanting to sleep with Daemon at Laena's funeral, they basically said it was because she was a victim of his grooming (which is true she was groomed by him) and she couldn't help herself which is.... Rhaenyra is a grown ass woman, the heir to the iron throne, and is expected to take over and rule once her father passes she knew exactly what she was doing, in the scene with Laena she wasn't a victim she genuinely did not give a fuck about Laena's death or even Harwin for that matter and got with Daemon, now you can say that yeah, Daemon had Rhaenyra believe that they were "soul mates" and that they were meant to be but that is no excuse for her to jump on him the moment his wife's casket hits the bottom on the ocean, and this isn't taking blame of Daemon but.... it's Daemon, expecting Daemon to be a decent human being is almost impossible to hope for. He's the rogue prince who hosted a celebration after his sister-in-law/cousin and nephew's death, who murdered his wife and neglected his own children. And here you have Rhaenyra, who the show tries but fails to put on this progressive feminist pedestal. Rhaenyra is the equivalent of those women who don't care for equality and instead want to power and privilege men all to herself so she can hold power over others, there's no defence for why Rhaenyra chooses YES chooses to sleep with Daemon the night of Laena's funeral, she did it cause she could care less about Laena and because she wanted to, she didn't need to rush to get with Daemon but she did it anyways because SHE DID NOT CARE ABOUT LAENA AND ONLY CARES ABOUT WHAT SHE WANTS! Sorry for the lengthy rant, but seeing how far people will go to defend Rhaenyra's actions and try to infantilze her in order to justify her actions piss me off and it's only going to get worst when Nettles steps onto the scene. They're already finding bullshit excuses to justify her degradation towards Nettles, which means it's just going to get worse. Laena's Character (and people need to shut the hell up about the books and stop using that as a pathetic excuse) did not deserve to be treated that way, Rhaenyra never liked her, she was all to happy to see 12 year old Laena married off the Viserys, she was glaring daggers at her while she danced with Daemon during the wedding feast and of course she could care less seeing Laena's casket dropped to the bottom on the ocean once that means she can get a chance to get with Daemon.

It's very weird. They know that it makes Rhaenyra look pathetic chasing after Daemon(who should’ve told her to f*ck off, but he seems to love the throne/Viserys more than anything so Rhaenyra was an easy way in) when his wife just died, asking him if he was happy with Laena, and begging him to marry her(if a man loves you, you don’t have to beg him for anything) so they come up with a million and one excuses to justify her behavior.

I’ve even seen them try to say that Laena was the one originally in the wrong cause she “stole” Daemon away from Rhaenyra so Rhaenyra was well within her right to go after and reclaim “her man”🫠 (Receipts because I know people will say I’m lying):

You are right that since Rhaenyra’s wedding, she’s behaved like a jealous cow towards Laena. There is no justification for that considering Daemon could’ve told Laena to f*ck off if he was actually in love with Rhaenyra, but nope. The wedding descends into chaos, Rhaenyra could be trampled, but where is Daemon? Off with Laena. Keep in mind that this is after her a** asks him to take her away and marry her(yes Missy Anne asked him twice🤣) which he doesn’t do, but you know who he does marry instead? Laena didn’t have to beg him to do it(their marriage was f*cked up but she never begged him to be with her. Home boy “chose” her 🤷🏽‍♀️).

Oh god, it’s no wonder why they still are obsessed with Laena 🤣 Imagine being “irrelevant” and having your story f*cked over because of racism, but you still have people mad and jealous of you for existing and making their fave “look bad.”

This is why I laugh when people claim that Dumbnyra has been portrayed as “soulmates” on the show. Like we clearly aren’t watching the same show. Rhaenyra is obsessed with Daemon, but his a** only sees her as a tool.

I’m getting a little distracted myself, but let’s keep in mind that these people justifying a grown a** Rhaenyra, being of sound mind and body, throwing herself at a freshly widowed man are the same ones throwing a hissy fit at Nettles being with Daemon.

If we use their logic, Daemon and Nettles love each other so even if Daemon cheats on Rhaenyra(i.e. unlike in the books they don’t have an open marriage) it should be all good because they can’t help it 🤷🏽‍♀️ They love one another, Daemon would die for Netty, and you just can’t keep a love like that apart. Nettles doesn’t owe Rhaenyra anything (including respect) just like Rhaenyra didn’t owe Laena anything. So it’s fine that Daemon left Rhaenyra’s a** to become dragon food😊 Rhaenyra shouldn’t be mad because it’s love. Right. Right🙃

[charlesdesvoeux]

💙 and 💔 for the ask game????

💙: Which character is not as hot as everyone else seems to think?

jfj and gore sorry

💔: If you had to remove one major character from the series, who would you choose?

jesus christ that's hard. i mean sir john bugs the hell out of me but without his presence in the beginning the whole thing falls apart. taking "major character" to mean ones who are listed in the opening credits- everyone else is secondary or tertiary even if they are fully-realized beings with character arcs- i guess i'm giving goodsir the boot. not that i don't love him, i do, but i guess it would be interesting to see what would have happened if we didn't have him there. there's of course the fact that he's the one who realizes that they're going through lead-poisoning- what happens if we take him out, will any of the other doctors figure it out? and more importantly- goodsir tries to be a "moral imperialist", insisting both that "englishmen are good" and that they treat the inuit with basic human decency, and then finds it impossible to reconcile the harm inherent in their mission (both to themselves and to the inuit they come across and to the land) to this notion of treating the indigenous population of the region with dignity. what if there was no one there who tried so overtly to do that? there are a couple characters that are not totally terrible towards the inuit, but none who are so actively trying to be *good* as harry is (even if he fails bc. well. there's no fucking good imperialism. and he is indeed very limited by being a man of his own time and place much as some of his attitudes endear him to a 21st century audience). honestly i think it might have been too miserable for us the audience so i understand why they chose to have goodsir try so hard to be *decent* but i also think it would have been interesting if we didn't have this very sympathetic guy to align ourselves with.

[supersonicob]

I really want to know what I did that was so bad that I was cursed in this lifetime. Seriously....I mean my overall day to day life isn't to bad, but what I'm referring to is PEOPLE. If I lived on a remote island with 3-5 other individuals who have empathy like myself and the rest of the island was just animals and crops my overall life would be good I believe. But here in the states being surrounded by thousands of mindless zombiefied drones with no mind of their own, who look to one another and play follow the fucking leader, people with no unique individuality or creative thinking on their own, I've noticed that people can't leave their homes without the new hip trendy accessory known as self absorbed evilness. I'm being serious here. Everyone I've met from the age of 18 to present day have been so fucking evil towards me. So manipulative and abusive. From my own family members to people I've met in the streets, clubs, grocery stores, etc etc. And I've tried the whole "treat others as you want to be treated" crap and that doesn't work. Because that's all I've done and you wanna know what I've gotten back? Mind numbing mind fucking manipulative narcissists! Thats all I've experienced. I've shelled out well over hundreds of thousands of dollars to just 1 PERSON alone. And I got back NOTHING. Regardless of how patient I was. I kept telling myself to "be patient", and "you don't know what he's really thinking about you so don't assume anything and just chill" (only because of the things he would say that would imply he was actually interested) only to finally come to the realization after 9 long years it was all a manipulation tactic to keep me complacent. When I explained everything and I asked for a simple apology. He said I wasn't getting one. So that lame ass wack ass advice about treat others how you want to be treated is straight bullshit and useless when 90% of the population is evil selfish spit fucks. The other thing is I'm single but I don't want to be deep down inside. I stay to myself because of my past experiences and not wanting to go through the bull crap anymore. BUT deep down I know good and well I yearn for companionship, and a long term relationship with a great man who fears the most high God, who can watch horror movies with me, who can play video games with me, and who loves to try new foods/cuisine. A great dude who likes to be outdoors with me whenever I actually want to leave the house. That's all I ever frickin ask for. And you mean to tell me I can't even get that? You mean to tell me everyone here is a self absorbed asshole? Everyone here has the same damn mindset of "oh I'm sorry B but I'm STILL not emotionally available, or mentally ready for a relationship or to start a family"??? Do I have that right? And the good ones of course are either already taken OR so damaged by past ex's like myself that they literally turn into a hermit crab and don't want to have anything to do with a relationship. I put this on my fathers grave! I may not be as flashy and standout-ish and bold, and attention seeking as I was back in my 20s, BUT I still low-key will periodically speak to a man when he is speaking to me. I don't act like a bitch and turn him away right off rip. Depending on the vibe I will and have gone as far as to exchange the digits. Whereas the so called men who are so traumatized by 1 or 2 experiences COMPLETELY shut the hell down. Its so pathetic 🙄 😑 but my overall luck with people has been so awful I feel like ill NEVER find a decent human being to connect with BEFORE the most high God returns for us. Hell the real-estate market has crashed already, and once everything falls in line like dominoes and crashes too just like prophecy states thats when all hell will break loose. So frankly we don't have much time left here on "earth realm". And the only types of people that have shown me any level of attention and talks to me about long term relationship is the wrong types. Thats why I feel like I'm cursed with people.

[sainz-leclerc]

BABE one where some other driver treated the reader wrong so max just makes a scene showing everyone how good he is to her and how she melts on him 😭

I'm writing this about Nikita Mazepin cause I fucking HATE Nikita Mazepin .

Fast walking around the paddock , you try and get to the red bull hospitality as soon as possible. Max forgot something in the car and you offered to go and grab it before he had to get in the car for fp1.

There was still about an hour until he had to get ready but you still wanted to get to him as fast as possible as to not waist anytime you have with him.

Being in such a rush , you accidentally walk into someone , both of you slightly loosing balance but neither of you actually falling.

''I am so sorry. I was in a rush and I wasn't looking . I-'' but you were cut off by the funny looking man you just bumped into.

'' Yeah you weren't. God , are you blind or just plain stupid ?'' He snapped at you making a few people look towards you but no one said anything.

''I-um. I-''

''Oh , so you're just incompetent. Got it''

Tears sprung to your eyes but before you could say anything else two strong arms wrapped around you , pulling you into a firm chest.

''There's my beau- Whoa , what's wrong sweets ?'' Max asked concerned once he saw the tears in your eyes.

The blond man you made contact with scoffed ''Don't worry Max. This stupid chick just walked into me. I'm fine'' he said it like the question was directed at him.

''Hey ! Watch how you talk to my girl- Ah , Nikita'' the dutch man cut himself off when he saw just who you walked into. No wonder you were close to tear , he knew just how cruel the former driver could be.

He kissed your forehead , whispering to you to go into his drivers room .Turning towards the jerk , he spoke '' It's good to see you Mazepin. At least now I know no one would smashed into a wall''

Nikita was about to object but Max cut him off ''Next time you come close to my girlfriend , treat her with respect''

''But-''

''Even IF she's the one who walked into you , I'm sure she apologised. Unlike you she's an incredible person and a decent human being. Enjoy the race Mazepin'' Max spat , patting Nikita a tad too hard on the back before making his way over to his drivers room.

Entering the room , his heart broke when he saw your teary eyes. You were clearly trying to hold back tears , knowing Max didn't like it when he saw you cry but you could barely take it anymore.

The moment the dutch man's arms were wrapped around you , you broke down. You tears stained his t-shirt but he said nothing.

He just held you close , caressing the back of your head. Placing a kiss to your forehead , he pulled your head back to look at your face.

His thumbs wiped the tears from your rosy cheeks before he gently spoke ''Don't cry princess , that joke of a ma doesn't deserve your precious tears'' he smiled at you.

