#this is a bad advert isn't it

[girlbeatings]

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS .

abuse of power / manipulation. noncon ? misogyny. masturbation. voyeurism. degrading. c.ai

you dont know why your boss decided to send you on this trip— sure, you were qualified and perfectly capable, but everyone knew not to go to the lanes alone.

and yet, you continue walking with your gaze adverted to your feet, making sure you had a good grip on your bag as you navigate through the ratty alleyways to the warehouse.

you had already been cat called and wolf whistled at, but you keep on your track and hope none of them decide to follow you on your journey.

luckily, you arrive at the large building before you can find out.

the two women are.. intimidating, to say the least. both of them were tall, muscular, stupidly rich and egotistical. you'd worked with these kinds of businesspeople before, so it wasn't anything new— mostly you got men that would flaunt and flirt until the deal was done.

you thought they would be a little different, considering they were also women. you should know by now not to assume in this work.

"pretty thing like you shouldn't be wondering around down here," the oldest woman, sevika, chuckles while smoking a cigar. neither of them had gotten up to greet you when you walked into the meeting room, they didn't really look up either.

at least the secretary was nice...

the meeting was... awkward— for you, anyway. the two barely payed attention, shared looks after you spoke which made you gradually more self conscious, there was no note taking or even a nod to signal you were being understood. at least the men pretended to listen.

"i think we've heard enough, pretty," abby sighs, leaning back in her chair. she looked a little softer than sevika, still with a similar build and height, but she wasn't. and yeah—pretty. you're sure you told them your name, but both decided to give you nicknames instead.

at this point, you're irritated and frustrated. you want to leave and go home... wait, you can't. you're stuck in a hotel until tomorrow. on the bright side, it couldn't get any worse.

"you drive an... okay bargain, i'll give you that." the blonde shrugs, once again, glancing over at sevika. they seem to communicate telepathically, probably having spent way too much time together while scheming and scamming customers and business partners. its a good bonding activity, apparently.

she sucks air through her teeth mockingly, folding her buff arms over her chest. "but... we're not convinced. you either need to work on your marketing skills, or whatever bullshit company you're slaving for just isn't as good as you think it is, sweetheart. sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

your shoulders drop. you had been informed that after the hiccup with the last meeting, you were on thin ice— this trip was your chance to prove you weren't 'completely useless.'

"maybe you're in the wrong profession," sevika adds, neither of them having any sympathy for how your faux, determined demeanour suddenly drops. "you'd probably make more stood on the corner in a short dress anyway."

low blow... you frown, eyebrows knitting together.

"she'd look prettier there too."

the two snicker, sevika shaking her head and taking another drag of her cigar before stumping it out on the ashtray. you feel insulted, defeated— speechless. you can't believe these two women had such a lack of empathy and morality to say these things, let alone to your face.

"don't frown, princess," abby chuckles, finally grabbing the folder you had gently slid across the table to them earlier, which they ignored. "the wind'll change and it'll stay that way."

you watch as she flicks through the binder, her face unimpressed. you're upset, not even caring what she thinks— actually, that's a lie. you have to if you want to keep your job and not.. well... end up on the corner in a short dress to pay rent— not to mention, majority of that money would go to your pimp. god... where would you even find a pimp?

you're stressing about it already.

sevika seems to catch on that you're upset and discouraged, knowing damn well that her words had weaselled into you and had already started picking through your self worth. her gray eyes don't soften, but they roll and glances over at abby as the younger woman smacks the binder shut and lets it slap on the table.

"let's make a deal, hm?" sevika starts, resting an arm on the table and taking a good look at you. "since we're feeling generous... you convince us, right here, right now, and it's settled."

you frown, shifting in your seat. "i already tried."

sevika clicks her tongue, "we don't wanna listen to you dick ride your company, and you're stupider than you look if you think we're gonna sit here and look through your pretty little folder to read the same shit in different fonts... so,"

she barely gives you any time to process the demeaning words before sliding the folder back across the desk to you, the plastic cover ramming into your boobs. "convince us, or get out."

you shake your head in confusion, awkwardly holding the folder and tapping your fingers against it. "h-how am i supposed to.. convince you?"

abby groans at your cluelessness, rubbing a hand over her face. "girls like you don't have a lot going for them, right?"

you almost nod in agreement at the tone she uses, your face scrunching together instead.

"right. but, you all have one thing people want. one thing that'll get you anywhere in the world."

you're still confused, her words making you think real hard about what you have and what you don't, and then starting to worry a little about— well if you don't know, then you don't have it. meaning you've got fuck all in this world apart from a folder, hopes and dreams, and a forced smile.

sevika scoffs, shaking her head. "your pussy, baby. that thing between your legs? you know what that is?"

your cheeks flush at both the realization and vulgarity, instinctively crossing your legs. "what?"

"come on, i'm sure you've flashed it to your boss once or twice. why else would you be here?" sevika huffs, her gaze wandering over your body.

"i'm—" this is terrible. you feel your face burning with both anger and fluster as your throat closes up with embarrassment, so much so that you have to swallow and force the words out. "i'm good at my job, that's why i'm here."

"you're good at sucking dick and wearing skirts," sevika continues, really digging into your ego and image. "if you want this deal, you'll prove how badly instead of being sat there acting like a prissy little girl."

her tone is a little more biting now, still laced with mockery but more demanding. you're frozen, but actually... considering. how bad do you want this deal? how much is really on the line? they're women anyway— absolute assholes, but female.

you don't realize your hands are shaking a little until you place the folder down, shifting a little further back on the couch. you hesitate, scratching your thighs before uncrossing your legs and spreading your knees a little.

"better. you're a natural, huh?" abby mocks, nodding slowly like you were a child riding a bike and she was an encouraging caretaker.

instead, you're reluctantly pulling your skirt up and avoiding eye contact as you reveal more of your skin.

sevika lets out a low whistle before clicking her fingers— and instead of an inexperienced child on a bike, you're now a disobeying dog. "we don't have all day here. not everyone is as irrelevant as you are, girl."

your stomach churns at the words, more and more being singed into your brain probably for years. you gnaw on your bottom lip as your hands slip under your skirt to reluctantly pull down your underwear, letting them stretch around your ankles.

abby lets out an appreciative hum as your panties drop, enjoying your discomfort as your hands move to grip the edge of the couch, widening your thighs and shamefully displaying your body to the two businesswomen.

"oh, how cute." sevika coos, her gaze landing on your cunt and taking it all in. she had to admit, it was one of the cutest she and abby had seen in their years.

abby nods in agreement, twirling her pen around her thick fingers casually. "don't be so shy, come on. you gonna give us a show?"

your breath hitches at the implication, your eyes finally flickering over to both women as they stare between your thighs. "you can't be serious?"

"if you want this, you'll do it."

you did want this, you had to want this. but the mere thought of touching yourself in front of two strangers as they watch was enough to make you consider how bad living on the streets could really be.

your nails dig into the couch before you release the creased material, your legs falling open a little wider and your hand slipping between them. you breathe shakily, pressing your fingers to your clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

you're not sure what the best way around this is— would it be better to try turn yourself on so this was easier? or would that just cause more mocking and degrading? either way, your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a whimper.

abby seems pleased enough, quietly writing your name down on a piece of paper. sevika's surprised she actually bothered to listen, but she was more focused on watching you play with yourself for their benefit.

