#the girl the shovel and the evil eye

[acidd-attack]

The Girl, the Shovel, and the Evil Eye

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Manga Monday: The Girl, the Shovel, and the Evil Eye, Vol. 1

Series: The Girl, the Shovel, and the Evil Eye, Vol. 1Author: ChouchouhasshaArtist: KayatamaruPublisher: Kodansha ComicsReleased: September 28, 2021Received: NetGalley Summary: Tsuguto Sumihara is one of those people you would label nice but maybe a pushover. Unfortunately, Tsuguto’s demeanor directly resulted in his death, as he unwillingly gave up his bus seat, only for the following crash to…

[krkiiz]

take a chance with me . luke castellan x reader

you decide to confront luke about your current situationship with him.

luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of Athena , crack , misunderstandings , “what are we” , “i thought we’re already dating” , fluff with slight angst , overthinking , kisses , them being sappy , nicknames

note : can’t stop falling in love with this evil betrayer smh. inspired by niki’s song “take a chance with me” ! (IM SORRY IF THIS IS CRINGE this is my first time writing kiss scenes help 😭😭😭😭)

let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3

“It’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to your cabin, yeah?” The dark haired boy smiled at you.

Gods how you loved that smile of his.

It’s a tradition of yours. Him walking you back to your cabin after your outings. The two of you walk hand in hand as your near the Athena cabin.

You and Luke had been acquainted for quite some time. You both first met when you arrived in camp for the first time.

You were fifteen back then. Time passed by as fast Zeus’ lightning strikes as summers blurred after summers. In a blink of an eye, you guys were both eighteen now. Adults, no longer those carefree teenagers that relied on your counselors.

During those three years of friendship, you and Luke only got closer. It was hard to admit, and after an excruciating time of denial (and constant pestering from your half siblings including Annabeth), you finally surrendered and admitted the growing feelings you harbored for your close friend.

You’re too afraid to confess your feelings as you treasured your friendship with him deeply. You would gush about how sweet he is to Annabeth, rolling yourself on your bed as blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing. Confiding to Annabeth about your recent encounters, eyes lit up rivaling the shine of Apollo himself as he thinks of you.

Poor girl. Annabeth was sick of it.

But this summer, you felt a shift in your dynamic with the curly haired boy. He would eat lunch with you more often, asking you to go on more hangouts, challenged you on more duels, battles. It felt different, closer.

You were not complaining, matter of fact you were quite glad. Maybe your feelings wasn’t just one sided after all.

But as time move forwards, the closer you two get, more couple-ey interaction commends. He would tuck your hand behind your ear as you both converse, intwining your hands when your in the same path, calling you nicknames.

The more your relationship with him progressed, the more it blurred the line between friends and more. At this point, you knew he had feelings for you as well, and he too was well aware of yours.

A bubble of thought soon started clouding your mind. What were you both now? Friends? Close friends? Lovers? You don’t remember Luke asking you to be his girlfriend.

What was the nature this relationship?

You feel his grip on yours loosening as you stopped near the grey building of Cabin 6. “This is it for you, princess.”

Words rolled of his tongue like honey and you felt like a honeybee, drawn to its sweetness.

Friends don’t call each other nicknames.

Luke placed a gentle hand on your cheek, drawing closer has he placed his lips on your temple, as if he was kissing your thoughts away. “What’s got you thinking so hard since we started walking, hm?”

Your cheeks lit up like campfire at his action, he smiled noticing your flushed state.

Cute

You look up to the curly haired boy, his fingers still pressed on your cheek. What are we, Luke?

What if Luke suddenly doesn’t want you anymore because of that question?

Were you too selfish by wanting more?

Was this not enough for you?

No it wasn’t. You want to draw a clear like between friends and more, and Luke and you were shoveling a deep hole in the middle of said line.

What if he fears commitment and disappears?

“Oh no, it’s nothing Luke.” You shook your head away from his grasp, pushing all your thoughts away. “It’s late, I should probably get in.”

But before you can turn away from him, Luke was quick to grab your hand, not letting you go any further. “No, Yn. Something is clearly bothering you. And I don’t want you to go to bed with an unpleasant feeling.”

He squeezed your held hands. “Please, Yn. Is it something I’ve done?”

You were quick to deny him. “It’s not, Luke. I don’t even know it’s just. I don’t know, confusing? I think complicated is the right word.”

The dark haired boy brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing your forearm softly. “It’s okay take your time, darling. I’m listening.”

You sighed seeing him caress your hand gently as he brushed his lips on the skin. “It’s about us, Luke.”

Dark hues make contact with your own. “What about us?”

“What are we Luke? I don’t even know anymore.” You retracted your hand from his grasp, frustration getting a hold on you. “Friends don’t hold hands while they walk, friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads, or hands, or even call each other nicknames.”

You look up to see the confusion written clearly on his face. “What are we, Luke Castellan?” You asked once more.

There was a moment of silent and you dreaded it. Each passing second you can hear the rustling wind, chirps of birds, and the sound of your heart falling into your stomach.

Before he finally broke it. A wholehearted chuckle graced his lips, creasing his eyes.

You scrunched your eyebrows at his reaction. Clearly displeased. Were you some joke to him?

“Luke, this is serious, why are you laughing right now?”

He quickly straightened his composure after hearing your tone. “Ehem, wait sorry. You’re serious? Is this what you’ve been worrying about?”

“Well yeah. What’s so funny about it? Am I just some joke to you?”

“No no! Yn, wait.” He placed both of his hand above your shoulders. Eyes peered at yours before genuinely asking. “Haven’t we been dating for like two months now?”

What? Confusion warps your face.

“Yn, remember? Two months ago when I took you on a picnic by the lake? I asked if you wanted to be together and you agreed to it, remember?” He tried to recall your memory.

Then it snapped.

“Oh, that was a confession? I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” Luke mentally face palmed himself and you sheepishly giggled.

“Okay maybe I was too vague with my words so let’s redo it right now yeah?” You tilted your head at him.

The dark haired boy took both of your hands from your sides, lacing them into his. “Yn L/n, daughter of Athena, one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen, wisest and the most just ever, will you take the pleasure of being my girlfriend?”

You unwind your laced fingers, your hands moving, circling themselves around the nape of his neck as his hands are now placed on the sides your waist, drawing you closer. “Hm will I?” You teased him lightly.

“Please?”

“I guess you got yourself a girlfriend, Castellan.”

You laughed against his chest. And you can feel his ribcage expanding was he laughed along with you.

You tilt your head above, standing on the tips of your toes, as you pulled him even closer than before. Your noses touch at the proximity and you could feel his breath on yours. “Is this why you’ve never kissed me before?” you hear him whisper.

“Well I am doing it right now.” You pull him in, his lips crashing with your own. His grip on your waist tightened as your hands made its way to the softness of his curls. Eyes tightly shut as you both bask in the bliss of ecstasy before pulling apart.

He leaned his forehead against yours. Giving your lip a small peck as he craves for more of you. “I don’t know if this is not obvious yet but I like you, so so much, my Yn.”

You softly giggled. “I like you just as much, my prince.”

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023

[mariahcarreyyy]

.ೃ࿐𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 | 𝐦𝐯𝟑𝟑 |

max verstappen x fem!reader

plot. when max visits years after your split, the strong facade you've worn crumbles at his fingertips

wc. 3.4k

warnings. smut 18+, angry n rough sex, p in v, degradation kink, reader cheats on her longterm boyfriend lol, oral sex (f!recieving), rough fingering (f!recieving), dry humping, name-calling, doggy + missionary style, dom!max and reader who thinks shes a dom, hairpulling, slight choking, and very angsty in some parts

Two seconds.