Wiping another tear from your cheek , you smiled at him. Max kissed your lips ''I should go run that jerk over with my car for making my pretty little girl cry''

Giggling , you kissed him ''I love you Max''

''Love you too sweets''

[jackrrabbit]

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

[gummy-friend]

23, 45, and 50 with piglin hybrid Techno and tiny avian hybrid Phil? ‘v‘ you don’t gotta do all or any of these! ALSO I WANNA SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR WRING SM ❤️💕💖💕❤️

Thank you so much, I'm happy you like my writings!!!! :DD

So sorry for the late answer, but know that I appreciate your ask so much

———

• "You're going to be okay, I promise"

• "Shhh, just sleep, you're safe"

• "No one is going to hurt you again"

Piglin hybrid Techno and Tiny avian hybrid Phil

Content warning: Calling a person as "It" and language

——————

A gunfire shot echoed.

"There it is!" A shout echoed, a man pointing towards high trees. A dark green shadow— No, not leaves— floating limpingly amongst the brown of the branches and trunks.

"Is there a net?!" another shout. Another man. Panting as they chase the tiny flying figure.

"The last net has been fired two shots ago!" the first one called out

"Fuck— It's a hybrid tiny, too" A huff, a big one. Two people in arms finally stopping, holding their knees in exhaustion. "Damn it, that'll sell so well"

They stopped.

But not the tiny, though.

The occasional sharp small branch sticking out, the leaves that's positioned unfortunately fit for a papercut, and the eventual large branch finally hitting the golden haired avian hybrid tiny in his head. The injuries came together, the no-longer-shiny black wings finally gave up, and the flying figure of a tiny avian hybrid fell down. Now stopping after the hunters has stopped.

ｏｏｏ

Being a piglin hybrid has its perks, Techno thinks. The piglin on the nether wouldn't go exactly after you unprovoked, you can still live in the cold (not advised, by the way, it sucks in the cold), and you can adapt to the overworld just fine— well, excluding the townspeople avoiding you, at least.

Of course, the good also comes with the bad. The piglin back at home absolutely despises you(because you look 'too human' or whatever), the nether temperature eventually became absolutely unbearable, and..

"Oooh, gold" The lingering feeling of attraction to gold. Except this time, it's not gold.

But a golden-haired tiny.

Listen, Techno's not heartless, there's no way he'll abandon another living being in help, no matter how awkward it may be— imagine waking up to a giant piglin hybrid, if that isn't awkward Techno doesn't know what it is (No, it's absolutely not fear, what do you mean) — So Techno took the tiny in.

After leaving the nether dimension, Techno tried living in a tundra biome. But it didn't work for him— he's not used to the cold— So he tried to live in the forest. It's a decent place, he figured out he can grow crops for a living— trading is also a steady source of income in the overworld. But getting back on the topic— Techno lives in a cabin in the woods, and is currently carrying a tiny home. It's a questionable situation, but hey, it's the thought that counts right? (or however the overworld saying goes)

Techno inspected the unconscious tiny— He's still breathing, fortunately. Techno doesn't know how to feel if he picked up a tiny corpse— Several cuts are visible on the tiny's skin. It doesn't look that bad— excluding the large cut on his side and the practically broken right wing— M-hm, not that bad.

Step one, Washing your hands before cleaning the injury. It's a fairly-large wound for someone so small, and fortunately, the wound has stopped bleeding, so Techno shouldn't worry about that.

Next step, applying antibiotic. Techno's certain he has a bottle of antibiotics— yeah, he has one— an almost brand-new bottle of antibiotics, he's glad he bought one yesterday.

As soon as the antibiotic made contact with the tiny's wounds, though, the tiny shot up with a hiss of "Fuck—!"

。。。

Phil woke up when Techno was washing his hands.

He had heard a stream of water and several footsteps— he thought he fell unconscious near a river. It doesn't matter, he can get up later, he's too hurt for getting up.

Until the stinging pain emerged from his side.

"Fuck-!" Phil cried out, moving away from the supposed source of pain

That fumkign hurts. Phil doesn't know what happened, it may be a bee— but bees doesn't attack unprovoked, then, what?

With each second passing Phil's head pounded even more, forcing him to focus and unfocus on his surroundings. A Wooden floor— Polished wooden floor, not the usual tree bark footing he occasionally sees— Unfamiliar surroundings— No trees or the usual greens he sees everyday, no, it's a human furniture surroundings.

As if his mind is saving the worst for last, Phil's vision finally focuses on the giant figure in front of him. The figure of a giant piglin hybrid.

Instantly, Philza's mind clicked. Human— no— hybrid furniture surroundings, him being unconscious, the stinging pain on his sides— Fuck— The piglin was going to eat him.

"Fuck no—" Phil breathed out, scooting backwards. Unfortunately, it's futile, as he quickly reached the edge of the wooden table. Phil looked at the drop, and fumk, it's a fucking high drop— his- his wings are broken

"Uh—" The piglin hybrid called out. Phil's head turned to look at him— head still pounding too hard to focus on the piglin hybrid's expression. "You're... you're hurt." The piglin hybrid gave Phil a sad excuse of an explanation. No shit, sherlock.

"S-so?" Phil glared, trying so hard to not fall off the table— or should he? Is one wing enough to shield his fall..?

"I'm... I'm trying to treat your wounds..?" the piglin hybrid said. Another look from Phil and he saw a white bottle of whatever— it's suspicious "Look, I found you unconscious on the forest floor, I'm just trying to heal you"

Phil is not listening to the guy, still scanning the things on the giant piglin hybrid's hands. A white suspicious bottle, a clump of cotton possibly doused in the suspicious bottle's content, and a wide, white, suspicious rope(..?) On the other end of the table.

"I'm not going to hurt you." the sudden voice from the piglin hybrid startles Phil. Maybe it's because of the reassuring tone of the man, suddenly, Phil's mind starts to focus more "You're going to be okay, I promise"

With that, the giant lowered the things in his hands. First, the suspicious white bottle. "Antibiotics" it reads.

"It's for cleaning your wound— it stings, that's why you woke up— but it's not a bad thing" The piglin hybrid explained, noticing Phil's confused expression (Antibiotics sounds fuckinh suspicious) "And to apply the antibiotics, I used the cotton" He lowered the cotton near the 'Antibiotics' bottle— but not too close to Phil. "see, I'm not trying to hurt you"

"...and that rope?" Phil questions. He's convinced about the antibiotics, but not the weirdly-shaped rope

"...rope?" The piglin hybrid blinked, confused.

"That!" Phil pointed at the weirdly-shaped rope "That weirdly-shaped rope!"

"You've... never seen a bandage before..?"

"...what?"

"That's- that's a bandage— it's for keeping the wound clean and preventing it from opening up again" He explained, a hint of amusement behind his confusion. Okay. "Are you satisfied now?"

Maybe it's because of embarassment, maybe it's because of finally feeling convinced, but Phil nodded to the human's word.

The consequence of agreeing fucking hurts— Fuck, it hurts.

The antibiotics really does fucking sting.

"Fuck!" another shout, and Techno— Phil had learned his name in the middle of the stinging pain (Saying Piglin hybrid man is too long and well, rude)— Techno finally finished applying the antibiotic.

"Done." Techno said, tone light like he never stung Phil. "You can rest there, I think I still have spare cloths for you to sleep on"

"Wait, sleep?" Phil spoke up, bewildered. Sure, he's exhausted after all of the things happening today, but that doesn't mean he want to sleep in a human— wait, no, Hybrid— but still, a Giant's house. That's a death flag right there.

"Ya" Techno said, Another light answer. "your body need to rest to have the energy to heal. Also, the bandage will need to be changed"

"Sleep here?"

"Ya" Techno's response is light. So light, no care for Phil's bewildered tone as he stuffed the tools he used to treat Phil back to wherever it belongs.

"And you're not going to hurt me?" Phil asked. No way. He's a fucking giant.

"That just sounds abyssmal— I've just healed you" Techno said, his tone still light as he rummages around his furnitures, looking for something.

"So then.. what are you going to do?" Phil asked, staring at Techno as he stacked several cloths together (what the fuck is he doing..?)

"Sleep, probably— I was actually going to trade new seeds since new season is coming up, but then you happened sooo" Techno trailed off, concentrating. "Done. Here— you can sleep here" Techno's figure moved away to reveal what Phil assumed was a bed— It's actually just several cloths stacked together— but it's nice.

"You made a bed for me?" Phil asked, looking at the bed Techno just made

"Yeah— do you need help getting here?" Techno gestures towards Phil's stature— small and has a broken wing

Phil looked at where Techno is gesturing. "..yeah"

"Should— Should I just.. pick you up at the back of your clothes or...?" Techno asked. He was expecting Phil to elaborate on how to pick a tiny up without being rude— but Phil's lack of elaboration speaks volume.

It ended up with Phil asking for Techno to give him his hand for platforming— Which after Techno quickly replied with a "sure", Phil became very anxious about standing on a giant's hand— Fortunately, Techno didn't try to hurt him or anything (Maybe it's Phil who scratched him— Bird claws as feet and all) and Phil reached the bed.

It's a fairly-nice bed, In Phil's opinion. Because it is practically just a ton of cloths stacked together, it became a very comfy bed. So when Phil rested his body on it, his exhaustion and thought caught up to him.

It's a first time for Phil. Being inside a giant's house, and.. being this near a giant. He's restless— he can't fucking sleep— he shouldn't sleep. The possibility of the giant hurting him, the possibility of another giant barging into this house and catching Phil... He's scared.

"Shhh, just sleep, you're safe" a sudden voice from Techno startled him. Was Techno there the whole time? More than that, did Techno realized Phil's worry? "I'm not going to hurt you— Like I said. You're going to be okay," Techno said, taking a seat beside the cabinet Phil's bed is placed.

What is it? Maybe it's because Techno sounds so.. reassuring, but Phil's heart solidified at Techno's word.

"No one is going to hurt you again" was the last thing Phil heard from Techno before Phil falling asleep.

Maybe it's trust that made Phil believe in Techno.

———

The dialogue prompts are from here, send in some prompts! :D

Masterlist (If you're interested in my writings! :D)

[asterekmess]

Heyo! So I’ve been in the sterek fandom for quite some time now and I’ve been wondering about how you would describe stiles’ personality?

I’ve never actually sat down and watched a full episode of teen wolf (and honestly I’m not sure if I ever will considering everything I’ve heard about how they treat derek and his history but idk who knows I’m very curious in a lot of the plot lines and character development), and a lot of the stuff I know about the show I’ve scraped from fics, gifs, and meta posts

For me personally, Stiles’ personality and characterization is so fluid and nuanced that sometimes I have trouble pinning him down (tho derek doesn’t have trouble with that *wink wink*) So I would love to hear your thoughts! Sorry for the long ask, this grew legs and an ugly mug shdhdhhdjdcj anyhow have a great day :D

Well, everybody's got different perspectives and opinions on Stiles' personality, honestly. Even when you try to stick to 'canon' things, there's a lot of room for interpretation on the why when he does things, or what it says about him as a person, etc etc etc.

Personally, I see canon Stiles as kind of an asshole. I mean, I love him, and he does some incredible things, and he's clearly got an intense love for those close to him. But I do make him kinder in fics, or I at least make him regret being a dick.

In canon, we're given a Stiles who cracks 'dead baby' jokes (he's talking about human sacrifice, so the conversation was already plenty morbid. This wasn't out of the blue.) Who begs for Scott to let Jackson die (though it's made clear that this wasn't serious, and he later works to save Jackson's hide like ten times over), and who will mercilessly poke and prod at people's insecurities or painful pasts, especially when worked up. Isaac's previous abuse isn't a no-go topic. Derek having 'dated' (read: been assaulted at worst and at best, been lied to) serial killers isn't something he's going to tread lightly around. He doesn't try to soften things to save someone's feelings most of the time.