"use spit, baby, get her nice and wet." the older woman gruffs out, her hips lifting a little as she gets comfier on her desk chair.

you do as you're told, for some reason, spit now coating and stringing between your fingers as you resume rubbing. unfortunately, the wetness helps more than you want it to.

your thighs tense around your hand, your lips parting in soft pants.

a smirk creeps onto sevika's face, looking over at abby. "works every time."

abby snorts, glancing over at her business partner and then back over at you as you continue to shakily pleasure yourself, your cunt glistening with spit and something a little stickier. "you're breaking records, sweetheart. getting wet already, huh?"

you tremble a little, your moans getting caught in your throat as you circle your clit, occasionally dipping down to tease yourself further. you hate this, though it doesn't look like it, you feel disgusting and dirty as your cunt leaks with arousal.

"y'know, we could do with a new office pet. she's already drooling and whimpering," sevika comments, blatantly making fun of you.

abby smiles, her eyes locked on the way your hips squirm a little. "mhm... and she obeys, knows her place."

you whine quietly, your stomach contracting as you slip your fingers inside, your free hand holding onto the couch as you fuck them slowly in and out.

sevika hums, watching your fingers disappear inside your cunt and come back out dribbling with slick, a soft squelch being drowned out by the casual chatter between the two women.

"and all it takes is a little bit of spit to shut her up," she comments, her thick thighs spreading a little as she watches you. "isn't that right, pretty?"

you look away, ashamed, but your blood runs too hot, your face is flushed and you're resisting the urge to spread yourself open wider. you know you can't look too eager— not only was it a tactic in business, it was also a strategy to not make yourself look even more like a whore while fingering yourself in front of two strange, big women.

the palm of your hand nudges repeatedly against your clit as your pussy salivates around your fingers, your left thigh falling open just a little more so you can get a better angle, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"hm. wettest and most eager," abby muses, tapping her foot occasionally. "women like you think with their slutty cunts first, not their empty little heads. you're just as bad as a man, honey."

surely that can't be true... you've accomplished a lot without the help of your vagina, for sure. i mean, you're boobs have helped heaps but that's not the point here.

you don't think you'll have any dignity left after this anyway, clenching and throbbing around your fingers as you bite back moans and try hold off your impending orgasm.

you don't get the deal in the end, but... it's not all bad. now you have a new job.

sawry this is so short and there's more dialogue than smut whoops

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

@uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @lesbodietcoke @2012wannabe @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi @tohoko @inui-ii @shadowmythe @fict1onallyobsessed @pornoangelz @milanyas @powderpinkandsweeet @femmecannibal @aeroti @eatencupcak3 @lils-1979 @danfelog @fortluocha @moodient @danfelog @fortluocha @ocharavitys @trizxyp @aelizreal @luxmith @imlovewithpixels @halle5s @soniiyi @jumiinx @potchi-fics @imfckngfantastic @sobersonder @dozybunny @fawncritter

[c0smoshit]

Comfort headcanons!!

⋆ ࣪. ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ≫ Cloud, Zack and my bby Vincent

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ none, just fluff

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ First little fic after a while, hope you guys enjoy!!

Cloud

★ As we all know, he isn't the best comfort buddy

★ But, through all the years he had to slowly leave behind all his trauma, he definitely has softened up

★ Secretly loves the way you would fall asleep on him after bawling your eyes out

★ Obviously not much of a talker, he prefers to listen and just be there for you

★ I just love to think that it always ends up in a hours-lasting cuddling session, doesn't matter if he was the one who needed to be comforted or the other way around

"It´s fine, really" However, your puffy cheeks said otherwise as you adverted your gaze from him. Your arms hugging your body wearily, soft sniffles and of course, your ragged breathing was all you had let him see. His approach was sincere, walking slowly up to you just to place a hand on your shoulder, he sure had improved on how to just... listen over the years. "Talk to me" But still you wouldn't budge, turning your face from him, embarrassed he had to see you like this once again. So after huffing out a sigh he seemed to have been holding for quite a while now, he placed his left hand on your unoccupied shoulder and pulled you closer to him. Then you let go, ugly sobbing into his chest as you fisted his shirt. His hands trying the most soothing patterns he recalls you drawing on his back after a rough day. He would caress as tenderly as he could, not quite being used to touching a texture softer than the handle of his sword, to hear such pretty cries and not from death. "Sorry, I just-" You hiccuped after you had rambled your sorrows into the tension-filled air of your room. However, he didn't budge, muffling your priceless apologies into his chest as he opted to just hold you for however you needed him to. That was his way of showing you how much he appreciated you, everything you had done to soothe him, he will reciprocate too.

Zack

★ MAJOR comforter

★ I mean, he doesn't even have to do anything, his meere presence is just so comforting

★ He feels bad about it but he loves your face whenever you're grumpy or upset, he just finds your tear-stained cheeks so cute!

★ Oh and btw, you aren't crying more than 5 minutes when he's around

★ He would do anything to make you forget it, want some icecream? He's already bought like 10 of them. A massage? Face down lying on your mattress asap

"C'mon y/n" You felt his saddened voice ring through your ears, his hands holding your waist as you hid your face under your palms. Your cheekbones glistening and getting irritated from the saltiness of your tears, and the more he tried to sneak a peek out of the them, the worse he felt. "Look at me please" He whispered as he delicately placed his still gloved hands over yours, finally prying them off your gorgerous face. "There we go, as beautiful as I remember" You didn't know why, but at first glance, his dumb but somewhat anxious smile looking down at you made you mimic his own expression, earning a playful laugh from him. It really wasn't fair, you thought, you could never be upset around him. "What? Got something funny on my face?" He joked before swiftly moving his hands and reaching the sides of your waist, nagging your sides until he had to catch you from falling on your ass as you laughed. "You're such a dork" You giggled out after he lifted you into his arms, your feet dangling off the floor as your arms were trapped under a bear hug. Hearts beating shakily into each other the more he nuzzled into you. "Yeah, but you love it"

Vincent

★ Tbh I think he's the most compressive of the three

★ Would and will listen to you ramble for hours of necessary, he's such a hopeless romantic

★ Not a fan of physical contact but if you are, he would not complain if you wanted to cuddle with him

★ (I mean this mf is always sleeping on his coffin)

★ Will do whatever you felt more comfortable with, if you just want him to listen and be there, he will, if you want to be alone, he will leave you be (but ofc he later would be looking for you to see if you were fine)

"Who was it?" A sudden deep voice rang through your ears, making you jolt up from the floor as you looked around to spot the source of it. And of course, it was your deary sneaky vampire. "Jesus" You choked out before turning your back to him, telling him that one, he really should stop sneaking on you like that and two, of course it was nothing. Either way, as soon as he heard your pained voice he knew you required some comfort, he's been there already. The more you stepped away, the more he tried to approach you, finally getting to wrap his cold arms on your waist as your back pressed against his chest. . . . You both stayed like that for a while, rocking back and forth as he lulled you, letting you cry out your last tears before you finally felt relief, slumping down on him as sleepiness took over your features.

He huffed out what seemed a quiet laugh before dragging you back into your bed, sitting on it first as he let you nestle on his lap, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you slowly dozed off on him. His cloack sure was comforting.