The amount of time it takes Max to grasp your door handle and trudge into the dimly lit apartment instead of patiently allowing you to let him in is two seconds. A fitted black suit adorns his body. His body, who glides assuredly into your humble kitchen. His eyes, who choose to ignore your irritated frame.

Then his lips. His big, red lips, who swallow the copious amount of popcorn that his hands were shovelling down his throat. His massive, veiny hands who used to intertwine perfectly in yours.

Him, Max. The figure leaning over your marble counters with slouched shoulders and forearms resting against the cool surface is Max. Two cups, he notices, stand side by side on the sink. A pink Stanley cup and a cheap protein shaker that isn't his.

Max’s fingers twitch.

From where you’re frozen by the door frame, only his side profile is visible. You curl your fists tight. Suddenly, wearing an oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties didn’t seem so comfortable.

“Max.”

Your eye twitches at the acknowledgement you receive. Or lack thereof. The recently crowned third-time world champion huffs at the bowl of popcorn in his hands before turning to open the fridge. He doesn’t look very satisfied. But then again, he never really was when it came to you, was he? 

The light of the furniture illuminates Max’s face rather annoyedly, contouring his sharp jawline and the curve of his lips like it had a point to prove. This is what you could’ve had, it taunted, if you hadn’t broken up.

Much louder and more irritated than before, you call out for him. And then, your eyes meet. You had spent the last few years meeting his gaze solely through the rectangular box in your living room; now, you pinch yourself in disbelief—anger, as well.

“What,” you stutter, and almost curse yourself when you catch a glimpse of his cocky smirk you remember all too well. “What are you doing here, Max?”

The fridge begins beeping loudly. Rolling his eyes, the Dutch slams it closed, slipping past you and into the living room. You follow him. The room is lit up by what feels like a thousand scented candles and it’s cold despite it.

The blond collapses on top of your couch, and the cushions pull him in like they missed him. It’s been so long, they think, and you feel better than the girl who’d been crying on us when you left.

“Where’s that guy?” Max asks bitterly, eyes stubborn on the television before him. “The one you posted yesterday at that restaurant.”

Max doesn’t follow you on any social media anymore, and an evil part of you feels content with the fact that he’d had to manually search your name to see that photo. Last night, Scotty had made a reservation at a fine, respectable Italian place to commemorate your one-year anniversary. 

You had a good time; Scotty would quip about everything and anything, and you would laugh exaggeratedly. You two were a great pairing, you think— hope, for the sake of your sanity.

You make yourself home in the space next to him, pulling your knees to your chest and tugging at your shirt to cover your bare legs. “You need to leave. Now, Max.”

A quiet ‘hm’ slips past his lips. But he’s still stuck on the couch, toeing out of his dress shoes and crossing his legs together like it was his home—but, it isn’t. Not anymore. Not while you are evidently a meaningless speck in his glorious life.

When Max turns to you, disgustingly pretty blue eyes and all, you succumb to the tight grasp he has on all of your logic. “Business trip. Milan.”

An empty chuckle raises the tiny hairs on your arm and echoes across the room. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth; his eyes refuse to leave yours. He brings a cold hand to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; his fingertips leave burn marks against your cheek.

“You don’t even like Italian food,” he continues, because does he ever really know how to stop? “Does he even know you?”

And that. It shouldn’t have made you as frustrated as it did, not when you had gotten over Max. Totally. Completely. Utterly. “What, like you did? Max, you wouldn’t even give a fuck to remember our anniversary!”

The sarcastic glint in his eyes turns sour. “I had to race—Fuck! y/n, I was leading the championship, you knew that.”

“Yeah, Max, how could I forget? Red bull this, Red bull fucking that,” you seethe through gritted teeth, face inching closer to him and squinting eyes shining predatorily. “It’s been two years, Max, two years since you broke up with me. So, congrats. You got what you wanted—a trophy and a name under your belt. Why don’t you fucking leave me alone?”

Max’s breath hitches, but your uncontrolled panting inhales enough air for the both of you. Then, his hand wraps around the side of your neck, not squeezing, but it’s there. It’s warm, and it feels painfully refreshing against your skin, and your protests die in your throat.

The Dutch whispers an octave lower, and only then, when his minty breath tickles your cheekbones, do you perceive your proximity, “Because I think if you really wanted me gone, I would be by now.”

And, well. He might as well be ripping open your ribcage and twisting your heart until it breaks in half, crimson blood making a mess of the carpeted floor. 

You’re left speechless under his gaze because as much as you try to deny, you know it’s true. Max would leave as fast as he did two years ago if there was even a hint of honesty in your words.

“And you know what else I think?” Max takes your silence as encouragement to continue. “I think he doesn’t fuck you well enough if you’re this desperate for it.”

Somehow, you muster up enough irritation to murmur, “I—m’not desperate.”

“No?” he taunts, extending his thumb to the underside of your chin and tilting it upward. “Why haven’t you properly kicked me out, then?”

You rack your mind for a response, a reaction—fucking anything to prove you aren’t wishing he’d just inch a bit closer to close the gap between you. 

“I . . . I hate you, Jesus Christ,” you curse defeatedly, craning your neck upward and frantically meeting his stupidly large lips.

The kiss isn’t slow or loving; it’s wet and filthy and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a lingering taste of honey on his tongue when he brushes it between your parted lips, and you can’t help but pull him in deeper for more. 

The hand on your neck tightens significantly, Max’s breath tickling your upper lip as the other seizes around your under thigh and swiftly pulls you onto his lap.

A gasp flows out of your mouth and he greedily swallows it. You want to skin him alive when you feel him grin arrogantly, but then he presses a hand on your ass and lowers you flush against him—Him, and the massive bulge straining his black trousers—and the thoughts spill right out of your head into a gooey puddle beside your feet.

“I hate y— oh,” your murmur morphs into a shaky gasp when he rips his lips away from yours and attacks the canvas of your neck; you say those three words like you could them words into existence. 

And I hate that I still want you so fucking bad; those eleven words are left unsaid like you expect him to read your mind. But Max couldn’t two years ago, and you know he can’t now.

Your hands glide over his muscular frame, relearning the sharp edges and smooth skin of his body and you moan breathily when Max sucks on the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Y’might hate me, baby, but your pussy doesn’t. Fuck, she’s dripping all ov’me.”

A pathetic whimper slips past your lips. He’s not wrong— you could feel your slick coating your panties and rubbing against Max’s pants. You were usually one to stand your ground, but fuck, you need him. Need him the same you did the first time you met, both young and inexperienced. Maybe more.

Probably more.

But he isn’t doing anything to relieve the ache between your thighs, so. Before you take matters into your own hands and grind your pussy against his covered dick, Max’s hands cup the mounds of your ass and lift you sideways to splay your body on the couch.

“Max,” you say like the breaths have been knocked out of your poor lungs, but it might not be so far from the truth.

Max positions himself in between your legs, hips and thick thighs parting them wide, and the itchy fabric against your naked skin spins your head in dizzying circles. You could fucking see the damp patch your slick left on his crotch. Your hips buck into the air; you hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

His dishevelled hair lay atop his head and you want to pull. His flush trails down his neck and you want to bite and kiss and mark it till pretty bruises litter his soft skin. Your hands and lips stay pliant under his body instead.

“Y’d only get this wet f’me, though, hm?” he groans when his fingers push your skimpy underwear to the side, unblinking like the sight of your glistening folds would disappear if he looked away.