He's presented as someone who is incredibly impulsive, with his emotions, words, and actions. It's kind of implied this is because of his ADHD, but that doesn't explain how often the impulsively cruel or harsh things he says aren't retracted or apologized for, or just generally regretted. Yes, ADHD people are impulsive, and yes sometimes our mouths get away from us and we can end up saying some Fucked Up shit to people because we literally couldn't control the words coming out. But that doesn't mean we're cruel or evil or mean. We still feel bad for doing those things, and those of us who are decent people, try to fix or repair what we've messed up. I am...not a fan of how often ADHD is used as an excuse to make a character a dickhead because "he has no filter." No filter means we struggle to control our thoughts and what we say, it doesn't make us heartless.

So, when I'm writing him, I fix it. Even if he still Does something fucked up, I have him care that he did it. I have him realize what he did or said wasn't okay and respond to that knowledge in some way. Which to some people, means I'm just ignoring what a fucker he is, but imo it feels like a horrible fuckup on the creator's parts, so I'm just correcting the mistake. He's no less Stiles just bc I taught him to say sorry.

Anyway. I'm trying NOT to ramble here.

To answer your question, as best I can; Stiles is sarcastic. Stiles is passionate to a fault. His emotions are BIG, whatever they are. Good, Bad, or even apathy. Whatever feelings he has are just intense. He is very much a no gods, no kings, no masters, kind of man. There isn't really an 'authority' to him, except maybe his dad sometimes. He puts family, and those he considers family, First. But that doesn't mean he isn't selfless. Because he is. Incredibly so. Uncomfortably so.

He walks into gasoline for his friends. He puts himself in the position of losing the only parent he has left, for his classmates. He cares enough about strangers to insist a drunk girl he's spoken to for five minutes max stay hydrated and give her a bottle of water. He literally handed over his mind on a platter to a fox demon for someone he barely fucking knew, to keep her safe.

Loyal. Humorous. A fighter. Family-oriented. Clever. Passionate. Strong, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And a very good liar, in my opinion.

He doesn't lie very well in the show, not to people's faces. He'll stumble around a "I haven't seen him since the last time I saw him" or "are you asking me to tell you what I would have told you if I were going to tell you it?" but at the same time, he can repress and hide away his feelings and his pain in a way not even Derek manages.

He asked Caitlin questions about her girlfriend, and worked to solve the human sacrifices, literal minutes after finding out he'd just lost his oldest friend. He drove Lydia to the warehouse to save Jackson after having the shit beat out of him by a man who'd been learning to cause pain since he was a CHILD. And he never gives away how incredibly broken he is for more than a couple seconds. and it's a little frightening, because he convinces people in this show who are lie detectors that he's okay, when he's a fucking mess. Even Derek shows his pain.

You're right that he's nuanced, and part of that is because when you see him in meta or in fic, what you're seeing is a dozen versions of him sort of compressed into a flat image. Because he changes throughout the show, and while some of his core personality stays the same, a lot of stuff changes. So one fic might harp on his insensitivity, and callousness toward Isaac or how easily he says "just let them die" when talking about Derek or someone else. And then another will dive into how fucking far he's willing to go, travelling all the way to mexico and facing down a hunter clan a dozen times more powerful than the argents with no one but a banshee at his side, just to get Derek back. Or how he saw Malia hurting and sat with her on a couch and held her hand. One is a much earlier version of Stiles, from the start of the show, the other from his midpoint. Near the end, you're able to say that he was so torn about leaving Derek while he was dying, he had to be Begged to go save Scott. That he manipulated an ENTIRE FBI investigation in order to save and protect Derek. (im focusing on derek bc sterek, but also bc his relationship with Derek is the Biggest Arc he has in the show, and the most solid)

You're going to read about different versions of him, and I totally get how that's confusing.

We all sort of bleed ourselves into him and either bring certain canon characteristics to the forefront, or straight up add our own so he's more relatable to us.

So while I can't really help you pin down any specific Stiles, just know that there's not really a 'true' Stiles that anyone can confirm or deny. It's all just perception, so however you see him, go with it. Strengthen it. Explore it. I'm sure you'll find people who see what you do.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Lilies of the Valley I

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower’s shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

Chapter One: Hatred & Pride

“Lilies are considered a beautiful, popular flower but the orange variations actually symbolize hatred, pride, and disdain.”

Release Date: 05/18/20 @ 7 pm

next

 YN stumbled haphazardly into her apartment, as she tried to kick off heels and steer her way into her apartment's small bathroom. In her hand lay a crumpled up business card that scorched her skin, yet she couldn't let go of it. As she reached the bathroom, she flickered the yellow lighting on and stared at herself in the dirty mirror. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged making her resemble a panda, a frown etched between her brows, and colored lips turned downward. It was not her wretched appearance that had her sorrowful, but rather the bite that was visible right where her neck met her shoulder. It looked fresh, harsh red marks that displayed to the world that she was taken. "What a fucking lie."

She took off her makeup and jumped into the shower scrubbing off every trace she could of the alpha. Not wanting his scent permeating on her body any longer, then it would truly prove people's perception of her to be true. A small ding as she was exiting the shower alerted her towards her phone.

           Mark Lee: Sorry about how I acted. I just don't understand, but I don't think we should see each other anymore.

"Great," YN grumbled. There went another one that she'd managed to drive away. It would be a lot easier if she could simply date someone like her - not that it would ever be allowed. Still, there would be less judgment and she wouldn't have to feel like a let down to society or her family every time a holiday passed and she failed to present with a mate. "Fuck society." Though truly it was more like fuck Jeon Jungkook. None of this would've happened if it weren't for the alpha and his hormones. Truly none of this would've happened if his mates kept a tighter grip on the newly presenting alpha, but she couldn't blame the others for his mistake.

           On second thought, fuck them all. Why the fuck are sub-genders a thing anyway? This wasn't the first time said thoughts had filled her head. Presenting as an Omega in a family full of beta's had been difficult, not to mention the events that followed afterward. YN dragged her feet into her bed, thankful for once that she lived in such a small apartment that things were never so far apart. Though her current apartment was about the size of the kitchen in her parent's home, she couldn't complain. Few people rented unmated omegas. She was lucky that her landladies were two female betas with small children. YN doesn’t have anything against alphas but she’s aware enough to know how they perceive her: a means to an end rather than a human being. Or half of one at the very least.

           Her cell phone screen lit up again, but YN was far too tired to check it. Until it stayed on as a plethora of messages appeared. Rolling her eyes, YN grabbed her phone and unlocked it planning to send to hell whoever sent so many messages this late at night.

           Unknown: Please consider it.

           Unknown: I know you blame me for a lot of things and it is my fault, but I’d like to fix things.

           Unknown: or help at the very least.

           Unknown: Please just answer me.

           Unknown: I’m very sorry. You know I am. It was a mistake, I was presenting and couldn’t control myself. Please YN.

           Unknown: You’re my mate.

YN slammed her phone down on her bed with tears in her eyes. She regretted ever going on the date tonight, regretted ever meeting Jungkook, regretted presenting as an Omega. YN regretted being alive. She knew others felt the same way, she'd seen the look in her father's eyes when he had gone to the police station. None of this would've ever happened if she were a beta. YN would be able to get a good education, a good job, a decent place to live. She wouldn't be treated like a third-class citizen because of her sub-gender - she would just be YN. The way she'd been in school before all this happened. The way she spent seventeen years of her life living. Sobs racked throughout her body and she bit into her arm to keep the sound from reaching her neighbors. She didn't want to get into any more trouble tonight.  

           Exhaustion eventually won over and YN slipped into a restless sleep, plagued by the events of her past and the ones that occurred a few hours earlier.

          “So there was nothing you did in high school? No clubs or anything like that?”

YN shook her head, shrugging slightly. "I helped some teachers, dabbled in a couple of things but wasn't like the head cheerleader or class president." Tentatively she reached for her drink, making sure Mark didn't notice her smelling it for anything. It wasn't that he wasn't nice, but one could never be too careful. Mark laughed, "Alright you got me there, but I'll let you know the only reason I became class president is that I promised I'd get us a pool."

           “How did that work out?”

           “Terrible. The school was convinced our stupid asses would drown or something. Can’t say it wasn’t true.”

           YN giggled, taking another bite of her food. Mark was cute and he seemed aware of things, enough to not try too hard. He hadn’t asked to pick her up or asked about exes, he’d agreed to meet at the restaurant and even arrived early. Then again it might also be because they have a friend in between and it was Rosé who’d set them up together. “So YN what school did you go to?” Mark leaned forward resting his face in his hands. The warm lighting in the restaurant cast a nice glow on his features, it made him look more attractive. Or perhaps the alcohol had finally set in.

           “I went to Yeong-gwang Academy.” As soon as YN uttered the name Mark’s eyes widened exponentially. “No way, I’ve heard about that school. Isn’t it like a rich kid central or something? Wait didn’t you go to school with the Kims?!” It was an involuntary reaction the way she shivered whenever she heard that name, but her date must not have noticed. He stood waiting for her confirmation and all it took was a curt nod, for the man to begin rambling about all the rumors he’d heard over the years. It was difficult to keep up with them all, but she did manage to correct a few.

           “Haven’t you guys been ranked number one school in Korea for like thirty years or something?”

           “I think it’s only twenty.”

           “I heard all your sports teams are national champions.”

           “We only really had like five or so.”

           “Don’t you have the largest private collection of flowers in Asia?!”

           “Um, it’s Lilies and I think that’s an exaggeration.”

On and on it went, YN was now beginning to regret opening her mouth. She'd heard of Academy fans before, but it was mainly people who wanted to go there and couldn't or alumni. The way Mark spoke about it made her seem like she was an olympiad or a part of history. The date was drawing to an end, YN couldn't help but feel disappointed but it could have gone worse. Mark could have seen her mark and it would've caused conflict, hearing the boy ramble about her school was the lesser of the two evils.  

           It was when YN lifted her drink to her lips that she sensed it. A hint of musk and the smell of fresh linen, she couldn’t explain how she knew it was him. It was almost instinctual the fear that spread throughout her. As discreetly as she could, YN cast a glance around the room trying to find him almost exhaling with relief when she didn’t. It’s probably a mistake.

           “Hey isn’t that Kim Jungkook right there?”

It was said a little too loudly, just enough that YN knew he'd heard it. It didn't take long for her to feel eyes peering at her, goosebumps rose through her arms. Her bite began to throb and YN could feel her heart skip a beat. Mark's eyes focused on him and eventually crawled up, letting her know the alpha was approaching. Now the scent hit her entirely, shaking her to her core. YN gripped the table to steady herself but found that near impossible when the alpha kept sending his pheromones at her.  

"Does there seem to be a problem here?" His voice had deepened over the years, no longer the voice of a teenager but that of a man.

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to call your name so loudly. Um, I'm Mark Lee. A pleasure to meet you." Mark turned his attention towards YN expecting her to acknowledge Jungkook or greet him as a classmate. YN couldn't. She couldn't look at him. It didn't help that there was a tense atmosphere between the two, the tension was palpable and it seemed Mark had enough.

           “Aren’t you going to greet him, YN?”

           Greet the man responsible for everything wrong in my life, sure. Yn’s eyes trailed upwards from the table to Jungkook’s face until her warm eyes met his golden ones. As YN parted her lips to speak, she felt it: the heat spreading throughout her body. An uncontrollable feeling that raked throughout her body. The fucker was trying to trigger a pseudo-heat. Instantly YN’s grip tightened on the table, her fingertips becoming white as she fought with nature to keep control over herself.

           “Do you two know each other?” It seems Mark was catching on and truly she couldn’t blame him if he misunderstood. She would too if the roles were reversed. Suddenly Jungkook turned to face Mark, holding his hand out to greet him.

           “I’m Kim Jungkook, her mate.”

"What?! No, he isn't. Don't listen to him, Mark." Her outcry had caused quite a few patrons to turn her way, now all paying close attention to what was happening.