Bonus!!

"Don't let such a stupid thing get into your head dummy" "Yeah, she's right y/n" You swore you couldn't feel any warmer in that moment, the girl's you've always looked up to were sweeter than ever. And yeah, it was a stupid thing you were upset about too.

Then they both took you on one of the best improvised little dates ever, taking walks and admiring the (not-so-clean) streets of Midgar. Then Aerith took you to her house, Tifa following shortly behind you as they both giggled playfully.

A cuddling session followed closely and you were absolutely living it. Snacking on some homemade food Aerith's mom had worked on the day before and nuzzling your head onto Aerith's chest meanwhile Tifa had her arms around you for behind.

"You both are the best, really"

You sighed out, your eyes not puffy anymore as you glanced at both of them. Earning more sweet comments from the brunnete and nods from the bartender.

[bogleech]

I don't know what game this is advertizing but this badly photoshopped (or bad AI?) looking outfit is so fucking funny to me. I don't mean the skimpy torso with armor everywhere else, that's an old and tired joke by now, I mean that combined with the hood and the archery and the lantern. It isn't even an oil lantern. She is here to do so some tits out nocturnal archery assassination by portable candlelight which you may note will not illuminate anything but herself

[cyborg-franky]

How do you think Marco would react to a crewmate who picked up his vocal tick, yoi?

I know I should be working on something that isn't Marco for once... But it's me. And as someone who accidently picks up peoples accents or speech patterns this prompt spoke to me.

Marco x GN Reader SFW

He hadn’t thought much about it the first time when you let the little yoi slip out as you replied to him. He thought you’d just said something else and he shrugged it off.

But the more time you and Marco spent together, always working side by side or even sitting having dinner with one another, well, it seemed you picked up a few of his habits. How you left your paperwork in a sloppy pile, how you noted things down, and oh, the little quirk.

“So as long as you keep taking the herbs for pain and try and keep off of it as much as possible your leg will be fine in a few days yoi!” you chirped to Ace as you handed him the pot of ground herbs with a smile. Ace stared at you before over at Marco who had definitely heard it this time. Clear as day.

Ace laughed and shook his head. “You two have literally become one, like an old married couple.” he snickered and tipped the brim of his hat in thanks before he walked away, leaving you confused.

“What did he mean by that?” you asked and folded your arms over your chest, watching the door shut behind Ace.

“I think he means your little slip-up.” Marco chuckled and rested his chin on the back of his hand, leaning on his desk and watching you, seemed you hadn’t clicked. 

As time went on the more you dropped yoi in your day-to-day conversations. Marco didn’t mind, he thought it was funny, cute in fact. His bird brain was telling him you were mimicking him because you wanted his attention, that you were trying to court him and honestly, that ruffled his feathers in the best way.

A connection his zoan was invested in.  

“Haven’t you noticed at all little bird?” Marco asked one day, leaning back in his chair, an eyebrow raised as he fixed you with a lazy smirk. “What do you mean?” you asked, shutting the book you’d been reading to give him a perplexed look in return, watching that smirk on his face grow.

“Your little slip-ups? Very flattering by the way yoi.” Marco said with a twinkle of mischief in those beautiful blue eyes of his. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me yoi-. OH,” you stared at Marco, watching as he chuckled and rolled his eyes playfully. “I think it��s cute don’t worry, you might want to stop if you don’t want the crew to keep implying things about us…”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, burning the tips of your ears as you adverted your gaze, feeling silly and flustered at the same time. How long have you been doing that? You coughed, clearing your throat before being able to meet his eye again. “Maybe I like what the others are implying…”

It was his turn to act confused, the faintest hint of blush across his cheeks as he tried to hide behind his nonchalant smirk. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, is that so bad?” you asked, suddenly braver than you’d ever felt. Were you using this to confess to him? Marco reached over the desk, his hand finding yours, making your hand seem so small compared to the one rubbing across your knuckles. “Then how about dinner tonight?”

[directdogman]

Hey there's someone trying to say you said you were pro Israel on discord? They're anonymous and say you blocked them before they could get screenshots so I don't really believe them, but still :[

Mhm. Nice bit of news to wake up to, this.

Yeah, so this person's a troll and they're more than likely lying on purpose in order to try to me look bad because I blocked them on Twitter for being unpleasant, something I rarely even do and they're still seething about it. The block had nothing to do with Gaza, the person was just being annoying and I thought it'd be healthier to block and move on. I'd really prefer not to have to give this person energy, but if there's a rumor going around, I'd like to nip it in the bud, since it's very easy to disprove in this case.

To explain what this person's blathering about: Earlier this week, on a Phonegingi plush advert, this random user that doesn't follow me (and actually instructs fans of mine not to interact with them in their bio) made a dramatic QRT decrying me for posting a DT advert during a strike week, which I honestly had no clue it was, especially since my own timeline was (and still is) full of accounts posting normally.

Given that the person seemingly encountered one of my posts in the wild and ended up seething because of it + likely didn't want anything to do with me on their timeline (as their bio indicated), after thinking it over briefly, I did the healthy thing and just blocked the person + moved on. Makes sense, right? I'll admit: Even if the way the person approached me was regrettable, if I'd known it was a strike week, I'd have participated (as I'd participated in the last one), so I stopped posting teasers for the week anyway, only resuming again yesterday.

I'll also say: I checked my own timeline btw and looked at the accounts posting, and nobody else had anyone acting like this in their replies, even the much larger accounts. Nor did anyone else contact/reply to me in any way stating any disapproval.

Given that I've only blocked one account recently that isn't a replybot (and ofc, given the subject matter of that tweet), I'd have to assume that this is the anonymous person spreading stuff.

I'd understand where this person was coming from if maybe I'd stayed completely silent about Gaza, (which a lot of accounts I follow have) but I haven't. I had a Palestinian aid post pinned on my Twitter for weeks, I've talked about Gaza's child population and my support for South Africa's Hague suit in my discord server, I've engaged in the boycotts, wound down posting during strikes, donated a pretty substantial amount of Dialtown revenue towards sending money/esims... I have 4 bucks in my bank account right now and when my next DT check comes in, you'd better believe I'll be giving more. That's my right as a private citizen and one I'll continue to exercise.

I feel pretty uncomfortable having to put this stuff in front of me to 'prove' myself, even if some of it is public anyway. Charity should be something you do because you CARE and if it wasn't for this person, I'd have been far happier keeping a lower profile and not explicitly calling attention to my own aid, but given this ask, I feel it'd be stupid not to nip this in the bud. The majority of this information could be easily found with the tiniest amount of digging, btw, so it's not like the user couldn't have known any of this. This is the part of having a fandom that creators seldom talk about. You block one person for being a lil annoying, next thing you know, there's rumors that you support genocides! Fun.

So yeah, I'd like you to tell this person to just move on like a normal person (send them this post if you have to) and to stop spreading incorrect rumors about me out of spite. If they insist, I'm happy to pull up receipts to prove everything I've said. If they actually thought I was pro-Israel, they wouldn't be spreading it anonymously, they'd be writing another public post about the subject matter. Also if you see anyone repeating the rumor, please correct them. Thanks.