I’m always like this for you, you feel the need to reassure, even when you aren’t here—especially when you aren’t here. But your blood still boils at his stupid hair and stupid smirk, so. He’s met with silence.

Growing impatient, Max slaps at your swollen clit, humming satisfactorily at the loud gasp you let out. He grazes his digits past the bundle of nerves, and your incessant need to murder him and fuck him till he realized he’d made a mistake letting you go only intensify.

“Answer me or I swear to fucking God I will leave you like this, shatje,” he ends up growling lowly, thick fingers hovering over your hole. “And then it’s your boyfriend’s problem.”

“Max, fuck off–”

The warm body abruptly stands up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this cold. But the empty sensation doesn’t last long, anyway. Max barely has any time to walk away before your fingers latch onto his forearm tightly.

You splutter, “M-Max wait, wait.”

When he tilts his head down to meet your eyes with a raised brow, you have no recollection of what you'd even wanted to say. 

“Please…please, just fucking help me.”

And apparently, that's all Max needs because his hands are immediately tugging your shirt off, lips trailing hot kisses in the divot of your tits. Your lips part around a moan when he purses his lips around your hard nipple, stomach stirring uncomfortably with need. His mouth leaves marks like cigarette burns in its wake; it stings against the wounds that have already healed years ago.

The Dutch doesn’t leave you much to dwell on before he lays between your thighs again, trails his hand across your body till his fingers nudge at your lips, and shoves his index and middle finger inside the wetness of your mouth. if you were slightly more desperate, you would've whimpered at the pleasent pressure on your tongue.

If.

“Fuck, lieverd,” Max exhales when you suck your cheeks in, wet muscle darting over and between his digits— wide, innocent eyes and all. “Can he get you like this? Fucking dripping and desperate for dick?”

You shake your head frantically because it’s true. Because he couldn’t, not like Max can. Satisfied, Max only presses against your throat slightly to watch you gag around him. He brings his hand back down to the space between your legs agonizingly slow and alas, pushes them both in like he’s in a rush.

“Max! Oh, oh m’God, fuck,” you gasp, the twinge of pain is quickly overshadowed by the hot pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach.

Your hips involountarily buck upwards into the fullness, but Max flattens his palm on your lower stomach to shove you down. Eyes rolling back and threading your fingers through his hair before tugging his insatiable mouth on your pussy.

“He doesn’t,” Max cuts himself off with a groan when his tongue flicks at your clit, familiar tasting slick pooling on his taste buds. “He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t make you cum as hard as I do, can he?”

He doesn’t expect a response; it isn’t even a question, as well as you’re aware. Max knows he’s the only person who can have you writhing and moaning on his fingers, cock, tongue— all three, one night.

And he’s right. But. Max’s control of the situation makes you feel queasy, so.

“No– ohh, fuckfuckfuck,” you moan, high and needy, when Max curls his fingers upwards, like a reward for agreeing with him. “He–, he fucks me better.”

From under you, Max’s face visibly dims, but you aren’t able to bask in the satisfaction it gives you before he drags his thick digits out of you—your hole clenching in protest, crying out at the emptiness when it fails to keep them inside—hooks his hands into the small of your waist, and your ass meets the hardwood floor.

“What the fuck–”

Your breath hitches when he flips you over on your elbows and knees. Back arched almost uncomfortably, furrowed brows with Max’s bruising hands on your hips to lift your ass further in the air. 

When Scotty slips into bed tomorrow morning, you hope he’ll see the ugly hues of blue and green on your tainted body and leave soundlessly.

Shaking your head at the intrusive thought, you curse internally. Scotty’s nice, and you don’t deserve him. Not when you’re willingly presenting yourself to Max, the folds of your pussy connected by the lewd lines of his spit and your slick.

"Y’wanna act like a whore?" Max whispers hotly from behind you– his breath tickles your ear and his hands rise to your hair, gather your locks into a makeshift ponytail, and tug it forcefully to tilt your head back, making you wince. "I'll fucking treat you like one."

A string of your desperate whines fills Max’s ears like a symphony, and he groans with you when you begin to grind your ass backwards against his dick. His dick. Fuck, Max needs it wrapped around your tight walls, milking him for all he has; needs to watch you writhe on his cock like it was what you were made for.

“I hate you,” you repeat, much more breathless than the other times you said it, and Max has the audacity to laugh.

Though, you guess it has more to do with the fact that all the while you were saying those three words, you were still needily humping your ass against his covered dick.

You still are, and it’s driving him fucking insane. Max curses when he realizes he’s still trapped by the confines of his pants. Whoever thought wearing clothes was a good idea?

Clumsily and with only one hand whilst the other grips your hair, he fumbles out of his suit. And Max throws the articles of clothing mindlessly—on the couch, on the floor. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t fucking care. 

A relieved sigh fills the room as the cool air wraps around his painfully hard cock. Your breath hitches when you feel the thick tip graze your pussy. His hand hastily grips at his base, aligns it to your folds, and coating it in your slick as he strokes it once, twice.

“Ah! Max, holy shit,” you blabber when his cock nudges against your swollen clit, and finally, thrusts his hips forward, the tip fitting snugly against your walls. “Oh, oh, fuck, moremoremore, please.”

And Max. Well, Max is doomed.

“Fuck, liefje, your pussy missed me so fucking bad, I know, I know,” Max coos when your hole clenches around him greedily, and spreads your cheeks with one hand, gazing obscenely at the sight of you sucking more and more of him inside.

The familiar stretch burns and yet your hips push back against his cock— three words ringing in your otherwise empty mind: full, full, fuller. Max’s hips stutter as he meets your movements halfway, fucking his stupidly massive cock into your wetness and tightening his hold on your hair.

You wish you could say you hate the pain as much as you hate him.

“Max, Max, Max,” you urge him as your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you don’t really know what for; your neediness took over your senses the moment Max kissed you.

But Max, he’d already memorized all of it— all your tells, those things that pushed you over the edge—, protected them inside a dust-covered chest buried in his mind. It was no surprise he knew what to do with you now, filling you to the brim and pounding into you ruthlessly.

“Yes! Yes! Mm fuck, please, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you sob happily, and Max wouldn’t fucking dare.

The man behind you tugs you upright with the hand on your hair, his chest flush heatedly against your back and tilting your head to pounce at your neck.

“Tell me,” Max growls slowly, slowing his assaults on your wet pussy, and now, you’re almost sure that your hate is reciprocated. “Tell me he means nothing to you.”

A loud yelp leaves your lips when he slaps your clit again, and a slight gush of slick slides down your walls, dripping lewdly onto his balls. Your hand reaches up to grip his hair and pulls his pillowy lips back onto your neck; tears brim at your waterline. You aren’t sure if it’s because of how badly you want to cum or miss him— you blink.

No, no, no. That wouldn’t be possible because. Because you don’t miss him.

“He’s nothing, Max, nothing compares to you,” you cry out, and Max falters.

Then, he pulls out.

“Huh? Wha…” You inhale sharply, feeling so stupidly empty.

Before you dig a hole for you and your pussy to crawl in and die, Max is swiftly turning you over by your hips and engulfing his dick in your walls again. Your mouth falls open again; Max takes it as an opportunity to press his lips against yours.

Your hands cradle his face and kiss him back gently like he isn’t fucking the life out of you. Like he isn’t projecting his pent up frustration for the last two years onto your wet, tight pussy. A muffled cry escapes your mouth when Max thrusts into you with newfound fervor.