"Uh -" Jungkook quickly interceded whatever Mark was going to say. "Did you not notice her mark? Or do you make a habit of seeking mated people?" At this a few people gasped, Mark looked between the two of them confused. YN snapped, "It's a partial bond. It was never completed so it doesn't mean anything." Her words only confused Mark even more. Whispers from surrounding tables began to reach her ears and it only fueled YN's rage more. This was all a big misunderstanding, but Jungkook was thriving off it. Mark and YN's eyes met as she silently pleaded with him to listen to her.

"Hey beta," Jungkook snapped his fingers together, "look at me." YN should've known she'd lost then and there. As a beta, it was impossible to resist the order of alpha, not to mention one that exuded the stench that Jungkook did.

           “You know who I am right?” Mark nodded, eyes wide as if aiming to please. “Then you know don’t you? You know…” When Mark looked back at her, there was sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry YN.” was all the beta said before standing up and walking away. YN had so many things to say, so many more explanations, but they all died in her tongue.

           Jungkook tsked, “What an asshole. Could’ve at least paid for the meal.” That was the final strand for YN, she gathered her stuff and threw all the money she had down on the table. Walking fast out of the restaurant trying to avoid the judgemental stares directed towards her, she swore some people hissed at her under their breaths. Once outside YN leaned against the side entrance of the restaurant trying to steady her breath and stop the incoming tears.

"YN. Hey!" Jungkook raced out the front, staring around panicked until his gaze landed on her. YN tried to walk away, but his long legs gave him an advantage and he reached her in a few steps. "Please YN. I'm sorry, I just- I couldn't control myself." YN rolled her eyes, trying to push the alpha aside.  

           “No please YN look.” His hands gripped her forearms and tugged her close to him. “I’ve been trying to find you, we’ve been trying to find you. But you disappeared off the map.”

           “That’s because of you. I left because of you.” YN tried to get him to release her arms, but his hold was too tight. “Wasn’t it enough for you? Isn’t it enough for you? You ruined my life and my reputation Jungkook. The least you could do is leave me alone.” She was begging at this point, trying to make him see reason.

           “I can’t leave you alone, YN. You’re my mate.”

           “You already have mates Jungkook. Fucking six of them! How could you want more?!”

           “It isn’t like that and you know it. You’re all our mates. You're the pack omega, you just don’t see it yet.”

           This wasn’t the first time Jungkook had tried to excuse his behavior by using the pack bond. Yes, it was true all seven of them shared it but that didn’t mean she did too. “Omega’s don’t have the pack bond, Jungkook. Stop trying to lie.” YN couldn’t see what he gained from this.

           “I’m not lying. It’s rare but it happens, please if you just speak to Namjoon you’ll see-”

           “Leave me alone Jungkook.” YN mustered all her strength and managed to finally push him off. The alpha looked shocked at her display of aggression, YN strongly desired to hit him but knew it wouldn’t end well if she triggered his instincts. “I’d rather die alone than be mated to you.” YN could see the spear driven through the boy’s heart because she felt something similar go through hers. YN let out a shaky breath, she leaned over resting on her knees for fear of falling over.

"I get it. I'm sorry, I ruined your date. I embarrassed you in front of all those people and that wasn't right. I'm sorry YN, I truly am. For everything, I've ever done to you. But it doesn't change the truth. You know this isn't something I can lie about: you are my mate. Our mate."

YN groaned and went to walk away, knowing that there wouldn't be an end to Jungkook's madness. As she walked past the shaken alpha, he grasped her hand placing something in it. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate, please." YN didn't even spare him a look as she walked away. It wasn't until she could no longer smell him that YN broke down, her body shaking as she tried to hold it all in. She was still in a public place and a vulnerable omega might draw unwanted attention. YN took a deep breath and steadied herself. Heading straight to her apartment and refusing to look back.

           A loud abrupt ringing awoke YN from her sleep, she jumped so high she practically touched the ceiling. Grabbing the phone, she saw Rosé’s contact picture pop-up on the screen. It was rare for her to call, especially since it was nearly six a.m.

           “Hey.”

           “YN? Oh my god.” Rosé’s tone was panicked and YN could hear the way she panted. “Someone broke into my apartment while I was sleeping.”

           “What?! Are you alright?!” YN jumped out of bed and raced to put on pants and hoodie, before grabbing her keys and wallet. “Where are you?”

           “I’m at the police station. I couldn’t see very clearly, but they’re looking at security cam footage from around the area to figure out who it is.”

           “I’m on my way. Did you call Lucas?” Lucas was Rosé’s foster sibling, his husband worked in the police and was certain to make the whole process smoother.

           Rosé hesitated, “He isn't answering. Please come, I’m here alone and I-”

           “It’s alright I’ll be there soon I promise.” YN had managed to wave down a cab and told him to drive as quickly as he could.

The sight of her best friend in tears triggered something innate in YN. She pulled Rosé into a hug and refused to let her go, terrified at the thought of what could have happened to her friend. "It's alright, I'm here." Rosé dug her head into YN's neck using her scent to calm her nerves and trying to muffle her cries. Already she could feel the sympathetic stares of some of the officers. Out of the corner of her eye, YN saw someone approaching his bloodshot eyes, and the tall way in which he stood made it seem like he owned the place.

"I told you to call your mate, not your girlfriend." He remarked voice dull yet mocking. Rosé stepped away from YN turning towards him, "I don't have a mate and my brother isn't answering." Her tone was meek and eyes were downcast, YN knew she wasn't a confrontational person and this event likely further caused her to become more introverted. The cop rolled his eyes, "Where is your mate then?" He turned his attention towards YN, now she could see the name inscribed on his uniform: Officer Hwang. "I don't have one." Her tone was too blunt, YN knew she could see the way his eyebrows raised at it.

           “Don’t lie to me, I can see your mark.”

           “I don’t have a mate.”

Annoyance was now visible in Hwang's tone before his eyes widened. "Ah, now I get it." The officer turned back towards one of his colleagues and called out, "Bo, it seems we have a cat house on our hands." Rosé's eyes widened and YN spoke quickly, words tumbling out of her mouth. "No. You're misunderstanding." Bo had already stood up from his desk and was making his way towards them.  

           “Ladies if you could please follow me.”

The two of them were talking over each other trying to explain the situation, but the officers had made up their minds about what was occurring. YN cast a glance around the room trying to find anyone who could help them, but everyone kept their eyes downward. They'd been titled as prostitutes and it would be difficult to change people's minds. Officer Bo guided them, pushed would've been a better term, towards the basement where the holding cells were.

           “Please sir, you’ve misunderstood.”

           Officer Hwang shrugged, a cruel smirk on his face. “Call your alpha then and everything will be solved.” YN resigned herself as they were dragged downstairs and locked up.

Rosé and YN were separated in different cells while a guard stood watching. Tears streamed endlessly down her best friend's face, whilst YN told herself that hers were tears of frustration rather than humiliation at everything that had occurred tonight. Eventually, as they hit the two-hour mark the guard spoke up, "I'd call your mates if I were you. The boarding house bus swing's by at nine." Both omegas stilled in fear at his words. YN turned towards Rosé, "Ro can't you try your brother?" She was pleading with her friend, but Rosé shook her head. "He won't come." There was something she wasn't telling her, but YN figured now was not the moment to press it.

           “Don’t you know someone who can help YN? What about Mark?”

Mark would be no help, considering everything that went down at the date it would be a further embarrassment to ask him to come to pick her up at the station. If he even answered that is. Unless? No, there was no way. Her pride wouldn’t be able to take it.

            "Thirty minutes, girls."

It seemed as if fate was pushing her into a corner. YN had heard about what kind of things occurred to Omega's who were taken to the boarding house, it was not a nice place. It certainly didn't provide the comfort or protection that was promised to unmated troubled omegas. Hesitantly YN cleared her throat, "Can I please make a call?"

~ Please lmk if you would like to be added to the tag list. Thank you

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Delicate. — Part 2.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: Part 2, let’s gooo. as always, feedback is very much appreciated! Let me know what you think or what you would like to see next. thank you for reading!

catch up here!

"Stupid cheesecake recipe."

"Over baking wasn't exactly on the recipe, J." 

"Oh, shut up. Yours is dry as fuck."

Y/n opened her mouth, pretending to be offended. The pair was currently having a little baking competition that clearly went wrong since none of them can bake. Now, Y/n was pretty good at cooking in general, but for some reason baking just wasn't her thing. And obviously, it wasn't Jensen's thing either. 

"I hope you clean this mess after you're done." The truth was, Louise wasn't surprised by the mess her children had made and didn't mind it either. The age difference between both of them was big, so growing up there wasn't much they could do to bond. Right now, however, they were so much closer than they were before, and Jensen and Y/n had more things in common and more options of activities they could do together, like baking. 

Even if they were bad at it. 

"I invited Harry and Sarah tonight. They're having dinner with us." Louise spoke again, grabbing a rag and starting to wipe off the flour on the kitchen island. 

"Who's Sarah?" Y/n asked, cleaning the flour on her left cheek. She tried to ignore the growing butterflies in her stomach at the mention of Harry. She'd be lying if she said she hasn't thought about him since their last encounter, even went as far as trying to look for him on the internet but she got nothing. But the mention of another woman made her feel confused. Was he married or something? Don't blame her, the guy wears a lot of rings.  

"The owner of that cat café I took you to the other day. She's great, don't worry." 

Jensen nudged her playfully, and she rolled her eyes in return. "I'll take a shower." She announced before marching out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her old room. She wanted to clean herself up before Harry arrived, although she didn't know why. Looking through the clothes she kept at her mother's house, she settled in a plain, long blue dress with spaghetti straps and a pair of sandals. She didn't want to look overdressed but also didn't want to just wear a pair of sweatpants like she's been wearing all afternoon. 

"Do you remember when mom tried to set me up with that girl who worked at the restaurant on the other side of town?" Jensen entered the room without knocking, running his fingers through his hair. He was also fresh out of the shower. 

"Madison?" Jensen hummed in response. "She was nice. Why did you stop going out with her?"

"Because mom only did it because she thought I was lonely.?"

"What's your point?" She looked at him after grabbing a hairbrush from the vanity. 

"That she's doing the same now with Harry? Duh."

"Woah, I've met the man once. And I've tried going out with people she sets me up with, and we never click."

//

Y/n tried to play it cool when she heard the gates open, busying herself with whatever as the doorbell rang and Louise hurried towards the door. Harry and a gorgeous brunette stepped into the house, smiling widely at the middle-aged woman. 

"Come on in! I'm so glad you could make it."

"You have a lovely home, Louise." Harry's deep voice along with that accent of his sent shivers down Y/n's spine. She had a weak spot for British people and she didn't know why. 

"I'm sorry Mitch couldn't make it." The woman beside Harry said. 

"Oh, it's okay. There's always next time."

The three of them walked into the living room where everyone else was sitting. Jensen stood up and high-fived Harry before giving Sarah a side hug. A smirk appeared on Harry's face as Y/n came into his view. "Hello again, love."

"Hi, Harry." Y/n returned his little salute. "Azaleas are doing great, by the way." She jokingly said. 

"Knew you would keep them alive." He gave her a little wink before giving her a quick hug. 

Sarah introduced herself and Y/n did the same, accepting her hand to shake. Y/n had to admit, she was really pretty. Along with her brown hair, she had a pair of blue eyes and an inviting smile. If Harry was really dating Sarah, then he was a lucky man. 

Throughout the dinner, Y/n didn't say much. She'd occasionally steal little glazes at Harry and admired how gorgeous he looked tonight. It was funny, Y/n had this feeling in her tummy every time she's seen him, which by the way has only been twice, and she grew nervous out of nowhere. It was almost like she was too shy to speak to him, which was weird considering she was a pro at holding conversations as she's been trained to do so. Sometimes she'd stare for too long and Harry would notice and smile her way. Y/n felt like a teenager with a highschool crush. She tried to convince herself she didn't like him that way and she was just taken back at how pretty he was. 