[villainousauthor]

Part one

The Villain's brow pinches together as they overlook the data they've managed to acquire so far. Nothing made sense, they've run every test they could think of to try and discover what it was that gave the Hero their regenerative abilities, to no avail.

They almost feel bad about the poking and prodding they've had to do, one blood draw after another, tissue sampling, and more. At the very least, Hero has stopped fighting them as much these past few weeks, making their work easier.

Villain turns back to where Hero sits on the exam table, their eyes adverted, seemingly focused on some spot in the corner of the room. They gently, but firmly, grab Hero by the chin and turn their head upwards.

"Open up." The Villain's voice is quiet as they grab a new swab. "I'm going to need some more of your buccal cells."

Hero doesn't resist their hold, but speaks up in the same unserious tone they always maintain. "Use normal people words, say cheek." They always seem to have some teasing thing to say to Villain, though it mostly lacks any bite. Villain assumes this is Hero's way of maintaining some sense of control in this environment, and it's not like they mind the chatter regardless.

"If you think buccal is a complex word, I'm afraid you really aren't much more than a pretty face," Villain's tone isn't serious either, as their fingers press into Hero's jaw slightly more. "Now open up."

Hero obeys without any sass now, parting their lips so Villain can swab the inside of their mouth. Villain doesn't miss the way they lean into their touch, Hero relaxing into their hold. It's a stark contrast to how things were the first few weeks here when Villain could hardly approach Hero without getting bitten or hit. Most of the early testing from those days had to be done with Hero restrained.

Now, Hero leans into them constantly, as if they're craving another person's touch. They maintain eye contact as Villain presses close, the whole situation feeling oddly intimate. Hero's skin feels almost addictingly warm, even through the Villain's cold gloves.

Pulling away and placing the swab tip into an opened tube, Villain turns away from them, hoping to show not too much emotion on their face.

They know how touch-starved and desperate for human contact Hero is, and by God they would love to indulge them, but they want to maintain at least some sort of professionalism here, despite how deeply unethical this entire thing is. Or perhaps because of how deeply unethical it is. One less sin counted against them. To tell themselves at the very least, they're not taking advantage of Hero's loneliness while in their captivity.

They look to Hero again though as they set the test tube down, and find their will slowly chipping away, as Hero watches them with those lovely eyes that make Villain want to keep them forever.

Villain sighs, taking their gloves off and approaching them again. "You make it so difficult." Villain's cold hand comes to caress their jaw, as Hero looks at them, slightly confused by their words.

"What do you mean?" They ask as Villain's thumb goes to trace their bottom lip lightly.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to let you go when this is all said and done," Their hand wraps around to their neck, sliding through Hero's hair. "Even when I've gotten what I first stole you away for, I don't think I'll ever be quite done with you."

Villain leans forward, their lips just barely hovering above Hero's. There is no mistaking the burning fire in Villain's eyes. They seem to consider their next action for a moment before pulling away hesitantly, letting go.

They clear their throat, putting back up that wall of untouchable professionalism. "That's all for now. I'll come to collect you later for another blood draw."

[sophswritingthings]

hii i'm the person who had the request about mizu having a dream about the reader!! it was so perfect, omg. this isn't any pressure to continue it or do a part 2 i just wanted to scream about how soft it made me. cause like. mizu would totally be so flustered after the fact, she can't help herself from envisioning the dream every time she looks you in the eye now like. you portray her character so well with the subtle kindness towards the reader like her not wanting them to be scared?? got me. ugh just so incredible thank you for writing it!!

pairing: mizu x fem!reader

warning(s): mizu + reader being a dumbass, swearing

a/n: AHHHH thank you!!! all the compliments are making me kick my feet 😭 and because you were so nice I have a present for youuu

summary: every time mizu looks at you; all she can see is you two together. happy. in love. one day she lets her dream slip to ringo; and you hear it.

word count: 490 words / 2,655 characters 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

at this point; she was close to tying you to a tree and leaving you there where she could never find you—let alone you find her.

but she couldn’t do that; it would hurt you, and you being hurt would in turn hurt her.

every time she saw your pretty-ass face; all she could think about was that dream.

that sweet, beautiful fucking dream.

and it was bad that she liked the dream. It was really, really bad.

the idea and the scenes she saw would keep replaying in her mind; over and over again.

every time she would even think of you, even for just a second, she’d see it over and over again.

It was like a good movie she hated watching because she didn’t like the actors.

or maybe she was just denying she might like a certain actor a little too much.

“master?”

mizu snapped out of her thoughts; glancing at ringo, he was walking right beside her.

“yes, ringo?” she rasped.

“master seems.. distracted,” he described. “you are never distracted.”

“never is a strong word, ringo,” she narrowed her eyes, watching you just up ahead. you had stopped at an herbalist’s shop. 

“than what is master so distracted about?”

worry flooded over her head; did she want to answer that question when you were probably in earshot?

no.

but maybe she needed to say something to someone; maybe than she’d stop thinking about it. and ringo was the perfect person; he was.. actually, somewhat, trustworthy with secrets.

“(y/n),” that was the first word she said, before sighing. 

“what about her?” ringo implored.

“.. her stupidly pretty eyes— and for gods fucking sake, why is she so damn nice? It’s absurd, really,” mizu paused, hearing how loud she’d really said the words.

well—fuck.

you were gazing at her, your eyes a bit wide. she couldn’t be talking about you; that was impossible.

and you honestly didn’t know, if she was talking about you, wether to take it as a compliment or an insult.

you supposed she meant it as a compliment.

“i—erm—thank you,” you murmured, gazing up at her.

she was in deep shit now. a hole she didn’t know how to dig herself out of.

“.. you’re welcome, I suppose,” she murmured back, adverted her gaze.

ringo, on the other hand stood between you two, glancing back and forth.

“(y/n), why don’t you—“

before he could finish his words, you clamped a hand over his mouth.

you smiled awkwardly at her.

she arched an eyebrow at you. what was he going to say that you so desperately didn’t want her to know?

“why can’t he—“

“—it isn’t important!” your face was ridden with a pink blush, backing away from the situation. “It just isn’t.”

“.. okay,” she conceded, not wanting to push you any further.

but she so needed to know what he was gonna say.

and why didn’t you want her to hear it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: again, my darling, thank you!! ya’ll are all so sweet it’s gonna kill me one day istg <3 also mizu is a character I can really get into and understand; seeing as we share something in common: both being half white (plus I have blue eyes too but that doesn’t really factor in). and being so hell bent on “fixing” what is wrong with her, when there’s really nothing wrong with her in the place! I just get into that so bad ahahahah. also she’s hot, so there’s that 😅

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Closing the Distance

Sheriff Hassan x Reader

Author's Note: I'm sorry its bad. I'm sorry this is the first I've written in this fandom. Just sorry all 'round.

Summary: Devastating news brings Sheriff Hassan and his neighbor closer together.

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, grief and death, brief mentions of SMUT

Crockett is small. Small enough for someone to walk from one end to the next in less than a day, small everyone to know each other by name, small enough for gossip to spread faster wildfire. It's part of why Hassan keeps his head down and his nose out of everyone’s business; small towns are close knit, they stick together, and he's already an outcast. So unless someone is explicitly breaking the law or being a public nuisance, Hassan keeps his distance. 