His lips detach from yours, burrying his forehead into the crook of your neck to, hopefully, muffle his groans. “Max– ah! Oh m’God, I’m so close, please just.”

Max nods, wild and frantic and horny, slipping a hand between your sweaty bodies. He tweaks, pinches, and rubs at your clit until you let out a shriek and your thighs close instinctively around him.

He bottoms out, grinding helplessly inside the heat of your pussy. “Cum f’me, shatje, wanna feel you cum on m’cock. Fucking cum.”

And, well, if you were even the slightest bit good at denying Max, you wouldn’t even be in this position. So. You arch your back off the ground with a high, loud moan and savour the white specs in your vision that only Max seems to bring out of you.

He fucks you through your orgasm—chasing his own with short, wild thrusts. “Ah, fuckkk, if only y’were as good as y’pussy is to me, liefje, y’d be getting m’cock like this every fucking night— Fuck!”

Beads of Max’s thick cum fill you to the brim with a loud groan and a long string of curses, tainting your insides a heavenly white. His hips stutter when you clench around him, milking him for all he has just like he’d wanted. And, when Max pulls out with a shaky gasp, he takes another piece of your heart with him.

Maybe, if you make this same mistake enough, he’d realize he has your heart already, full and pieced together.

But Max was never one to take a hint, never one to read your mind, so you settle for the parts of him you can have once in a blue moon; you settle for him picking you up, carrying you to your bedroom, cleaning the mess between your legs, and pulling the covers above your naked frame; you settle for the scowl on his face when he notices the polaroid of you and Scotty on your bedside table.

“I hate y—”

Max leaves the room before you can finish your sentence. 

He knows.

authors notes dedicating this to @enchantecafe + @scuderiahoney bcs they were hor knee for max on this poll (me too) i hope you guys like it and thank you to @cafekitsune for the dividers once again xx

i feel like this isn't my best work but i'll post it anyway because i spent a lot of time on it and yolo. also i think i fried my brain with it.

also, writing this fic made me realize idfk how to write angry sex it just ends up being angsty so. i think at times theyre angry but as they go on, some of that tension dissipitates and they both realize they want but cant have each other. tried my best tho!! xx

lemme know how you liked this story or give me some feedback in the comments or my inbox! 💬🐢

taglist in separate posts bcs tumblr chooses to be annoying <33

p.s reblogs and likes are always appreciated 💚💚

[achromatophoric]

Enid: YOKO!! How could you even think that?!

Yoko: Aw c’mon pup, it’s just for fun!

Enid: That garbage human being nearly killed Willa, and you think she’s hot?

Yoko: Not gonna lie, the whole villain era adds to it. I’d let her hit me with a shovel just for a chance to lick her cherry red boots.

Enid: 😟

Ajax: Dude, you hafta admit, Ms. Thornhill was a total smokeshow even before she went all psycho. Shit bruh, I named a strain after her!

Enid: 🤨

Ajax: *proudly* Mari-Lit Thornherb.

Enid: 🙄

Divina: Sorry Enid, I’m with them. Those glasses of hers? Total evil librarian vibes. She can stab me all she wants if that means she’ll Dewey my decimals.

Enid: 😧

Enid: But, but— Bianca! Crackstone threw you across the Quad, right? You have to be miffed about Thornhill!

Bianca: Sure, but have you seen Yellowjackets? Thornhill’s like a less crazy Misty. I’m on the fence about girls, but for her, I could ride that fence.

Enid: 😫

Eugene: Well, I think that bitch—

Yoko: Whoa! Language, Genie!

Enid: *makes X with arms* NOPE! Baby Bee is not allowed to join this conversation. Kent?

Kent: C’mon little dude, let’s go check in on your buzzy buddies.

Eugene: *dragged away* DUDE!! What the heck?! I’m not that much younger…!

Everyone waits until Kent and Eugene are gone.

Enid: *glares*

Enid: Seriously. I’m ashamed of you all. Like, one -hundo percent.

Wednesday: *walks up* Are they bothering you, mi lobita?

Enid: *gasps* WILLA! You’re not gonna believe this!

Wednesday: ?

Enid: Our friends— no, these degenerates— they all think that Marilyn Thornhill is hot!

Wednesday: Actually, her cell is likely to be quite drafty at this—

Enid: AS IN SEXY! They all think that Marilyn Thornhill, aka murder-bigot Laurel Gates, is sexy hot!

The others collectively appear nervous, except for Bianca “No-shits-to-give” Barclay.

Wednesday: *eyes narrow*

Wednesday: *sneers* That scum would receive a double-tap from me.

Enid: HA! Now that’s what I’m talking about! Two to the head, pew pew!

Having just flipped a bird with each “pew,” Enid makes sure to wave them triumphantly in everyone’s face, person by person.

Yoko: *whispers* Pssst. Addams.

Wednesday: 😒

Yoko: Tap is also slang for sex.

Wednesday silently mouths back, “I said what I said.”

Inspired by this reblog by @badcures

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Maddy watched her son as he chatted with his friends at the kitchen table, homework and after school snacked were scattered across its surface as Danny told his friends all about his new crush.

And that was exactly what it was. She recognized those soft pleading puppy dog eyes, those dreamy sighs and of course the way that Sam girl was bending the cutlery in her grip as she gritted her teeth.

If she hadn't tested her multiple times she would have thought Sam was a ghost! Now there's a funny thought! A ghost! Under thier noses the entire time! She could have laughed!

Bringing this up with Jack made him have the same conclusion as her. They needed to go to Gotham to capture this Red Robin boy and make sure he wasn't an evil ghost in disguise and if he isn't then they needed to give him a good shovel talk anyway. This was the baby of thier family after all. Thier little angel was the sweetest, most innocent child on the planet and they wouldn't let anyone hurt him!

Meanwhile Danny is whispering to his friends about how he had reanimated like 800 hot dogs and set them loose in Vlads business tower when Bruce Wayne was supposed to be visiting. They had little guns, swords, battle flags and everything

Maddie later realizes the Robin of the less red variety was also her sons "type" and tries to capture him too. She also considers putting her son in therapy cause she's noticing some unhealthy trends in his choice of significant others...

Later Danny calls the police station and asks to speak to batman. When asked why he confessed he wanted to ask if they could free his parents and that thier godfather was a supervillian who was weirdly obsessed with Danny and his mom and has been abusive in the past.

The bats didn't even get a chance to make a joke before the bat adoption papers were out.

[immediatebreakfast]

A lot of things happened today, a lot of horrible things. A full circus of errors orchestrated by the narrative to serve the high end of tragedy. Everything thrown to this poor young lady who just wanted to get married, and live happily.

And yet it's incredible to read how Dracula practically organized the worst way possible to deliver the last blow to poor Lucy.

Every action, and horrible moment translates into a domino effect that traps Lucy in her own house, surrounded by death, and then utterly alone.

Dracula is merciless as we have known. The poor mother with the wolves, those babies only knowing pain and then death, even the Weird Sisters as horrible as they were are subjected to this man's orders and treatment. Plus, all of the locals of Transylvania being terrorized for centuries.

Then it comes Jonathan, and now Lucy.

All of Dracula's actions feel full of rage. Rage of being foiled, of seeing how his target keeps on living despite being utterly drained of blood two separate times. He was capricious with Lucy in Whitby by capturing her nightmares as he drank in leisure, but now it became about power over a life.

"but I did not fear to go to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes." - Lucy Westenra.

Our dear Lucy doesn't fear the nightmares anymore, she doesn't fear the darkness, nor is worried about the fog inside her head ordering to do things that cause her harm because Lucy is now surrounded by love, by medicine, by people that care about her.