Dinner was over and Harry insisted on helping with the dishes despite Louise's protests. So now it was just Y/n and Harry in the kitchen putting everything in the dishwasher while sipping on white wine. 

"How can you put ice on it?" Harry asked, nodding at her glass filled with wine and ice. "When the ice melts it just tastes like water."

"I like it really cold but I don't like keeping the bottles in the freezer." She explained, taking a sip from her glass. "So how do you know Sarah?" 

"She was the first friend I made when I came here. She's also British so we became fast friends. Plus, he's dating my best friend and co-worker."

"Oh." She said, processing the information. Perhaps that Mitch guy Sarah mentioned was her boyfriend and not Harry. Suddenly, she felt a wave of relief but then again, why?

"Can I say something without sounding creepy?"

"S-sure?" 

"My sister is a massive fan of yours. When we still lived with my mum, you were all she listened to."

"I'm sorry." She joked and he breathed a laugh. "Well, tell her I say hi, please."

"Will do."

"So..." She dragged the word. "You knew who I was?"

"Obviously I don't live under a rock." He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm just not invested in that whole world as other people, you know? I don't even own an Instagram account or anything." Harry shrugged.

So that's why she couldn't find him anywhere, she thought. A feeling of excitement ran through her veins. Harry knew who she was, but he didn't care. Being treated like a normal person was a luxury Y/n didn't have anymore, so it was safe to say she felt happy knowing he'd treat her like one. 

They finished the task in silence, but Y/n couldn't contain the little smile forming on her face and honestly, Harry couldn't either. 

She was curious about him. What was he doing in her hometown if he was from the other side of the world? What did he do in his free time? Where did he get so many cool rings? Did he always want to be a florist? Why was he a florist? She had a million questions she wanted to ask, feeling genuinely intrigued by him. Harry could easily come off as an intimidating man, but what she has noticed from him was completely different. 

Harry was shy, incredibly so. But he was also cheeky, and silly and had a boyish smile that he could change into an intense look in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. His green eyes were always shiny, like stars in a black sky. He also appeared to be always happy, although she couldn't be certain on that one. 

The things she was feeling right now were things she's never experienced before and that was both exciting and terrifying. 

//

"I never trust a narcissist." Y/n tasted the new lyrics she's been thinking about with a random melody on the piano. She sat in front of the instrument in her living room and this time she didn't have to squeeze her brain for one decent melody, because this time she was able to come up with one smoothly. 

Pandora was casually laying down on the floor close to Y/n while Lizzie was chilling around the house as she didn't like the sound of the piano that much. This was one of those nights when inspiration came to Y/n from nowhere, having to drag herself out of the comfiness of her bed before she forgot what her brain had come up with. She continued adding lyrics, making sure her phone was still recording everything she was doing. 

It had been a few days since she's seen her family or had any kind of human interaction and now that she was thinking about it, she kind of missed it. Now, she loved her family to pieces and would do absolutely anything for them but she missed her friends, her real friends who were thousands of miles away from her right now. She was craving that more than anything right now and that's probably why she found herself in front of The Blossom House the morning after, debating whether or not entering the shop. 

Deciding to suck it up, she opened the door of the building and stepped in, feeling the overwhelming smell of flowers hit her nostrils immediately. There were a few people in the shop, a young boy buying a bouquet of red roses and two middle-aged women that looked like they came together. Y/n tried to go unnoticed as she stepped deeper into the store. The truth was, she didn't know what she was doing there. She didn't need more flowers, that's for sure. 

She looked through her sunglasses a bouquet of daisies her mother would absolutely die for, so she decided to grab it for her. 

"Oop, sorry. That one's not done yet." Someone said from behind. She turned around and saw a man with long hair tied in a low bun and a mustache on his face. "It's a commission, actually. But I can make another one for you."

"Oh, it's fine. I'll just pick something else." She gave him a polite smile. The name on the tag read Mitch, so he must be Sarah's boyfriend. "Uh... weird question but, is Harry around?"

"Yeah, he's in the back. Want me to get him for you?" He offered but she declined. 

"It's okay. Thank you." Giving him one last smile she walked away to the other side of the room, this time looking at the roses. The white ones were her favorites and she loved looking at them. 

"Hey, stranger."  Taking advantage of the fact he couldn't see her, she smiled widely at the sound of his voice. "Fancy seeing you here." As soon as she turned around she saw the goofy dimpled smile on his face. 

"Likewise, do you work here by any means?" She smirked as he giggled, deciding to play along. 

"Darling, I own the place."

"An entrepreneur, oh my god." She pretended to fan herself with the palm of her hand and Harry let out a big laugh. 

"What brings you here? More flowers?" Something tells her he knew she wasn't here for the flowers, and it was true, as much as she wanted to tell herself she wanted a new bouquet for her mom. In reality, she wanted to see him. "Has something caught your eye so far?"

"There was this bouquet of daisies but a man told me it was for a commission?" Her words came off more like a question. 

"Oh, yes. Mitch's been working on that for a few hours now. I can tell him to make you one like that if you want. Could be done in a couple of hours."

"That would be great. I could swing by in a while to get it."

"Orrrrr, we could wait for it over a cup of coffee?"

She observed him for a while and how the dimples never disappeared from his face as he waited for her answer. He seemed confident and she really liked that. "Sounds fun." She shrugged before a smile appeared on her face, matching his. 

"Let me tell Mitch and we'll go." He said before rushing to the back of the store and returning shortly after without his apron. "Would you prefer to go to Sarah's? Because there's this one, half block away that serves good coffee."

"Let's try that one." Honestly, she'd walk whatever blocks if that meant they'd spend more time together. "As much as I loved going to Sarah's, seeing all those kittens at once makes me cry."

"I feel the same. I always take my mum there when she comes to visit, last time she came she adopted one." He mentioned. A car passed at low speed, making Y/n nervous. She tried to cover her face as much as she could with her hair and fixing her sunglasses. "Is everything okay?" Harry asked, noticing her change of behavior. 

"Uh? Oh, yes. I thought someone was watching from that car." She said in a low voice. What happened next, she would've never expected. Harry pushed her gently to the other side of the sidewalk, changing places with her so his much taller frame would cover hers.

She blushed, looking up at him but he acted like it wasn't a big deal, like it was a natural thing to do although they didn't even know each other that well. She thought he'd tell her she was being paranoid or something but instead, he chose to do something he thought would make her feel more at ease. And it worked. 

Harry held the door open for her when they arrived, guiding her to a table away from the windows and pulled out the chair for her to sit, being an absolute gentleman with her. And although Y/n insisted, Harry went for their coffees and paid for them as well, saying he was the one who invited her hence he'd be the one who pays. 

Once they were settled with their own cups of coffee, they started talking. Mostly about Harry, Y/n still didn't feel comfortable enough to talk about herself and he understood so he let her ask him anything she desired. 

"Do you go to England often?"

"Not as much as I'd like to. I try to go during summer and for the holidays, of course. Although for birthdays and such, I'm not always able to fly there." 

"You must miss your family a lot." From what she's gathered about him, he was a family guy, so being away from his must be tough. She knew it was for her. 

"I do. But I also love it here."

"Do you see yourself going back?"

"To London? Probably not. I have gotten used to being in the states so if I ever move back there full time I'd feel out of place."

She nodded along, listening to him carefully. Harry had a beautiful voice and he spoke slowly so it made it even more soothing than it already was. She swore this man could read her a bedtime story and she'd be out in the first minutes. 

They talked for some more and bought another cup of coffee for the walk back to the flower shop. They were having a great time, and although they wouldn't say it out loud, none of them wanted it to end. So it was safe to say they both felt a little sad once they arrived at The Blossom House. 

"Let me get the bouquet for you." Harry told her after they entered. He came back with a replica of the bouquet of daisies she saw earlier and she smiled. "It's on the house, tell Louise I say hi."

"You don't have to gift me flowers every time I come, you know that right?" She chuckled but grabbed the bouquet regardless. 

"I know I don't have to but who says I don't want to?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, grinning at her. 

"Thank you, Harry. For the coffee and the flowers."

"You're very welcome. I, uh, I had a great time today." He said, blushing a little.

"Me too."

"Do you think we could do it again some other time?" He asked hesitantly. 

"I'd love to, honestly." Y/n admitted, starting to blush as well. 

"So can I have your number or I'd have to wait until you come again?" He asked teasingly. "Swear I'll not sell it on e-bay."

"Can you even sell a telephone number on e-bay?" She asked, laughing as she took her phone out of her bag, handing it to him. "Feel free to text yourself so you could have mine too."

"I'll use it wisely, I promise."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps not only for coffee but for a nice dinner."

Yeah, she definitely hoped he'd do that.

//

Tag list: @reverse-hxlland​ @cronias13

[creepypasta-headcanons]

How you met them

Jeff:

Your parents had to send you to a boarding school due to them being extremely busy with their jobs and them wanting a very intelligent and we'll behaved kid.

Well, things never went like that. Your first weeks in that place were decent, but with the passing of the days, the teachers started to show their true colors.

Some of them were nice, others way more strict but still friendly...and the PE teacher. The school assigned your group a male weird teacher, that was cool with you on your first classes, and then things got perverted.

You wanted to get out of that place and he was the main reason, but also your only hope. He said he would run away with you and be happy, and that's what you did...well, with the exception you tried to knock him out to have time to escape using a fire extinguisher, but it seems that you hit him way too hard in the head.

Luckily you were able to run away fast, and you decided to hide inside an old looking house. Karma, that house was the one where Jeff and his brother grew up together. Jeff was casually walking around the place, and he saw something moving.

He was ready to kill you but then he saw your face, your expression...your eyes.

There was murder in your eyes. Your soul was no longer pure.

“—What the fuck do you think you're doing inside my house? —”

“—GAH! I am so sorry, please, don't tell anyone I'm here...they'll lock me up oh my god. —” And then, you fainted. Jeff took a deep breath to calm his anger, and decided to take you to the Creepyhouse to torture you.

At the end of the day, he never harmed you. He literally just forgot that you were in his room chained up to the wall and your mouth covered with masking tape because Eyeless Jack wanted to show him a dead squirrel that he found earlier.

Later, he went to his room and decided that before killing you he would chat a little bit to know why were you inside his old home.

Nina:

You talked to her at school before, but when she appeared in the news something was extremely off.

"—Someone or something is watching me... —” you thought. The feeling was uneasy but somehow safe.

Later at night, you were laying in your bed crying. You missed Nina. A lot, even if you two chatted a little bit at school.

You were sobbing terribly.

“—...Nina, please...I hope you are okay now... —”

After that sentence, a very loud sound startled your ears. You sat up in your bed and looked at the door: Nina.

“—Please, come with me. We'll live a better life now. —” you had to admit that your decision was kinda weird and stupid. You were living a cool life now, why would you start another one with her?

Oh, yeah, probably because she is holding a knife to your throat.

Eyeless Jack:

You were carefully walking through the forest, looking for some animals to kill. This was your only source of food due to your house and family being far away from everything in a little abandoned town.

You found a rabbit and tried to shoot at it with a big rock but it ran away. You gave the first step to run behind it but unluckily you stepped on a trap that tied you to a nearby tree with a chain.

Three hours passed, and the sun was going down. You were extremely hungry, dizzy and scared. The fact that you heard heavy footsteps didn't help at all.

“—Oh, cool. —”, you heard someone say out loud.

“— Can you please get me te fuck out of here? I am so hungry I think I'm going to die, oh God. —” your stomach growled loudly.

The strange masked guy walked slowly to you, and lowered his head to your ear.

“— Would you eat... something weird? —”, okay, this dude's vibes are extremely off.