Even if it's hard sometimes. Even if his cute neighbor brings over dinner for him and Ali when she cooks extra or waves at him when he's getting into his car in the morning while she's having coffee on the porch. Even if he does find himself wanting to prolong their conversation when he bumps into her while picking up groceries. Hassan keeps his distance, because even if Y/n has only lived on the island for a year longer than he has, she is not an outcast.

From the bits and pieces he's been able to pick up, Y/n’s mother grew up there and then their family spent most of her summers as a child on the island. In the same quaint house across the street from his, with weather beaten porch steps, a white French door guarded by thin yellow curtains and a kitchen window that faces the street. She moved there just after her grandmother passed and her grandfather fell ill. Everyone knows her, everyone likes her, not that he can blame them – even Bev likes her, though he doubts the feeling is mutual. And that's why Hassan keeps his distance; even Y/n isn't one of them, she's one of theirs. 

So he keeps his distance.

Until he gets home from work one Friday evening just in time to see Y/n walking Sarah to her car. Before she gets in, they spend another couple minutes talking and while he doesn't want to sit in his car and stare, there's something about the dimness in her expression and the invisible weight pressing her shoulders into a solemn, downward curve that holds him there. Hassan can't recall ever seeing her like that – tired, sure, it would be impossible to be a caregiver and not feel the strain of it. But this evening is different, it's more than tired. He recognizes that look; that was how he looked when his wife reached her end. 

Hassan waits until Sarah drives off before getting out of his own car. Y/n is still standing on the sidewalk, arms hugging herself and eyes cast in the direction of the receding car. She isn't dressed to be outside, denim shorts and a thin band tee are hardly enough to combat the October chill, especially when it's been raining on and off all day, and that's how he knows she's probably avoiding heading back in. And he simply can't stand to retreat to his own house when she's looking like she's about to fall apart. 

So Hassan calls out to her. 

“Hey neighbor,” it's just enough to beckon her attention, and his tone, he hopes, gives nothing away. 

“Sheriff,” as Y/n turns to him, she tries to smile but her lips quiver and the effort doesn't reach her eyes. “Hey,” her voice cracks ever so slightly and he suddenly feels guilty about intruding on what might have been a private moment. “How are you?”

Of course she asks how he's doing when she's the one on the verge of tears. 

“Doin’ alright,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “you?”

Before anything leaves her lips, which she's pressed into a thin line, Y/n nods stiffly. “I'm….” She sniffles and Hassan steps closer until he's standing where Sarah's car had been parked. “I'm okay,” she manages softly, adverting her gaze to their feet. 

He doesn't know what prompts him – his urge to comfort her or the fact that he'd wished someone had done that for him – but Hassan reaches out to lay a hand on her shoulder, and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “You sure?”

And he swears that's like slipping the pin out of the grenade. Or more accurately, throwing a pebble at a cracked window; the tiny thing that shatters something already so fragile. 

A sob tumbles past her lips and without thinking, he pulls her against him. She's small enough for her head to settle against the center of his chest while he smooths his hand over her hair. Hassan knows all too well that now isn't the time for him to marvel at how well she fits in his arms, like they're two puzzle pieces just snapping into place. Despite his efforts though, the thought lingers in the back of his mind.

“He's dying,” she cries, words muffled as she keeps her face pressed to his chest, “He's dying and there's nothing else I can do for him.”

Her words make him hold her tighter, as if he's trying to keep her pieces from scattering. “I'm so sorry,” is the only thing he offers. All other words of sympathy and comfort feel wrong in the moment, so they stay like that and Hassan holds her until loud cries turn to slow tears. In fact, it isn't even him that pulls away – if it were up to him, he'd hold her until the next morning, longer if she needs it. 

“God,” wiping her cheeks hastily, Y/n sniffles, continuing bashfully, “Sorry about that. I bet you're never gonna ask anyone how they're doing ever again.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” he counters dismissively, “is there anything I can do?” 

Her smile, though genuine, is small and sad. “You've already done a lot,” Y/n assures him, “but maybe you could come in for coffee? If you have time,” she adds hastily.

He really had meant to come home and make dinner, hopefully get Ali to tell him about his day, but there's half a pizza in the fridge and he's pretty sure his son is gonna make up an excuse to not have dinner with him, the way he does every evening. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Y/n alone and another half hour can't hurt. “Coffee sounds good.”

Despite being embarrassed about her little meltdown, Y/n is enormously grateful that Hassan agrees to come in for coffee – and it's not even because of that silly little school girl crush she's been nursing since the day they met. It's because when it's just her and her grandfather in the house, she can hear his laboured breathing even in the rooms furthest from his bedroom and she's hoping that talking to the sheriff will distract her a little. 

For just a few minutes, Y/n wants to pretend that the man who's wrapped up in some of her fondest memories isn't slipping away and Sarah hasn't just told her to start making arrangements. 

His steps are soft as he follows her into the kitchen, and it takes getting there for her to remember that she's left a tray with food and medication on the table. “Shit,” she hisses softly, going to collect it off the small table.

“It's alright if you have to take that up,” Hassan says, halting in the doorway, “I can wait or….”

“No,” Y/n shakes her head as she empties a small bowl of rice cereal into the trash before grabbing a smaller bowl of applesauce to do the same with that, “This is from breakfast. He wouldn't eat it. Didn't eat dinner last night and….” When her voice starts shaking, Y/n stops herself and sets the dishes in the sink. Washing off her hands, she fixes her attention on the coffee maker. It's a nice one, the kind that comes with a milk frother. It's one of the few things that she'd brought from her apartment in the city to make life in Crockett a little more comfortable. “How do you take it?” She asks, slipping a mug into the designated place. 

“Black, two sugars,” he returns, now standing near the table with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He makes the space look small, Y/n thinks, and on a regular day it's one of the things she fancies about him. He's so big, capable of being incredibly imposing and yet the only thing she ever feels in his presence is safe. And it's not because of his uniform or the fact that he's a man of the law, it's because there's a softness about Hassan that makes her yearn to be close to him. 

It doesn't matter what everyone says about him, Y/n just doesn't see it. He doesn't say a lot, probably even less to her than everyone else on the island, but there's a kindness in his very rare smile and a sadness in his eyes that she wishes she could help with.

“We can talk about it, if you want,” Hassan offers as Y/n stirs two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee.

When Y/n turns to hand him the ceramic mug, she encourages him to sit before returning to the machine and it takes a couple minutes more to sort her thoughts out enough to address his suggestion. “I don't know if there is anything to talk about,” she admits, thumb nail flicking the edge of the tile countertop, “I knew he was terminal when I got here. It was never a matter of if, it was when. But now that its….when, I feel like it's too soon, you know?”

Hassan nods, and she knows that his agreement isn't just surface level empathy – she's heard about his wife from the gossipy folks in town. “I keep reading about all these people who grieve their parents, spouses…. grandparents before they die, because they know it's happening,” Y/n goes on, and at this point, she's rambling in hopes of making sense of her experience, “but it was never like that for me. Until now. I mean I knew he was gonna….” She can't even bring herself to say the words. 

“But you didn't think it would be like this,” it's like he's taken the words right out of her mind when he says them. “You thought he'd just go to sleep one night, it would happen and then it would be over.”