She knows about the horrors, about the nightmares, about the harm that has been inflicted upon her. However, lucy doesn't fear that anymore, with her beautiful garlic wreath around her neck, healthy, and clear of mind she doesn't fear.

And what happens when it's clear to Dracula that Lucy doesn't fear his power?

"I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against the window."

This single moment, this tiny moment of simply looking at Dracula directly, it's probably the drop that made the glass explode. This is all speculation of course, but just imagine the miriad of emotions, questions, and decisions that traveled through Dracula's brain in that single moment.

The girl, not dead, full of life, eyes as clear as the morning sky, with a wreath of garlic flowers (mountain ash to repel) around her neck looking right at him without a shred of fear... those wretched peasants arming themselves with their knowledge thinking that they could survive him. The young solicitor with the crucifix, denying him of what is rightfully his, and striking him down with a simple shovel.

What does she deserve after this? Death. Death to her mother, death to her loved ones, death to herself... or maybe something worse.

This ancient evil got so angry that this young lady was holding so much to her life that he orchestrated a living nightmare to kill her.

Because who is this mortal human to deny the orders of a lord defeating time itself?

[ozarkthedog]

Helloo hii, here to submit a prompt for your 10k Birthday Celebration please:

📝 - 10. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."

with Dilf!Joel Miller, preferably pre-outbreak!Joel, where reader is a friend of Sarah (of age), perhaps college friends, work colleagues etc... Artistic liberties of course welcome. ^^

🩷🩷

gif by the fabulous @nicolethered

Thank you for celebrating! I hope you enjoy this! 💙

warnings: DILF!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader. age gap. reader is Sarah's College friend. dirty talk. sexual tension. cliff hanger cause i'm evil.

word count: 655

✨10K Birthday Celebration✨

“Ugh, I’ll be right back. I forgot a book in my car.” Sarah says, standing from her seat at the kitchen table. 

You’d been studying with Sarah for an upcoming final all week long. It helped that her Dad, Joel,  allowed you to stay the entire week and not have to drive back and forth to your dorm every day.

“Where’s Sarah at?” Joel questions as he saunters down the stairs. You sneak a peek at his soft yet strong belly as he fixes his shirt. You narrowly miss his curious gaze when you flit your eyes back to your text book.

“Uh, she went out to her car.” You answer as you highlight a paragraph. Joel turns on the radio and busies himself around the kitchen.

You sneak another look at the handsome man as he opens the fridge door and searches for something to eat. You knew it was wrong to lust after him. He was so much older and not to mention your friend’s dad but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him.  

He sits down next to you with a plate full of eggs and a smirk. You give him a soft smile in return before returning to your studies. You try to focus on the words but every move the older man makes distracts you.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Joel says, nonchalantly before taking a sip of his coffee.

Your eyes bug and your head whips in his direction. “What?” 

“Come on. Don’t play shy.” He muses and scoots his chair closer to you. He leans his elbows on the table, nudging your books, invading your space. “I can feel you undressing me with those pretty eyes.” 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply shakily. 

Joel quirks a brow. “Oh no? Then how come you get all quiet when I come around? S’all most like that smart brain of yours goes all dumb whenever I’m in the room.”

He lays a hand on your knee and you jolt under his touch. The highlighter you’re holding falls from your grasp and rolls off the table onto the floor. 

Joel can’t help but smirk. “See? I ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you can’t even hold onto a pen.” He tips your chin up to meet his somber gaze. “What do you need pretty girl?”

Your lips part in a gasp as you drown in his primal energy. You’re caught like prey under the strong paws of a beast.

He looks at you under his lashes and licks his lips. “You want my cock? Is that it?”

You outright whimper. Heat swirls and ignites in your belly as he dips his head to your neck. 

“You’re a big girl,” Joel whispers into the crook of your neck. You shiver in response as he drags his lips along the shell of your ear. “You know what’s right and wrong.” 

It was wrong that you wanted him but it also felt so fucking right.

Joel wraps a large hand around the back of your next keeping you complaint. “I’d love to know how tight you feel wrapped around my cock.”

The front door whips open and disrupts the suffocating moment as Sarah makes her way into the house. 

“Hey, Babygirl. What took you so long?” Joel asks while shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“Ugh, sorry. I got caught talking to the neighbors.” She huffs as she sinks into her seat. “Sorry you had to keep the old man company.” She quips, nodding to the man next to you.

“Oh, that’s ok.” You send her a frazzled smile as your heart thumps steadily against your ribs. You sneak a look to your left, the reason you were in this predicament to begin with, and you’re met with playful, fiery eyes. 

Joel claps your shoulder with a chuckle. “Yeah, we’re gettin’ to know each other quite well.”

[aphroditesmoon]

cara mia

wednesday addams x enid sinclair

summary: Enid spends the holidays with her girlfriend's family to avoid her owns.

warnings; implications of homophobia from enid's mother.

requested by @crazyshipper67

°°°

She knew, the moment she step foot in her hometown, she'll be dragged straight to conversion therapy. Being in the comforting protection of the school didn't help much when a certain holiday lurked by the corner.

She remembered the fear drowning her as she scroll down through her mother's text messages.

disappointment,

abomination,

a lone wolf forever.

There were more of course, but as her eyes became blurry from tears and her lover had snatched her phone from her she saw nothing else.

Now as she sits next to Wednesday and opposites the infamous Addams family on the dinner table, she tries to convince herself that she's having fun.

Her uncle Fester, going in full detail of his adventures involving feeding on girl scouts, was making it a tad hard though.

She could feel Wednesdays evil, evil smile, burning through her sides.

Of course she enjoyed watching her squirming and uncomfortable.

Morticia, thank the heavens, immediately intervenes and changes the topic.

"Perhaps another time, for the tales of your endeavors, Fester."

He gets the hunt and laughs casually, "Hope I didn't scare ya kid! Don't worry, I usually avoid kids with dyed hair, too much chemicals, nggh." He laughs again and Enid forces herself to go along awkwardly, though her eyes evident with fear.

"Uncle Fester.." Wednesday's tone, a warning as he shakes his head and waves her off.

"Oh fine, fine."

The food, thankfully wasn't anything weird or some sort of dead corpse, she quite enjoys them and Wednesday looks satisfies when she finishes her plate.

Immediately after, Morticia has pulled her to the living room and brought out old photo albums of Wednesday's.

She was exactly the same was she is now besides the obvious age difference, black clothes, glaring at everyone, odd weapons as an accessory.

A specific picture of her holding a shovel in front of an open grave made Enid frown at her.

She only raised an eyebrow.

"Ah yes, her first digging kit, the perfect outlet for her growing obsessions with death at the moment." Morticia explains.

"She got started almost immediately! I think it's safe to say Wednesday's got her red thumb from me!"

Enid leans and whispers to Wednesday; "I don't even want to know what that means."

Wednesday only smirks and places a kiss on her temple.

As the collection of pictures starts to grow more ridiculous and embarassing for her, Wednesday dressed as a tree for school plays and forced into pink dresses for pageant shows her teachers signed up for.

Try as she might to pull the album from her lover's grasp, the werewolf strength always wins.

"Are you done now?" She questions as Enid finally calms down from her fits of giggles over Wednesday dressed as a shark for a costume party.

"Now, yes. But you'll be sure to know I'll be using this againts you in the future." She teases with a proud face as her girlfriend nods. "I expect nothing less."

Morticia, doubtful of the colourful girl at first, immediately softens at seeing her daughter's love for her, she had never seen Wednesday as infatuated with anyone, though it might not be obvious to anyone else. But a mother's eyes always sees.