“— I'll eat anything. —” and with you saying this, he pulled from his blue hoodie something that looked like a human organ. Ok, now you were scared shitless.

“— E A T. —” he said while getting that thing in his hand closer to your mouth.

You ate it all. What the fuck.

He took you to an abandoned place and when he asked if you wanted to stay here you showed that you didn't really care about your family or friends, proving him that you are one of them.

Sally:

You had a sister that was similar to her, but one day, she was kidnapped from school. This bad news affected your whole family and life.

One family in particular never gave up. Nope, it wasn't your family, they were the Williams.

A couple that once had a beautiful and innocent child, a family that broke apart because of a dirty man that ruined their lives, a family nobody really talked to due to the depressed aura around them. A family that had a daughter.

You always loved them because of the way the acted towards you. They treated you like you were one of them. They told you about their dead daughter and why they wanted to help you.

Still looking for your sister, you decided to have some time alone, some distraction. You went to the graveyard to talk to Sally's tombstone to tell her what's happening right now and how you feel about it.

You found it. It was kinda isolated, away from the other graves. This one had dead tulips, now you're replacing them with fresh and beautiful white roses.

“— H-Hi, Sally...I... —” you felt dumb, and numb.

“— I wanted to talk to you about my life. I know we never met, but I'm pretty sure you were a beautiful and full of life young girl. Your parents miss you so much, and that's why I'm here. My little sister...she....she was kidnapped some month ago and I-I'm really scared about what could be happening to her right now and I-If she's being raped, or if someone is selling her, or...or...—”, the ambience was weird. You took a deep breath.

“— what if she's dead? —” you were sobbing right now.

Something poked your leg.

“— Let me help you. —” when you looked down, you were met by two beautiful green eyes. Sally is by your side.

“— Go to the Michael's Mafia House. He has your sister. I'll bring some friends to help you, okay?—” you hugged her. Her voice was similar to your little sister's one.

Sally disappeared and adrenaline was running through your veins. You went to your house and immediately started looking for one of your favorite knifes from your dad's collection. When you were passing by the living room, you saw your beloved mother lying on the old couch, staring at your sister's picture. You smiled.

You started running towards the place Sally told you to.

The friends she was talking about were some creepypastas, they helped you to get to the boss office and encouraged you to kill him, wich you did. And you enjoyed every single second of it.

At the end, you found the place were your sister was kept captive and freed her and the other people trapped in there. She had clear signals of abuse like the other victims. You felt so angry, but she was okay. Everything was going to be better now, right?

Well, no. The rest of the mafia started looking for you and your family, and they had to move. Things were never the same, you started killing all the guys that showed up to your door to harm your people, and this interested Slenderman.

You ended up visiting the creepyhouse once a month because you had to stay with your family to protect them from the mafia.

Slenderman:

This is the same story as Sally's one. Sometimes you bring your sister with you to play with Sally, and while they played you talked with Slenderman about a plan to get rid of all those mafia members.

He wanted to help since he saw your potential, but he thought that the fact you had to protect your family slowed down your progress at training to be a murderer.

You felt extremely satisfied when you killed, and this was the other reason why you wanted to keep training with him apart of wanting to protect your family at all costs.

_______

I'm sorry if there are some misspellings or weird incoherences, english is not my first language and I made this blog because I wanted to practice my English, writing and drawing skills all at once lmao

[the-blind-geisha]

im sorry you weren't treated well in some fandoms. I hope that the next season of Overlord comes out to refresh you!! 👐

I'm sorry this sat in my inbox for a time, anon. I... really wasn't sure how to answer it, but I dunno. I guess reaching my wit's end here, I'll speak out a bit.

I also kinda hate I've been encouraged (both by myself and others) to be quiet, but no. Drama shouldn't be silenced if you're the one being directly/ indirectly harassed and stalked.

This is... this is intense. I've never known someone to be this insane before and then have people support said person thinking 'she's a good person deep down'. Yeah, manipulative people are like that. They say and do things to make you believe they don't have a gun ready to shoot and kill somebody that isn't flattering them.

Ignore the stuff below if you don't want drama, but I will eventually post screenshots of all the info I have with timestamps and all anybody needs to see my side of the story in a public google docs.

But please, do NOT go out of your way to flame and harass this person. Just leave them alone. Seriously. That's not what I'm trying to get across with this. This person just wants an engorged ego, and it shows. I'm just explaining my side, because--fuck man. It hurts enough. I've done nothing to you, but you still wanna be this creepy...

For those who don't know or weren't made aware: I was (and still am at times) being stalked by someone who got very, very angry that I wrote a story similar in concepts but vastly different in delivery than their fic. They made it a point in their older fic to spit on anybody who dared write characters a certain way (the loving/powerful Supreme Being was oh so cliché and dumb in her eyes), and then when I came along to basically be identical to her in how I enjoyed writing Demiurge with a human character, I was somehow 'stealing' from her.

That person is—well—I cannot say directly, but you can look in Contract's Chapter 4 reviews to see everything you need to. (And I have that all screenshot on my hard drive as well as her 'bad past' she insisted I deleted because of 'anon hate' she got, so yeah.)

Flames erupted and accusations... all while she was pretending to be my friend and on my side on Tumblr.

It was abhorrent. I was new, dipping my toes into the fandom only to have my first Overlord fic be attacked by her and then have my Amnesia fic have her glare at and say it was a 'spite-fic' (because...only her character can have amnesia/memory problems, I guess??) Which... I have screenshots of my Amnesia fic's origins dating years back when I was very into the game Amnesia: A Dark Decent—Lilyodin's name included—to where she didn't even have her fic(s) posted. 2014, if you want to know the exact year. Hell, Contract's earliest conception is marked on Instagram where I began my comic Dancing with the Devil. Her fic came out in early February 2020 if I remember right. She claims to have begun it on another site, but never tells anybody what that site is called, because… lies. And even then, how would I steal from her when I don’t know where the hell that fic is located to begin with?

She can claim it wasn't her, but the irony is she eventually unbookmarked Contract and, shortly after, I got another flame. The moment I made a vague threat towards her on my Tumblr, she blocked me, ran and tried to approach people she thought could protect her from my more outspoken behavior. When she did this, all flames stopped. (Though, glad to know all I have to do is mark flames as spam, and AO3 deals with it).

She rewrote her story into a ‘reader insert’ though, really, it was her OC Lilith, and then made 40 dummies to boost her numbers. Some of them were ironically made with specific likes around times I was reblogging or answering a specific ask about something on my Tumblr to show she was block circumventing and spying on me. The icing on the cake was her taking anons on my fics and using their usernames on her new fic story to boost her comments and pretend she had my anons. Whenever I would update Contract, I was told she was updating on top of me shortly after—always. I was told by friends she seemed to do this late last year (2020), but I chose to ignore it till earlier 2021 where I caught her doing it... twice (and besides, she confessed that’s what she was doing to a person between us so yeah–she cannot lie her way out of that one). Even as we're now in two different fandoms, she still goes out of her way to unironically update about the times I do, because we (of course) share the same tags. The girl is just... something else. She can claim that's me being paranoid, but given how often she goes out of her way to 'magically do (X) thing' like I do, yeah... how can I NOT be and how can I trust her?

What further made me almost hit the 'fuck you, I'm calling you out’ post was when I wrote to my original Naga story where I put Zul'te. She saw some of the tags, saw the insane boost in kudos and bookmarks, how shocked I was people loved it in one chapter, and she took some of the tags to mirror them. Honestly, she was confused and furious I somehow got tag surfers where Contract was concerned. Seriously, I would say 80% of my readers on Contract aren't Overlord fans, so she tried to mimic what I did to gain that attention too.

All she wants is people's love and support. Nothing else. Her actions there show this. It was... gross. Whatever she can do to try and stay near me like a damn shadow and try to boost her numbers and flatter her ego, she'll do it. (Hell, she's still doing it apparently).

She was warned she's not safe from me—that I do literally have a whole folder full of her nonsense to show my side of the story. From the indirect accusation of me 'stealing from her' before I got the anon accusation on my fic, to her updating on top of me, her dummies, her crappy comments before we told her that wasn't cool to say about people (sad we gotta smack her hand and tell her 'no' before she realizes something isn't cool to do...), the aggressive things she said to the prior writers she tried to chase out, to her tags added to reflect mine, the works.

That was the only thing that has kept her at bay...but only for a few months, and then she was back on her shit, apparently. And, sad to say? That folder is never getting destroyed. She can pray my PC has a malfunction but I got a backup hard drive with those screenshots. It's never going away.

With all of this? I hope to the gods she gets better. I don't know what's going on in her life, but a lot of what she says she is about—I found it all to be fake. She made the trails all too easy. She's not as clever as she thinks she is.

But by god... I want her to just move on and away from me already. I know her constantly mimicking the things I say and do are her trying to take back whatever power she thinks I stole from her, but I stole nothing. If I was inspired by someone or something, I sure as hell am going to tell people. I'm not ashamed of that.

Even in the new fandom she's apart of? I was made aware of that she basically copied my other Tumblr name for a fic of hers... only changing one word, and that's... yeah. Creepy as fuck.

But because of all of this, it made writing to Overlord (Contract and Amnesia especially) very hard. I feel like if I deleted them, she'd be happy and fuck off all ready. But no. I'm never going to give her what she wants.

She's psychopathic, and I don't know why people defend her but. Eh. Whatever.

I've been doing my best not to let her chase me out of what I love doing. That's for damn sure.

I will still write and enjoy Overlord. That'll never stop.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 5

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 4,700 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life

Pablo Picasso

Chapter 5

Golden sunlight streams down in ribbons upon your hair, setting fire to the natural red highlights and causing the wrought iron railing to cast beautiful shadows across the floor. Marcus sits with you upon your hotel balcony in the late morning sunshine. You are now, a little more comfy, wearing your airport clothes- the high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and a mustard yellow and cream breton top that does everything to highlight the rise and fall of your curves.

He watches each tiny twitch of your face as you read notes from the meeting- your full lips pout and brow furrow as your gaze flits backwards and forwards over the words, making connections and drawing together the different pieces of information that you’d gathered from that meeting. Marcus tries to smother a chuckle when you unthinkingly roll your eyes and shake your head at the point where some idiot tried talking over you in the meeting and he can fully read from his position that you have scrawled TWAT across your notes in reference to that mediocre white man.

It’s at this sound, that you look up, “What’s up?” you ask tiredly, smiling amusedly in his direction.

“You’ve got such an expressive face as you read- I swear, it’s like your muscles are reliving all of the faces you wanted to pull in the meeting. You managed that jerk well in there.”

“I’ve been managing cockwombles like him my entire life. They’re fucking insidious,” you say turning your eyes back towards the screen, shaking your head at the memory of the all the arseholes who have gone before and all those who were yet to come. “If they had anything to actually offer, I’d accept it; but they just parrot shit back at you - the same shit that came out of your own mouth moments earlier - as if it is their fucking own, enlightened idea!”

“I can imagine.This level of work, even in the art fraud department, is such an old boys’ club,” he agrees, pursing his lips in annoyance of the invisible barriers that you must have come up against.

Nodding in agreement, you add with your head tilting to one side as you take the agent in, “You don’t seem to fall into that category, Marcus. You even handed the reins over to me in there- I should have just been your lackey today, not the one doing all the speaking. I appreciate you treating me like an equal.”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching the sides of his neck, Marcus looks off into the distance as he slightly straightens up in his seat, “My Mamá firmly entrenched the value of every human being in me, regardless of their gender. I don’t wanna bring it up again, and certainly never wanna upset you, but you should be my role in the team. Your aptitude for this role far outweighs mine,” he grins and turns towards you, “There’s a part of me that feels like a mediocre white man around you.”