“Yeah, exactly,” collecting her mug, Y/n assumes the chair closest to Hassan, “but this is so different. He's in pain, he won't eat, barely drinks water. I know that it's best for him, so he can be…..at peace again,” her eyes start welling up again, and much to her surprise, he reaches over and rests his free hand over. Y/n can count one hand the amount of times he's touched her. Four times. 

He shook her hand when they first met and the three other times had happened that very evening.

Admittedly, it's a little confusing; she's spent so long convinced that he doesn't like her that it's hard to believe that him sitting in her kitchen isn't anything more than pity. But that hug didn't feel like pity and the sincerity in his eyes doesn't feel like that either. His thumb is caressing the side of her wrist, the roughness of his finger contrasting with the softness of his skin. 

“I understand,” he determines quietly, “I know it doesn't help-”

“It does, you have no idea how much you've helped. Just by being here.” Y/n leans in a little, and Hassan cups her cheek. 

“You shouldn't have to go through this alone,” he ghosts the apple of her cheek, “you're there for everyone, someone should be here for you.”

Her hand slides down the back of his forearm, stopping near his elbow. “I'm….” She goes to say glad, but its the wrong word, “grateful it's you. So thank you.”

“‘Course,” Hassan hums, before searching her eyes when she inches closer, “What?”

Y/n knows she's taking a pretty big risk, he's never shown any interest in her like that and she isn't quite sure that her next request has anything to do with her feelings for him. But she asks anyway. “What if I wanted to forget….just for a little while.” She leans in closer, and that time, he does too.

They're so close that Y/n can smell bits of Crockett's salty air mingling with a very subtle cologne. So close that it just takes a couple inches forward on her part for their lips to meet. He tastes like coffee, and his gray flecked beard scratches her face in the most enthralling way. Surprisingly, he reciprocates; his other hand reaches for the back of her neck as he deeps the kiss. 

Clumsily, Y/n fumbles out of her chair and into his lap, his worn jeans rubbing against her exposed thighs. The chair scrapes along the hardwood floor when he tries to get it a couple inches away from the table, but neither of them pay any mind to the noise. His large palm inches down her back to eventually slips under the hem of her t-shirt while Y/n starts fiddling with the top button of his uniform. 

“Y/n,” he mumbles her name as she pops the second button. Her reply is a hum and an attempt to press her lips to his a bit harder. The bulge in his jeans is firm against her thigh, encouraging her to suggestively grind against his crotch. “Y/n,” that time, Hassan tears his lips from hers and swiftly grabs both her wrists in on his hands, while the other stays firmly on her back – on the outside of her t-shirt. 

“You don't want to?” Because of course, on top of overwhelming grief, she has to deal with the shame rejection after she tries to jump her neighbor's bones.

“Trust me,” he heaves, glancing down between them. She can still feel his hard on through his jeans and the thought of what it might feel like without restraint causes her to shift in anticipation. “I want to. But I don't think you want to,” and before she can get an argument in, he cuts her off, “At least, not like this.”

Hassan lets her wrists go in favor of cupping her face with both hands. Leaning in until their foreheads meet, he sighs heavily. “Whatever this could be shouldn't start because you're running away from feeling something difficult.”

“I'm not-” she tries to argue, but her voice breaks, “you’re right.”

“Just….give yourself some time. And when this is over, and you're really ready – and if you still want this – I'll be waiting.” That time, when their mouths meet, the kiss is more gentle. It isn't fueled by passion or haste, it's a promise. 

When the break, Y/n slides out of his lap and goes to lean on the lip of the sink. Hiding her face in her hands, she groans loudly, “God,” she bemoans, “I feel so stupid.”

A weaker spot in the old floor creaks ever so slightly as Hassan stands and closes the short distance in a couple long strides. “Don't be,” he weans her hands off her face, holding them so he can caress her knuckles, “honestly, if you weren't crying thirty minutes ago no one would be able to pry me off you.”

His words rouse a quiet chuckle and Y/n spends another handful of seconds staring at their joined hands. “I'm gonna hold you to that,” she affirms quietly.

Hassan gives her hands a squeeze, “I'd hope so,” he glaces backwards at the window. It's starting to get dark out and there are a couple lights on over at his place, signaling that Ali is home. “I should…”

“Of course,” Y/n nods, “Yeah.”

His hands gently cup her neck and she curves her fingers over his wrists, thumbs absently stroking his skin. “If you need anything,” he lowers his head, so close the tips of their noses are almost touch, “you know where to find me.” 

After a bit of hesitance, Hassan kisses her one last time before finally letting her hands go and turning to leave. In the doorway, he turns to offer her a short wave and sad, lopsided smile before continuing towards the front door. Meanwhile, Y/n lingers at the sink, toying with her nails even as the front door clicks shut. Through the window, she watches Hassan cross the street and stroll up the front before disappearing into his house. 

And just like that, she can hear the wheezing again, and the sound of it causes her to elicit a shuddered breath. Despite her talk with the sheriff, Y/n is still unnerved by what may come within the next few days, but for the first time she isn't entirely unsure of what comes next. For a while, she'd been wondering what would come after; her grandfather is the only thing tying her to the island, but the thought of going back to the city is unnerving. Maybe now she won't have to though, at least, not for a little while longer. 

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 3: mirror sex

stray kids 1.5k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Bang Chan NSFW

🖤 warnings: undernegotiated kink, implied consent, themes of negative body image🖤

🎂 happy bang chan day~

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

Truly, these are the dangers of not pre-booking a place to stay.

Last-minute travel isn't usually your thing, but an unexpectedly long weekend means that there's finally time in your favorite guy's backbreaking schedule for a little getaway.

But last-minute travel, with no hotel booked, means love motels.

They're not as creepy as they sound, not usually dirty or weird. Inexpensive, yes, and usually a little older than the resorts and boutiques that most people prefer. They get a bad rap just because of the connotations, but like, people have sex in all kinds of hotels.

You think it's kind of cool, honestly. Homey, in a weird way.

The person at the front desk is a nice older lady, and she doesn't even blink as she asks if the two of you have any plans this weekend.

"Plans outside the room, I mean."

She winks. She's not subtle, but it's sweet.

And now, in the elevator, Chan is looking around in unmasked horror. Taking in the garish burgundy interior, the thinly-veiled adverts for sex workers taped to the walls.

"It's not that bad," you say.

"It'll be fine for two nights," Chan replies, sounding as if he doesn't believe that at all. "Anyway, we're only sleeping here. We'll have stuff to do."

"Oh, come on. We might as well put the place to its intended use."

Chan scoffs, as if the idea of using the sex motel for sex is ridiculous.

"As long as the room's clean, that's all I care about," you continue. "It's a hotel. Whatever."

"Whatever," Chan agrees tentatively.

He's still lying to himself, but he does relax a little.

When you get to your floor, things are extremely normal. Nondescript hotel decor, the faint smell of carpet cleaning solution and lemon furniture polish. Cleaner than other places you've stayed for far more money, honestly.

The room itself is at the end of the hall, which you like, for the privacy, even though there are only five or six rooms on the floor.

You let yourself into the room, and it's as clean and fresh as the rest of the hall. Again, about as good as it gets in terms of a cheap hotel.

"See?" you say.