She and Gomez has taken it to themselves to take Enid for a tour of their weaponry room.

Axes, swords, chains and even stink bombs used by ancestors of the Addams family hang from walls. Gomez had a splendid time explaining the histories and details of them.

A lot of Fester's creations also hangs there. In fact, he even has his own section.

From uncomfortableness, she grew more intrigued by the house and it's inhabitants. The peculiarity of her girl's family had interested her and had her in awe of the family legacy. They were truly one of a kind.

Her brother Pugsley, reveled in Enid's kind and sweet demeanor, a different treatment he usually gets from his sister. Wednesday was however, quick to insult his sensitivity and was immediately cut off by Enid scolding her.

Like a child being chastised by a mother, she sulks as Pugsley cheers over his newfound guardian angel.

By the end of the night she didn't need to convince herself she was gratefully for coming, she was sure of it.

Lying in the dark with her face facing Wednesday's, she feels her hand brush a hair behind her hear.

"What are you thinking about, cara mia?"

the roll of the r's send shivers down her spine, it always does when she calls her that, her rare little nickname for moments of intimacy and adoration when they're alone.

"nothing, I'm just glad I'm here, with you, and your family." Her hand goes to hold Wednesday's, their fingers intertwining.

"So am I." The monotonous girl speaks with a hint of softness only reserved for her love.

Enid let's herself fall into the comforting embrace of sleep as she leans into Wednesday's chest, automatically the dark haired girl's arms moves to wrap around her.

"Good night, cara mia."

[acidd-attack]

The Girl, the Shovel, and the Evil Eye

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Danny phantom walker headcanons?

-I really love the hc that Walker is the ghost of Maddie's Dad, so I'm adopting it. Also he's divorced and had majority custody of Maddie and Alicia.

-He was alive, he had two jobs; Sensei at a Dojo (His stable, put-food-on-the-table job) and Monster hunter (His dream job that was too unstable to reliably feed three mouths on.)

-What saved Human Walker from being one of those Toxic girl dads who won't let his daughters date period is the fact that "I didn't put my girls through karate lessons from the time they were old enough to walk til now for them NOT to handle their own fights, if you date them and things go south, I ain't grabbing a shotgun, I'm grabbing a shovel 'cause I know the time I'll get there, there's gonna be a body to hide."

-He surprisingly got along really well with Jack, although the shared interest in hunting definitely helped.

-He died on Jack and Maddie's wedding day, which is why Jack forgets their anniversary every year.

-As a ghost he is still well aware that Maddie's his daughter and figured out that Danny's his grandson the second he saw his human form (He noticed that Danny has his Father's eyes and hair and his mother's face).

-He thinks of himself as a good but strict ghost (He's not.) In a lawless evil wasteland (Okay, it's 90% lawless, but it's more neutral than evil.)

-He'll never willingly let them know, because just because he's a 'good' ghost doesn't mean he's *not* a ghost and he wants the Fentons to take the ghost hunting profession seriously, no familial exceptions.

[vassalor]

Here @nemisisdelta, feast on the primarchs part 2.

Rogal Dorn

Oh momma, this guy cannot find love even it hit him with a shovel. Or with ice pick. jkjk, he actually manage to get a girl via by one of his sister-in-law recommendation. His wife is so gentle and shy, Rogal just adore her and want to protect her from the evil of the universe. He not really fond of his wife good relationship with Magnus wife, but let her help Fulgrim partner in her recovery (she literally begged him for it) 

Konrad Curze

Probably the luckiest/uncluckiest person in the whole universe and beyond when she caught the interest of Konrad. This childish agressor just grabbed his mate one of his nightly hunts. She beated some thug who tried to mug her, and the next thing she remember was woke up next to the sacriest dude in Nostramo. But actually, he somewhat tolerant with her: he never let his angst and pent up anger get on her, but she still afraid of him deep down. Strangely good friends with Lorgar's wife (Double Stockholm syndrome?) 

Magnus the Red

He saw his destined partner one his vision. Kinda Romeo and Juliet as her homeplanet was famous for forbade any contact with pyskers and their power. But she also felt their connection so he took her and thank to her interventions, Magnus legion became more accepted in the eyes of the others. She has antagonistic relationship with Leman (after he tried to bully her husband) and call him "reeky smelly barbarian"). Their domestic relationship is one of the healthiest from the bunch. 

Leman Russ

He is bold and brave (and braindead) , as his first choice was Sanguinius wife. The leader of the Blood Angels asked "very" politely to get the heck away from her (beat the living light out of Leman) so he settled one the girl from his homeplanet. As she from the same culture, capable to endure Leman habits, but thank to her presence, now he make some limits about drinking/drunk fight. But she got jelly quickly when the sleepy drunk Leman mention "the fierce one, whom he cannot get". 

[galahadwilder]

The Time I Got Reincarnated as an Evil Version of Myself

Chapter 2: Solitude

My AO3 is linked in my bio.

After Catalyst, Chloé’s life only got better. Now a full-time superhero, she managed to finally make new friends, forging bonds with the other members of her team. She’d repaired her relationships with her father and Sabrina, fallen in love, and welcomed a surprise sister with open arms.

Then she wakes up in a world where none of that happened. Where, after Catalyst, she only got worse, and lonelier, and more and more bitter.

The canon timeline, in fact. Or something close to it.

Chloé is the only one who remembers the other world. Her friends hate her, her relationships are destroyed, even her girlfriend has barely ever spoken to her. But that’s okay. Whether good or evil, Chloé Bourgeois has never—and WILL never—let anything stop her.

~

The feeling of Hawkmoth’s touch on her mind is hauntingly, nauseatingly familiar. She can feel him, rooting around in her emotions as if her were taking a shovel to her guts. Everywhere his influence touches, she feels deep, deep hurt well up, hurt that she'd thought long buried. One sickening caress from his tendrils and suddenly she’s five again, watching her mother leave. A flick, and she’s fourteen, seeing Adrien laughing with Nino, with Marinette, with Kagami, with someone else. A menacingly gentle stroke, and she’s eight, smacking Marinette’s macarons to the ground and not understanding why she wants to cry when the other girl bursts into tears.

She’s sixteen, and her mother reveals a whole other daughter who has seen more of Audrey in the last four months than Chloé has in a decade.

She’s ten, and she hasn’t seen her father outside of official functions since her mother left, hoping, hoping that maybe this year her birthday will be something other than empty gifts and strange grown-ups who don’t even look at her.

She’s fifteen, and her father falls silent when she tells him she is in love with a woman. She does not tell her mother.

And all the while, as he’s dredging up her worst memories, her own voice whispers in her ear—alone, alone, I’m alone, I’m all alone. Everybody leaves. They leave because I’m not good enough to make them stay.

It hurts, pushing against that voice, against those memories. Against the certainty that she has been abandoned, again. It’s like the migraine from this morning, only a thousand times sharper, and thousand times hotter, but she has to, she has to push, she has to speak—

“Run,” she snaps at the stunned Marinette, still trembling on the floor across from her. Marinette cannot be here when Chloé transforms. She has no idea what her power will be, but if Marinette gets hit first it’s game over.

”Chloé…?” Marinette says, straightening. Her eyes are full of concern, because of course they are, it’s Marinette, Chloé would expect nothing less, but god damn it the girl needs to be selfish right now and get clear—

“RUN!” Chloé screams, kicking the bathroom door open as best she can from her awkward position on the floor.