“Well, at least you have decent enough manners not to mansplain my ideas back at me!” you laugh, hugely enjoying your boss’ company on that narrow balcony.

“You know, I didn’t recognise you wearing civvies in the airport? I was absolutely kicking myself for not taking a ride with you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I get that. After seeing me suited and booted, it must have been a shock to see a jet-lagged, middle-aged man in old jeans and a hoodie,” Marcus humbly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you digging?” Your eyebrow arches high on your brow as you interrogate him teasingly.

“What do you mean digging?” Marcus furrows his brows as his eyes widen innocently.

“Digging for a compliment, you daft thing!”

“Hah, no! I meant it honestly. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and don’t even know the reflection that stares back at me,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

“Pssh, you have nothing to worry about. Some of us can only dream of looking as put together as you. I generally look as though I crawled through an art studio backwards even if I use an iron and put make-up on- in fact, scratch that- I look worse if I iron and put effort into how I look,” you exhale despairingly at the memory of all the other immaculate recruits and your general throw-it-on, it’ll-do appearance. “Everyone else in my family is so incredibly smart- immaculate even- and yet, I stick out like a sore thumb. Like I didn’t quite pass the expectations of what it takes to be an adult. I swear that’s the reason my aunties think I’m not married.”

Marcus huffs a gentle laugh, “I think that’s a big part of it for me. For the amount of grey in my hair and the creases in my skin, I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

“Where did you expect to be, Marcus?” You cock your head to one side, listening intently.

A buzz suddenly emerges from your phone:

« On est en bas! »

“Ah they’re downstairs- but do not think for one second that this conversation is over,” you wag your finger in Marcus’ direction as you gather your belongings, “We will continue this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Marcus mock salutes you and clicks his heels together as he rises from his chair with a huge crunch from his knees, “See, what did I tell ya? Old. I’m gonna grab my things.”

Grabbing your trusty rucksack from the floor of the balcony as Marcus departs, you feel almost reluctant to leave the balcony and the conversation that you were having with him. Since he’d helped you through the anxiety attack prior to re-entering your old workplace, the two of you had found an ease in being around each other. Whilst you are dreaming of spending a day chatting with Marcus, he’s already back with a small smile and a soft look about his eyes as he catches you staring into space.

Walking through the hotel, Marcus and you could be thought of as any pair of friends on holiday with your giggles and gentle jibes towards each other as you walk down endless corridors to find the exit. There is no way that anyone would have said that you had met barely twenty-four hours before or that you were there as business associates with the easy air you treat each other. After crossing the elegant lobby, you finally reach the doors to the outside world, a wave of relief coursing through you to see that you didn’t have to make a decision as to which way to open the door as there is someone to do it for you.

As you reach their car, Jacques takes off his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car but Marcus waves him off, opening the door for you to jump into one of the back seats.

“Oh you weren’t kidding about the stickiness,” you mercilessly tease the pair sitting in the front seats. Élodie responds by sliding her front seat back as far as it can go and you yelp in surprise at the sudden crushing of your legs, slamming your fist on her headrest in mock anger.

“Please excuse the children, Marcus,” Jacques shakes his head and sighs deeply but Élodie reaches over and squeezes her husband’s thigh in a way that makes him yelp and laugh in the same breath.

Marcus and you catch each other’s eyes and grin at the playfulness. You might be here on business but at least you can enjoy yourselves at the same time. The stresses of the morning slowly ebbing from your mind, you stretch out, resting your head against the cool glass of the window and allow the hum of the car engine and gentle chatter to surround you, lulling you off to the sleep you had missed out on the night before.

✪✪✪✪✪

Something is tenderly brushing against your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into the warm touch as your eyes start to open and the world begins to regain its focus, “Hey, sleepyhead! We’re here,” Marcus murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb to rouse you from your slumber.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” you rub your eyes with your knuckles trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment of snuggling the fingers of your new boss, noticing that Élodie and Jacques have already left the car.

“No worries, your snores were pretty cute,” the agent teases you gently with a lopsided grin crossing his face.

“Lies! I don’t snore.” you exclaim indignantly at the accusations, but glad he hasn’t focussed on your reaction to him caressing your cheek, as your faculties start to kick in, reaching for the door handle to escape Marcus’ jokey impressions of your snores.

The mountain air in Grenoble strokes its icy fingertips against your neck, making you wrap the woolly softness of your cardigan more tightly around yourself. You notice Marcus also zipping up a black leather jacket over his hoodie. In the open boot of his car, Jacques concentrates on making a roll up next to a small bag of resources for you - cotton gloves, sample pots, tweezers and magnifying glasses.

“s'il vous plait, Marcus. Before we do anything else, I need to borrow your muscles,” Élodie announces to him, “We need coffee, and if I know that woman standing next to you, she will be in need of one, too!”

At Élodie’s statement, you watch Marcus’ face crease into a small smile, flashing that lovely dimple, as he crosses his arms across his chest. You wonder whether he's protecting his clothes from your next caffeine hit or trying to steel himself for the latest cheeky wink coming from Élodie. A slightly raised eyebrow is sent in your direction as his boots softly stride behind the clack of her heels upon the pavement.

A waft of tobacco drifts through the air as Jacques lights up as you watch his wife and your boss walk off in the direction of coffee.

“You left us, Nush,” Jacques scratches his nose as he looks at you through a cloud of smoke he has exhaled, “You disappeared. Literally, disappeared to the point that none of us could track you down.

“I mean, it is testament to what an incredible agent you are that you can just make yourself that invisible but…” he takes another inhale of the cigarette as he turns his shoulders to mirror your position, “But you weren’t even there for Jasper’s funeral.”

Silent rivers course down your face, “Please, Jacques. Don’t make me do this now. I can’t do this right now. Let me find my feet before we get into all of this. This is my first job since everything,” your hands trembling as you gesture wildly in the air. “I want to explain. I missed you both so much but I can’t right now. It isn’t the right time.”

Nothing more is said between the two of you as you both sit silently next to each other. Jacques nods contemplatively whilst he carries on sucking at his cigarette for comfort and release from the tension that has built upon his face. In the relative safety of the car boot, as he reaches across what feels like a chasm between you to pat your thigh, you can see the hurt searing through his eyes.

How did Imanage to destroy so much?

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus wonders how you are doing. He keeps looking back at you until you fade from his sight just to make sure that you are ok. He swears that he saw your shoulders and head drop as they seem to whenever you’re reminded of whatever those ghosts are that you haven’t managed yet to lay to rest.

“She’ll be ok with Jacques. Those two are like brother and sister, you needn't worry,” Élodie pats Marcus’ arm as she points in front of her, nodding towards a cafe. Seeing a small tic in his jaw, she adds with a small smile, “She’s special to you, non?”

After Marcus holds the door for Élodie, he shoves his hands in his pockets and pauses before saying, “Yeah. She is. I don’t think in all my years of working as an agent, that I’ve ever met someone like Anushka. Listening to her speak about art and the various different forgeries… it just transports me to a place... I’m not just in the museum seeing the original masterpieces. It’s not even just that I can see those pieces in front of me. Just by her words bringing them alive, I become part of the art. Her passion and knowledge is infectious and she cannot help but to enthuse everyone around- she is truly gifted.”

“Anushka is incredibly talented. She was born to be in the role but I would say that’s not the only way that you think she’s special,” Élodie gently analyses as she squeezes Marcus’ arm seeing a moment of panic cross his face- she tries to swallow down a laugh at how he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Nush- she can be a bit like a wild animal at times. It can take time to earn her trust. The 5 Eyes team is separate from Mi5, non?”

Marcus’ brow furrows, “Yes, we work under slightly separate parameters as we work across five agencies across the world- sort of similar to Interpol. Why d’ya ask?”

“Ok, so if you were to start anything with her- if anything were to be allowed to develop between the two of you, could it result in disciplinary action or her losing her role? Hang on,” she pauses as the assistant behind the glass shelf raises their eyebrows in Élodie’s direction, alerting her that it is time to order, « Bonjour, quatre cafés s’il vous plaît »

Marcus adds « Et je voudrais deux pain aux raisins aussi, s’il vous plaît. »

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you spoke a little French- a man of many talents,” Élodie teases with a wink as she grabs her purse from her bag, “And let me guess, the food is to try to stop Nush from burning herself or you? That woman is a nightmare with drinks.”

Reaching across Élodie,who is about to tap her card to pay, Marcus passes the cashier a couple of notes that more than cover the total, grabs the coffees and goes to leave, holding the door open with his elbow. “Why d’you wanna know about how interdepartmental relationships are viewed?”

The creases on Marcus’ brow deepen as yet another hint of whatever plagues your past troubles his mind due to Élodie’s words, “It is not my story to tell, and I’m not sure I even have half of the facts but please be gentle with her. Come what may between the two of you.”

“Oh, look who’s come to join us!” Looking up after a sharp nudge to his ribs alerted him to speak no further, Marcus sees Jacques tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, then pulling your hunched shoulders into a side on shoulder hug as Élodie grabs a coffee and mocks throwing it in your direction, to which you stick your tongue out. You are so busy messing around with the pair of them that you don’t notice the tenderness in Marcus’ eyes or the smile that creeps across his face as he watches how your friends behave around you.

“So are we ready to look at a slab of meat? I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Marcus,” Jacques chuckles freely at the thought of the tall, broad American becoming queasy at a graphic painting depicting the decomposition of a piece of carrion.

“Oh no, I love rare steak far too much, and I’ve spent way too long researching art to be weirded out by a bit of expressionism,” Marcus adds before taking a long gulp of coffee, “I must admit that I’m not terribly confident in my knowledge of Soutine other than he liked painting rotting meat.”

Jacques smiles and gestures his head in your direction, “Nush- time to shine, chérie.”

“So - Soutine was a Russian painter, who made massive contributions to the Expressionist movement whilst based in Paris. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs so please tell me to shut up if you already know it but expressionism was a modernist movement, initially in poetry and painting, originating in Germany at the beginning of the 20th century. Its typical trait was to present the world solely from a subjective perspective, distorting it radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality so you needn’t worry about the depictions of rotting meat as it isn’t like an anatomical drawing you’d find in a copy of Grey’s Anatomy or anything.”

Pausing to draw a breath, you look up to check Marcus’ face- that you aren’t boring him to death- and see two dark eyes, flecked with amber, that are entirely focussed on you. His entranced gaze makes you shift awkwardly, eyes dancing around the street to try and focus on something other than him under the sheer intensity but you decide to continue, “He’s quite an interesting character in regards to our case as he was good friends with Modigliani, who we know is another one with multiple fraudulencies of his works as well as our link we made in the meeting that our main faked pieces being sold by our group are by European Jews.

“Soutine seldom showed his works, but he did take part in the important exhibition The Origins and Development of International Independent Art held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume in 1937 in Paris, where he was at last hailed as a great painter but sadly soon afterwards, France was invaded by German troops and obviously as a Jew, Soutine had to escape from the French capital and hide in order to avoid arrest by the Gestapo. He moved from one place to another and was sometimes forced to seek shelter in forests, sleeping outdoors. Suffering from a stomach ulcer and bleeding badly, he left a safe hiding place for Paris in order to undergo emergency surgery, which ultimately failed to save his life.

“The main thing that you two need to know,” you add as you reaffix your focus and run your eyes between Marcus and Jacques, ”Is that Paul Guillaume was the main dealer of his work. Straight after World War 1, he was Soutine’s biggest cheerleader and landed him a major deal with the American collector, Albert C Barnes. If you manage to track it back to either of them, you’re pretty much at ground zero- back at Soutine’s own easel- and don’t need to worry much about further certification of validity as it being one of his pieces.”

Standing in the street in front of the cafe, you discuss between the four of you who will focus on which part of the checking for verification of the piece.