Chan looks at you, clearly unimpressed.

"What? It's clean. I'll check for bedbugs, but other than that..."

He points upward.

There is a giant mirror stuck to the ceiling above the bed, but nowhere is perfect.

"Even that's clean," you joke.

The surface of the glass is spotless, no fingerprints and not even any dust that you can see from down here. Chan still looks unhappy. Cleanliness is obviously not his concern.

"Don't be a downer," you say.

"Why do people like that?" he grumbles.

You've set your bag down on the armchair in the corner of the room, rifling through it for your toiletries to set out in the bathroom, but you humor him without looking. "Like what?"

"The mirrors."

"In the room?" you glance at him. "Isn't that, like, the sex motel cliche? The heart shaped bed, the red lights, the mirrors?"

This room only has one of the above. Pretty tame.

"It just means you have to - I mean, you can already see your partner, why would you need-"

"You're really thinking about this," you interrupt.

He is. He really is, standing beside the bed and staring up at his own reflection pensively.

"It's so you can see yourself," you add, walking past with your armload of cosmetics.

From in the bathroom, you hear his answer, still pouty.

"Why would I wanna do that?"

Oh, here we go.

"Some people get off on it," you say.

He scoffs a laugh, humorless. You're being generous by not calling him out, here, because he's being self-deprecating. You hate that.

"I'm gonna terrify myself in the middle of the night," he says.

That might be true. He's a little bit of a scaredy-cat. But that's beside the point.

"That's not your actual problem, though," you reply, as you come back into the room proper.

He shrugs.

"Haven't you ever been curious?" you ask.

"About what I look like?" he shoots back, glancing back up at the mirror. "Done. Wow."

"I mean during."

Immediately, like flipping a switch, his ears flame pink. "Not really."

"No? Never?"

He looks at you pointedly. He knows what you're doing. You're not subtle, so that's fine.

"We should find out," you say, grinning.

It's a challenge, now.

Your gorgeous, gorgeous boy hates how he looks. That's common knowledge for anyone who's tried to get him to take a photo together, or shop for clothes, or compliment him on a new haircut. Most of your mutual friends just ignore it. But sometimes you just can't stand it.

He would never be the type to want to see himself in the mirror in the throes of passion, uninhibited. Which is exactly why he needs to give it a try.

"How easy do you think I am?" he accuses, correctly.

"I dunno." Instead of bothering him more, you flop down onto the bed yourself, feet still on the floor, staring up at your reflection. "You tell me."

The bait is laid, and like always, his insatiable ass can't help it. You two haven't had proper alone time in what feels like forever. He nudges between your knees, standing over you as you lay there on your back. You already like the look of the scene in the mirror, the way that his reflected form looms, the way it makes you look small.

"You know," Chan says, "We could put this place to its intended use."

You grin at your own words recycled. Great minds and all that.

"What an idea."

"Just an idea," he assures you.

He drops onto his knees, nudging you up the mattress to make room for himself.

You almost lose track of your own plan, once he kisses you. Hands roam, clothes are lost, the ease and comfort of something you've done so many times. For a while, it's just an encounter like all the others. His hands that know you, his warmth and presence and attention.

And then you remember, suddenly, once you're nude and he is too, and he's asking you how you want it.

"You on your back," you say, trying not to smile at your own ingeniousness and reveal the plan.

"You got it, baby."

He flips over, and he's settled fully into the pillows with you halfway onto his lap before he looks up. He looks up at the ceiling, and he realizes.

"Wait-"

"Gotcha," you smirk, settling fully on top of him.

He could very easily just knock you over and change things up, or he could ask you to stop, and of course, you would. But he doesn't. He just flushes, red again down his ears, his neck, and he covers his face with his hands.

"That's not gonna work," you say, peeling his fingers away from his eyes.

"I can't believe you tricked me," he says pitifully.

"I did no such thing," you reply. "But now that we're here, why don't we play a game?"

"Something tells me I won't like this game."

"Here's the rules," you say.

You pause long enough to rise onto your knees, to seek out his length - desperately hard, revealing that you haven't freaked him out too badly - and line him up.

"I'm gonna make us feel good. And you...have to look."

Chan pouts, putting his full lips to good use. "I'd rather look at you. Don't you want me to look at you?"

He punctuates it by running his hands up your back, hips to shoulder blades, soothing attention from gentle fingertips.

"I think you should look at yourself," you tell him.

"But-"

"Actually, no. I think you have to look at yourself," you decide.

He peeks upward. His flush deepens.

You're not sure why he doesn't like what he sees. From where you are, it's stunning. His slim body lines, the sharp cut of his face and his dark eyes against the bleached-white hotel sheets. Distractibly, biteably pink and embarrassed.

"If you don't look at yourself," you add, dropping your hips just enough so that he can feel you, "I'll stop."

He looks overdramatically betrayed, like a dog when you take their toy away to throw it. It's cute enough that you reach down to squeeze his face in your hand.

"That's the game," you say.

"Fine."

His voice is an embarrassed squeak, but that's consent, baby. You trust him enough to know that although he hates losing, he's not going to yes you to death if things are actually feeling uncool.

Permission granted, and his eyes dutifully trained on the ceiling, you ease yourself down onto his waiting length.

Curiously, once you're seated and he's swearing through his teeth, you tilt your head up to look at yourself, too. The angle isn't as good to see you, but you've got the gist of it. Your spread thighs, your arched back, the little bit of motion as you grind on top of him.

Nice.

"Don't we look good?" you ask, sweet as can be.

He nods against the pillow. "You look-"

"Not me," you tut. "You're not supposed to be looking at me."

Chan swears. You wait.

"I...I look..."

After a second, he swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut.

Pity.

You pull back up onto your knees. His wet cock slips free.

"I told you the rules. Keep looking at you."

[alias71]

I'm the patriarch...

...the gray hair. The one who's seen things, done things. The old man you've had a feeling for from the off. You will love me. I remind you of your own dad, or the one you wish he'd been. You'll always find me at the front line. I am the line. And though you know the good guys and the innocent often perish in great drama, you won't be able to help yourself. But this isn't news to you. See, I'm not talking about what you watch, I'm talking about why you watch it. The don't look, can't look, please don't let this happen. But this is gonna happen anyway. Find the characters you love and be with them. The mothers, the lovers. The fathers. Because all our stories are too short for bad characters.

Great Characters | ‘The Patriarch’ | ITV

I love everything about this advert for ITV Drama, particularly how it seems to be Fred Thursday as Endeavour sees him, not how he really is, with the emphasis on 'I am the line' and 'the fathers', which he pauses to say as though he's looking right at Morse. Fred really was the dad Endeavour wished he'd had, right up until he wasn't.

...the fathers...

And this last moment has echoes to others...

"We hold the line. If you cross it now, then there's no way back."

Thursday did cross the line in the end but it's crucial to notice that Endeavour, though devastated by that betrayal, looked in the chamber of the gun here. He absolutely made a choice to go on.

"Find the characters you love and be with them."

It really helps when Shaun Evans and Roger Allam are the actors playing those characters.

And I'm always here for Badass Fred Thursday!

[physalian]

Do not fear the "Dark and Stormy Night"!