She barely manages to hold him off long enough to see Marinette leap to her feet and barrel out of the bathroom. As soon as the pink flats vanish behind the cheap birch, darkness takes her, and she’s floating in a black-purple void.

Miss Bourgeois, Hawkmoth says. Cast aside by everyone in your life. Nobody cares about poor little Chloé. She hears a sick smile in his voice. I care about you.

She’s enthralled, she’s sinking, but the part of her that’s still aware barely manages to avoid vomiting at the violation his words, his tone, imply.

There are other parts, though. One part of her wants to give up, to stop fighting, to sink into despair and just let Hawkmoth win. To let him do the hard parts. To let him take the pain.

The other part of her just wants to burn.

I am giving you the power to lock all those who defy you into unbreakable diamond, he continues. Nobody will ever leave you again.

You know what I want by now.

”Yes, Hawkmoth,” she whispers to the void, shaking. She’s not sure if she’s standing or sitting, if she’s there or here, if she’s trapped in her own mind or she’s still on the bathroom floor. But there’s one thing that catches her mind, throws her off.

Why diamond?

The last coherent part of her mind ticks away at that one question. The powers are always thematic, always related to the trigger. But she hasn’t done anything related to diamonds all day. She’s just—

Wait a minute. Princess Solitaire.

Princess cut. Card suits.

It’s a pun.

The laugh starts deep in her stomach, bubbling up through her chest like a clogged toilet before erupting from her mouth in a bomb blast of mad, almost feral cackling. It's not so much that the pun is funny—it's clever, sure, but there's little humor in it. But the sheer absurdity of it, the incongruity of getting smacked in the face with a pun when everything in her is drowning—

It's an anchor. She focuses, and suddenly the parts of her that want to surrender, to burn, are just that much quieter, that much easier to ignore. She focuses on that laughter, on the light. It feels so much like Adrien.

It's chemistry class, and she's just casually insulted Rose's fashion sense. It's barely a moment before she sees tears welling up in Rose's eyes, and she realizes that, while doubling down on the insult will make her feel less guilty, it won't help Rose. Apologizing is hard, harder than she ever expected it would be—she has to force it out, and it comes out stuttered, incoherent. She's tearing up herself by the end of it. But then Rose's eyes are full of hope and wonder instead of pain, and then Adrien's hand is on her shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Chloé," Adrien tells her, and Chloé shatters.

It's the night of one of her mother's parties, and Audrey has spent the evening alternatively ignoring her or telling her that she wished Marinette was her daughter instead. She ducks out of the party early for the first time, running somewhere, anywhere, and finds herself at the bakery—the first place she could think to flee. Marinette is holding her, not even caring that Chloé's tears and snot are ruining the shoulder of her jacket.

"You're safe here," Marinette insists, and Chloé can only sob harder, because she believes it.

She's shaking on a fire escape, having narrowly escaped evisceration by another of Kagami's Akuma forms—by another Akuma that she provoked with a careless word. Ladybug and Chat are busy looking after Kagami, making sure she's okay, but Alya is sitting with her. Watching her. Chloé apologizes—there's no way that she's the person Alya wants to spend time with—only for the girl to take her hand.

"You're a bitch, but you're our bitch," Alya says, grinning, and Chloé feels her heart lift.

"Sisters?" Zoé says, holding out her hand.

"Thank you. For... apologizing," Sabrina manages, blushing, withdrawing into herself.

"We knew you weren't all bad," Alix smirks, punching her in the shoulder.

"It feels better, right?" Ivan says, meaty hand on her shoulder.

"I am... not unaware of the progress you have made," Kagami tells her, averting her eyes.

Well, Solitaire? Hawkmoth says.

She breathes in, carefully holding her knees against her chest. The void is... gone. She didn't realize she'd been pushing it back, forcing it to retreat with every memory she'd wielded like a baseball bat against the tides. She's back in the bathroom, still sitting in the same position. Still covered in plastic dust, dirty water soaking her clothes. The glowing mask still sizzling across her cheeks and forehead. It smells like ozone and burning meat.

You never have to be alone again.

She's not. She's not alone. She hasn't been for a long, long time.

Breathe out. Breathe in.

"Eat my entire ass."

Surprise, confusion, and indignation crash through the psychic link, burning inside her brain. He nearly gasps like a Victorian novel heroine. I... excuse me?

"Whole thing," Chloé says, nodding. It's satisfying, the realization that she's caught him so off guard in so many ways. "Just give it a good chew. Get some teeth in there." Carefully, negligibly, so as not to alert him, she shuffles sideways across the floor, feeling cold linoleum and broken plastic against her palms as she shifts herself away from the door, the one entrance to the room, so as not to block Ladybug out with her body.

Madamoiselle Bourgeois! Hawkmoth shrieks. You will do as I bid, or I will—

She reaches deep into her chest, grabs the feeling of Kagami's lips on hers, the feeling of warmth and safety and home, and pushes, slamming her superior will into his and snapping the connection clean in two. The mask explodes from her face, sending a pulse of energy across the room that activates every hand dryer at once, knocking her backward into the stall doors and slamming pain through her spine.

A flash of red bursts through the door. Ladybug, her yo-yo spinning, stares at her, stunned, as the air blowers drone in the background.

"Chloé?" she says. Chloé isn't sure whether that emotion in her voice is incredulity, pride, or concern, but Chloé thinks she likes it.

Enjoying it, though, will have to wait.

Chloé, dumped on the filthy bathroom floor, her whole body creaking with pain, gives Ladybug a weak smile. "Hi, Ladybug," she croaks. "I'd like to go to the nurse's office, please."

@emma-d-klutz @generalluxun @naresar @ninepostsstuff @grotesquewombat @erisluna35 @oblivionhold @all-peristeronic @chaos-has-theories @into-september @claws-and-bee-stings @279ital @drawing2cope @steelblaidd @ladybeug

[fairycosmos]

"is 21 too old to-" AHT 🖐️ STOP RIGHT THERE & BE FR... twenty one years of age is not too old to do literally anything, on earth, by any definition whatsoever

And Furthermore (at the risk of the message sounding mean from this point forward, though i mean every bit with love in my heart); good god girl get a grip. yes its sad that the evil rotten culture we live in has gaslit you like this, anon, and yes i have sympathy for this nearly-inevitable pitfall! and yet. it is in everyone's best interests to reach out and choose some basic common sense for quality of life (frankly even survival) purposes. and what i mean by that is, like, anon, you have been a legal adult- a genuine grownup in the eyes of the state apparatus- for 3 years. do you see. you're a 21 year old human but you are only a THREE YEAR OLD Adult. do you understand. like, a minute ago you obtained the legal right to ingest alcohol. MOST of your life has yet to be lived- like, the VAST MAJORITY of it. you have only just begun, and Decades And Fucking Decades stretch out before you. the paths are either: decide on your agency and claw yourself up from this hole in the ground of learned helplessness that our society and its cult of youth-worship has been digging out from under your very feet all your life! Or: go ahead and give in (like some sort of sucker), start doing your share of the digging For them- feel free, they'll gleefully toss you a shovel. and, absolutely inevitably, spend the rest (again- Vast Majority) of your experience alive in aching distress- low-level, perhaps! but persistent, constant even, nonetheless- at the fact that the scant few years of development just past adolescence are in the rearview permanently. or, as the latter option is known in the industry, "winning stupid prizes." we all age babe! flounder in the face of that fact to the detriment of your + others' overall health and wellbeing or get living

@ college anon i believe U have just been given advice i would pay for. thank u sm for this <3 im like foaming at the mouth hoping they'll see it bc i think it could be sooo valuable for them to hear it rn. hell it was valuable to me even. wish u were like a sibling figure in my life that i could lean on from time to time! massive hugs. x

[londondungeon2]

SUNDO END NOTES

Theme songs? A playlist? I gotta ya: Sea Ferring by Butthole Surfers (thesis); Cotard’s Solution by Will Wood (thesis 2); Sundo by Molchat Dona (Reader’s POV); Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes by Perry Como (Jade’s POV) — really this should have originally been named Sea Ferring but Sundo won the wheel-decider-spin!