Marcus and Jacques decide to focus on the provenance of the piece and to be honest, you’re relieved to be free from the paperwork trail. The idea of searching through the records of previous ownership, fills you with utter dread at missing something that would prove that it was a fake. You’d hope that each piece could be instantly traceable back to the moment where the original had been removed from the easel by the artist but that is so often far from the truth of the situation as records are often lost or aren’t even kept in the first place with only a handshake to move the piece to the newest owner. When certain disreputable organisations or untrustworthy governments seek to obscure the origins of pieces, it is nothing but doors being slammed in your face and labyrinths created from lies and deliberate obfuscation.

“Ok, so Nush and I will collect samples from the piece. I’ll then use the microscope to check the samples for any irregularities in the craquelure in the craquelure while madam here uses the stereo microscope to check the layers of paint,” Élodie gestures towards you, passing a plastic case over containing your equipment. “Obviously we won’t be able to do an x-rays, infrared or mass spectrometry tests as they aren’t so portable but if we cannot confidently say the painting isn’t a forgery, then I suggest we get a courier to take it back to Lyon for us.”

“Agreed, I think that would be the best use of everyone’s talents here,” Marcus replies, nodding, “Are we far from the auction house?” to build up a more 3D picture of the piece. D’accord??” Élodie checks as she grabs a coffee and starts to walk off in the direction of the auction house with Jacques beating a steady path behind her.

With a small gesture of his hand, Marcus waves you forward and as you take a step in the same direction as your friends, a small white paper bag with a telltale sticky stain seeping through that you hadn’t noticed being held out, taps you gently against the soft curve of your tummy. With a confused look knitting across your face.

Marcus boyishly grins back at you as he takes a bite out of his pastry, “Last set of clean clothes, gotta take calculated risks with you around.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Slightly arched windows with flaking grey paint allow a small amount of crisp mountain light to trickle into the mellow gloom of the Aladdin's cave that stretch out in front of Marcus’ eyes. As far as his eyes can see, gilt framed pictures playing out a multitude of scenes from people’s lives- some more parochial and some edging to the more abstract- bedeck the walls. A goat playing a violin, a horse in a field and a lady all in blue with sad eyes and a nose twisted closer to her ears are all jostling for positions in the party on his senses. Every single nerve in his body tingles with excitement at the treasures surrounding him on all sides. The busy-ness did not stop at the walls as every surface of the room was covered in objets d’art with exquisitely fashioned chairs, tables and armoires creating an increasingly impossible maze to step through across the floor. Even the exposed beams of the ceiling felt the need to be a part of this gentle assault upon the eyes, protruding above his head, lending an elegant set of vertebrae to the room.

Marcus thinks he’s hiding his giddiness well until he catches Anushka looking at him with an amused grin upon her face. He goes to respond but initially struggles to find the words to explain the eagerness that is written across his face, his mouth stretched in a childlike grin, eyes lit up and hands that tremble and flex with anticipation. A small smile from her and the light squeeze upon his arm told Marcus that he needn’t worry about explaining anything. Even though the touch was slight and momentary, it cut through the overstimulation of the room and it takes every bit of self control he owns to not throw his arms around her and hug her tightly. Don’t mess this one up too, Pike.

Reopening his eyes, an elegant chignon of hair and high cheekbones makes its way through the clutter of Marcus’ thoughts and extends a delicate, papery hand in greeting. The owner seems to glide through the objects around her, obviously confident of the dead ends and exit points between the items as she leads you to a small office where a tidy pile of papers and a small computer await your services.

«Madame, comprenez-vous que l'utilisation de ces méthodes scientifiques ne peut que prouver que le tableau est un faux? On ne peut pas prouver si une pièce est authentique.» Madam, do you understand that using these scientific methods cannot prove if a painting is a fake? rubbing his brow, Jacques tries to explain to the owner of the auction house, «Même si les résultats de tous les tests scientifiques indiquent qu'il n'y a pas de tromperie dans l'œuvre d'art, nous ne pouvons pas dire sans l'ombre d'un doute qu'il ne s'agit pas simplement d'un cas d'un faussaire dépassant la détection scientifique.» Even if the results of these scientific tests show that there is not a forgery in this work of art, we cannot say without a shadow of doubt that there is not simply a case of a forger out-pacing scientific detection.

Marcus nods in agreement with the agent’s words. He hates the dishonesty of it all- the obviously incredibly talented painters creating mimicries and mockeries of the original pieces. As the owner spins out of the room, Jacques notices the frown painted on Marcus’ face and the tic in his jaw as he starts to flick through the portfolio of papers in front of him.

“Hey, what happened to the giddy boy in the sweetshop back there?” Jacques teases, gently punching him on his shoulder.

Rubbing his fingers along the side of his nose before scratching the patchy scruff that lines the edge of his jaw, Marcus smiles, “Hah! That obvious, eh? Just, kinda wishing that we weren’t even necessary.”

“Yeah, it is irritating but it does pay my mortgage,”Jacques chuckles deeply, “And to be honest without it, I wouldn’t have met that woman in that lock up over there and convinced her that she should marry me or have my baby.”

A pang of jealousy hit Marcus hard, “You’ve done well then. Mine just pays a mortgage on a place in DC that I won’t even be living in for the next couple of years.”

“Never wanted to or the opportunity never arose?” Jacques quizzes not lifting his eyes as he reads through documents.

“Your setup with Élodie is something I’d love to have,” he nods sadly, “Just have one failed marriage - due to her infidelity and lack of wish to try and work things out, and a failed engagement as she was in love with another man - to my name. No, I’d love to have that vulnerability and affection with someone again. Kinda feels like a pipe dream now- not sure anyone would want to take on someone with such a creased up, greying ol’man.”

“Hah, have you forgotten my wife’s quite genuinely visceral reaction to meeting you?” Jacques laughs heartily, rolling his eyes at the mere suggestion from Marcus, “Believe me, you do not have anything to worry about there. It’ll happen. Usually- in fact, always, when you least expect it.”

With a soft huff and a slight lift from the left side of his lips, Jacques strains to hear Marcus’ whisper, “I truly hope so.”

“Hang on, whose name was it that we were looking for that would pretty much guarantee authenticity?”

Jacques’ face creases in concentration as he tries to rack his brains for the names Nush had provided earlier, “Bof...Paul something-or-the-other French and Albert something-or-the-other American, I think.”

“Hmmm, I think I’ve a document here with both of their names on it… Shall we go share it with the ladies?”

«Bonne idée. On y va. » Good idea. Let’s go.

Grabbing the pile of documents from the polished walnut bureau, there’s a sweet bubble of excitement building in Marcus’ tummy. Try as he might to convince himself that it was on account of being out of the tiny office and back around an exquisite masterpiece from the early twentieth century, deep down he knew there was another sweeter, more ancient and primal reason that made him want to be in the lock up.

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[gilly-bj]

Sorry not to be rude ( I prolly worded this better in my head lol ) but when people say "isayama doesn't owe us anything" fr writing a bad ending or whatever, I laugh because he does??? ?? We are the audience , aot is source of income where do you think the money comes from? A fucking tree? It's a give & take relationship. As viewers we have the very right to criticize and ask for a better ending but in 139's case that's not even good enough, we need proper explanation for so many plot holes hello?? Even Isa himself believes that he needs to make the majority happy which is precisely why he went online searching for reviewed and comments from ppl. That's why it's a fan service ending bc the vast majority are either Ems who thrash ehs or ship em by default + ema Stans. And yes he did admit to making changes due to his editors in the past and if that ain't evident enough for the possibility that the ending in fact was charged last minute. Yes isayama can make mistake he is a human and he even said he regrets the ending which clearly tells us that it's the not the ending he wanted. Idk ppl be like "fans think as if they can make better ending" but yes it's true they can actually🤨 , if Isa himself isn't happy with it that means someone else CAN in fact make a better ending because surprise surprise Isa isn't the ONLY ONE with an understanding to his story and decent reading comprehension. It's okay to admit the ending was bad just because the entire series until that point has been a masterpiece, criticism isn't disrespectful it's having common sense to not blindly love what your favs puts out. Em Shipers are now screaming "y'all don't understand the interview" the fuck? How long are they gonna gaslight EHS even after continually getting what they want when are they gonna stop acting like it's not just EHs who didn't like the ending. Eh, Eren being the father made sense for the plotline, unbiased people can have no trouble admitting that. Em was picked up from the trash as a wallmart version of Romeo & Juliet ( even then they lacked "true love" concept by 100% ) at the cost of mikasa's character development. I remember defending 138 and I quote myself saying "isayama gave Mikasa the development of a lifetime" but now I can't even say that anymore because caniconally there is no evidence that supports that anymore. And I'm open to Mikasa critcisism bc i actually cared about her as an individual character. The way the news of Eren X Mikasa love comedy upseted me is because even as a joke we are gonna be stuck in that "Mikasa showed Erne how to love 😍😍💔" agenda with that collection 🤢🤢. Whatever the fuck I do not care anymore ( but I really do ) I just hope what we get for rivamika adds to the theory of Mikasa moving on and does not mess up our healing pace as fandom, I rest my case. 🕳️🏃‍♀️

Hi my dear @ackermanshoe and thank you for this looong ask! 

Okay joking apart, I agree with you. “Isayama doesn’t owe us anything” doesn’t make sense; when you post something online, it isn’t yours anymore. AOT is famous worldwide, he hasn’t written it just to keep it in a drawer of his desk. He’s giving us something, which is the time and “effort” he puts in creating the story, and we are giving him something else, popularity and money, that obviously doesn’t make happiness but we must accept that it is important. I don’t think he’s the type of person that just cares about the money; if he was, he would have stopped with season 3 but despite the fact that he was tired he decided to give aot a conclusion with the last arc that unfortunately ended the way we know. So I think that something happened; for me, it’s both his readers’ and editor’s fault. He probably saw many of them disliking the Marley Arc and when the editor talked with him about Erem*ka and the other fanservice shits we got in 139, he just said “ok fine” since he was tired of everyone. Rereading 139, the Erem*ka scenes really look like some kind of sarcastic criticisms towards their relationship. It looks like he made fun of it since everything is really absurd and stupid. And even if he didn’t owe us anything, we would have had the right to express our disappointment; when you work with audience you have to be ready to accept compliments and criticisms. Those excuses to me sounds like the words of an e* that doesn’t accept others opinion about their “canon” ship ☠🤡 They don’t understand that it’s not about shipping, everyone who just looked deeper into the story and wanted and expected the best for the last chapter didn’t like it, even non shippers. Some say it’s fine because everyone is alive but i don’t understand how can you say they are alive when their characters were fucking ruined, they are physically alive but those are not the characters we knew, especially Eren. Even non shippers said that Erehisu made more sense than E*, their ship is completely baseless; we have not misinterpreted the story for 11 years it was just obvious that Eren didn’t love Mikasa; it was confirmed various times that he saw her as a mum and not as a lover and where’s this extreme care he felt for Historia. When did he show that care for Mikasa ☠🤡??? He was ready to kill all his friends, including her. And the “Mikasa taught Eren how to love” is so disgusting that i can’t believe someone actually has the audacity to say that. What love? Does it look like love to you? When you love someone you want the their happiness and Eren said that he didn’t want Mikasa to be happy. He treated her like an object and that’s not romantic, AT ALL. It’s not about shipping it’s just that you have a completely wrong mentality if you think that treating a woman, a man, or basically a breathing human being like that is fine. Mikasa deserves more than a man like Eren, she deserves someone that respects her and loves her. I can’t believe there’s someone in this world that thinks that it’s an healthy relationship. Look, if you are an Erem*ka shipper and you think that their relationship is fine you better leave my blog because, honestly, a person with this wrong mentality doesn’t deserve my respect. Now, I’m sorry for this long post, but I had to vent out my frustration about e*. 

These are just opinions but I don’t regret a single word that is written here.