Sundo was named for three reasons! 1. Sundo translates to ‘fetch’ which is how I wanted night and day’s relationship to be seen as — a game of fetch between the two. 2. Sundo for the song by Molchat Dona — this is an unreliable narrative piece, the POV of the reader matters a smidgen more than the thesis. 3. Sundo — the Korean art of connecting the body on a spiritual plane — has its starting origins in the mountains, same as our beloved reader.

A snake is a protector in Shinto — seen as incarnations / messengers of deities and believed to ward off evil which is why it attacks towards the river, fending off Jade Leech.

Zashiki warashi (the ghost girl) was killed by Azul — the narrator does not know this. It is why his cheeks are so pink, exerting himself to kill her.

The death of the Zashiki warashi works doubly as a metaphor for the death of the reader’s innocence after an attempted rape and her marriage — the reader is no longer a child and very soon she will lose ownership of her shrine.

I had this really poignant image of Azul killing the girl, pinning her down, hands around her neck, tentacles unfurling gradually in hypnotic loops before striking out like a dozen snakes, smothering out a ghost’s life but naaaaah ~

Godfather is the closest translation one can get for a Shinto priest — super interestingly!!! the word Father (父) in Japanese is not used when addressing a priest, but it is instead used in prayer to address The Lord himself. The word 神父 (“god” + “father”. Which is not “godfather”) is used to address a priest — in an English written fanfiction about a fish man!

Azul’s awkward gait comes from him walking towards the lake rather than the village and his fusion of tentacles into feet — however, I could not pin down what octopus yokai I wanted him to be and still have not :/

Already said on my main, but Floyd comes into the picture on hyakki yagyo to talk specifically to the reader, shovel-talk without really shovel-talking.

Another image I had was Jade and Floyd lounging on rocks in the lake on hyakki yagyo, looking up at the shrine. Jade worries about the reader falling asleep during that specific night and unwillingly risking her health. Floyd, grabbing a transformation potion from Azul’s supply, runs out of the lake before Jade can stop him — citing it is a bad idea to get involved until the full moon — but Floyd ignores him, saying how he’ll go up there to protect the priest!

The reader did not burn down her shrine, Floyd and Azul did.

Umi nyobo and umi bozu are two sea creatures married in legends!! I did not plan this; it just fell into place:

Describing Jade’s eyes as sun and moon shows how he can slip through the night and day as easily as the reader, making them a perfect, married match ~

Both Sea Ferring and Cotard’s Solution are the thesis songs because they end with screams, but this oneshot really wouldn’t have been written without Sea Ferring.

[jedimasterbailey]

HI I HAVE THEE QUESTIONS FOR THE BARRISSOKA ASK GAME :D 2, 13, 16, 21, 23, 32, 40, 41, and 44! u dont have to answer all of them if u dont want to!^^

(Cracks knuckles) OH IM ANSWERING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM CHALLENGE ACCEPTED 😎

2-Who Fell First?

Barriss because I believe she’s the kind of person who is very in tune with her feelings and that it didn’t take long for her to be taken by Ahsoka and fall head over heels in love. Poor thing would go on for weeks gay panicking around Ahsoka until she finally cracks. Ahsoka, on the other hand, seems to be more aloof and seems to be the type to need time to process her feelings and connect the dots.

13-Whose more likely to give the “shovel talk” Anakin or Luminara and how?

Definitely Anakin seeing how *very* passionate he gets about the people he cares about…I mean the dude straight up gives Barriss the evil eye when Luminara suggested that Barriss be the one to lead her and Ahsoka in the weapons factory. Barriss at that point has done literally nothing and Anakin is already looking like Vader so for Ahsoka to pursue a relationship with her would be a very BIG deal for Anakin. He’d probably scare the poor girl out of nowhere in the Temple and give her a not so discrete conversation much to both Luminara and Ahsoka’s dissatisfaction. Barriss would be shaking in her boots but determined to prove Anakin wrong. Luminara on the other hand would most likely just let the girls be because she is very trusting of her Padawan and she owes Ahsoka her life. HOWEVER that won’t stop Luminara from watching Ahsoka and teasing her every so often about “not making her girl cry or else” that make Ahsoka shit bricks.

16-What is Barriss’s favorite physical feature on Ahsoka?

Definitely Ahsoka’s buff bod. I mean the girl GOT GUNS and I think Barriss would be blushing real bad seeing Ahsoka work out and would sneakily watch her from afar fanning herself and all 🤣

21-Whose more likely to initiate intimacy first?

Barriss, she may be quiet but it’s usually the quiet ones that are the spiciest in bed and since she’s a smart girl, she knows exactly what she wants and where she wants it. Though, she would be gentle and patient with Ahsoka (who is kinda scarred seeing Anakin and Padme be all gross with each other all the time) guiding her and giving her all the time until she’s fully comfortable.

23-How do they comfort each other?

Ahsoka shows her affection and support mainly with physical touch by holding Barriss close and constantly reassuring Barriss that everything is going to be okay and that Ahsoka has her. Anything Barriss needs, Ahsoka gets until Barriss is ready to talk things out. When the roles are reversed, Barriss communicates her support through acts of service like making/getting Ahsoka’s favorite foods, turning on Ahsoka’s comfort holomovie, etc. and gifting her with comforts like a handmade cloak or something she knows would put a smile on Ahsoka’s face. Regardless both women would stay by their partner’s side no matter what, listening, and doing whatever it takes to make the other feel better.

32-How would Barriss bond with Anakin?

Since Anakin is an excellent fighter, Barriss would most likely ask to spar with him (and do everything she can to win everytime) and knowing how reckless Anakin can be, he’d probably be spending some time in the healing halls where Barriss works and she’d help him out.

40-Whose “big spoon” and whose “little spoon”?

Ahsoka is big spoon and Barriss is little spoon. One, it makes the most sense given their height difference, but they have their reasons. Ahsoka loves having her hands around/on Barriss’s big boobs and loves to bury herself in her hair whilst Barriss loves being held and feeling Ahsoka’s heartbeat on her back and her breath by her ear.

41-Are there any kinks?

Yes! Ahsoka loves be spanked and tossed around by Barriss, especially when Barriss slams her against a wall or wherever they are and pins her by the wrists or lightly on the throat because she finds an aggressive Barriss very hot. Barriss, on the other hand, loves it when Ahsoka bites and claws especially on her neck, chest, and thigh areas (anywhere that’s easy to cover that is). Barriss also loves a good chase and enjoys the thrill of riling Ahsoka up and playing hard to get.

44-What do their sides of the bed and nightstands look like?

Oh this is easy 🤣 Barriss’s side of anything is neat and perfect not a single speck of desk or crease to be found because Mominara raised a lady. She’s also a minimalist, so Barriss would only have essential items near her like her comlink or the latest book she’s reading. Meanwhile Ahsoka just has shit everywhere, her side of the bed somewhat made and her nightstand full of odds and ends that she always has a “perfectly good explanation for” which drives Barriss mad and is always tempted to clean Ahsoka’s organized chaos.