This negative associations with a "tropey book" are frustratingly funny. A trope is just an element of story that appears frequently across multiple works in the entire world of fiction. A cliché is when that trope tends to be overdone or misused to the point of souring the feeling of reading a story by being too predictable or underdeveloped, etc.

Tropes and clichés are not the problem, and the idea of "To be successful I must be completely original at all times" would demand you never having ever sat for storytime, watched a movie, listened to the radio, or read any book ever, so that you didn't ~contaminate~ yourself with somebody's ideas.

Yeah, I like using bad weather to set a scene sometimes. Yeah, rain at a funeral is effective, sue me. I'm a sucker for 'only one bed'. I love found family.

Tropes are fun. They're entertaining. Fanfiction would not exist to be enjoyed without tropes. Original fiction would not exist without tropes. How many Cinderallas are there? Countless. It's not the trope, it's how its executed. Otherwise no one would ever make another Cinderella story ever, if we all inherently knew that they couldn't possibly bring something entertaining to the table.

The problem, I think, comes when you use tropes in place of something meaningful, which is how many modern books these days are unfortunately advertized. "Only one bed" is great, but if the characters involved are cardboard cutouts with no soul, the trope alone isn't going to carry the scene or keep me invested (though it will unfortunately entertain people who've otherwise never picked up a book and lose their goddamn minds over a certain shite romantacy author........).

The problem comes when you trade doing effective character development thinking "the trope is there, you all get it, we can skip the hard part". It's all sugar, no substance and it works for fanfic because we all know those characters from canon. You gotta do the work when nobody knows who your OCs are or what they stand for.

So, yeah, write the "dark and stormy night"! Don't be afraid of the tropes and archetypes! Write your Sassy McBadboy! Write your lone wolf, your geeky scientist character, your favorite romance beats.

...just make sure maybe that they are for *your* characters? Otherwise, I'll just go read the exact same tropes for characters I care about instead and not buy your book.

[spotlightlowlife]

Charlie Hazbin done better before?

The pilot in the first minute has her, in her own words let us know she is a dreamer, she outlines her viewpoints and objective clearly, lets us know she's been trying, she gets dismissed and she ask if the problem was the world or her.

We see in visuals that she has various superiors to outclassed her.

It is obvious as to why she has to take her plans to her target audience which is the commoner and start from scratch, because what good is being born into power if you can't use it?

Again, we are just at the start.

Charlie went to the media with her pitch, we would see that she isn't well known to the public and those who know mwhi she is don't care. We see that she is unprepared, unprofessional and not assertive, she quickly becomes a laughing stock.

Charlie was excited to announce she had the famous Angeldust on side which she managed through bribery, she was happy to boast that he was in the way to being one of her success stories, which backfires in her face immediately as he just made the choice to participated in a turf war going on at that moment for no particular reason. This turf war which immediately followed the cleanse.

Nobody has anything to lose, they're use to what they have, plenty seem comfortable with and are able to gain from death and destruction, so why would trust in pushover Charlie's words that she 'beleives' they're better than they are and can move on up to sit with those who wipe them out like vermin? Because that's what everyone even wants?

It's understandable that she would get used for her hotel, the hotel itself becoming the solution and the problem.

Charlie's mother is too busy for her and her dad is disappointed in her decision making, the only words of advice we hear Charlie echo from him are to not take shit from any demon. We know she's a pushover. She's out on her own, trying and feeling increasingly defeated.

Vaggie is sensible, she tries to prevent Charlie humiliating herself and making dangerous decisions that effect everyone but Charlie is going to do as she pleases regardless, she knows this. This could prove a great example of their class and power divide, unlike those she mixes with, Charlie is hellborn powerful princess, bad reputation is hurtful and nothing more and she doesn't fear for her life.

A pampered princess from a functional supportive family who didn't have to endure earthly hardships and demise.

Now remember, the pilot may not be canon.

The first four minutes of episode one pit Charlie pretty low in establishing and fleshing out her parents, her charismatic mother who rose to power but is now a missing person a dad who was born into grandeur but faced many issues who is depressed somewhere, then Charlie came to be, she hasn't done any of the greatness expected of her for no other reason than she's their offspring and petty disrespect to her face is welcome from randos she hangs out with who haven't really been introduced and don't particularly like one another.

The groundwork is done, the unflattering advert has been released to nobody in particular and Charlie has her group of various acquaintances, there's no chemistry, the only one we can really class as a friend is Vaggie who speaks up for her in defense. Why are they all together? Anyone who watched the pilot knows.

Now she's out to save sinners and not just help any demon which the pilot left open for us, but just as her clientele narrows, we meet Adam, the ancestor of sinners, an unreasonable dudebro who outclasses her.

Most characters outclassed her on the attention front, her plot vanishes into one of many subplots immediately.

The Charlie we had was idealistic, caring, enthusiastic, driven and hardworking all in her own right, pushing her own thing, but she was far from oblivious to the challenges she faced which were getting everybody in the room to listen and guiding troubled folk to change their ways. Obstacles faced with rehab.

This Charlie, antichrist chosen one fulfilling her destiny, is just there, somewhere at back.

It may be early days technically but still, the pilot and the first four episodes of Helluva proved things can move along quickly and coherently.

We are expected to take what we remember of the pilot with us as a shortcut to knowing these characters, 'canon' or not.

[concerningwolves]

I started reading about "pay to walk" apps (apps that let you earn money or vouchers by accruing points based on steps taken) out of curiosity, and um. I've just wandered into a fucking black mirror-esque horror movie realm

Like, for the most part these apps are pretty limited in what you actually earn from them. It can take anywhere between 4 to 14 months to get even a £10 voucher, and most of them rely on advert revenue. On its own this would be more irksome than anything, but the more I read the more I'm like. Wait. This isn't right.

One I read about requires you to watch adverts of a couple minutes long simply to perform integral app functions, like "banking" the points you've earned (if you don't watch the ad you have to bank each point one at a time, which can be like a 100 points. You have to sit there tapping your phone screen repeatedly as a punishment for not watching an advert. If you don't bank the points at the end of each day you lose them). Many of these apps limit the amount of points you can earn in a day, unless you use a paid plan – and they can change the terms of of what you're actually paying for without warning. (And given how generally stingy and limited a lot of the rewards are, you'll have to exercise insanely hard to "break even"). You can earn bonus points by completing surveys, usually on health and lifestyle stuff (where is that information going? these apps promise not to sell your data, but they're sure getting information out of you in other ways....) or by playing games (which may utilize the same mechanics that make a lot of online gambling and mobile games so addictive)

But the thing that's so so bad, aside from the privacy violations and the incredibly predatory practises of encouraging people to push themselves to earn shitty rewards, when there are many apps that help gameify habit-building in healthier ways

The thing that made me break out in mental hives

Is this:

Like this is. so incredibly fucked up

Participating in weight loss challenges for money. Aiming to reach a certain weight loss goal for a jackpot prize. Betting on how much weight you'll lose.

Dear fucking god that's grim

[sephys-wrath]

Maybe these little guys should be called the "Fruit Duo"

- They are based of the ogre and Momotaro from the same folktale and are associated with one another in lore, but with Ogerpon being the good one and Pecharunt the bad

- They are (you guessed it) based on fruits as Ogerpon is an orange and Pecharunt is a peach. Maybe they both represent Scarlet and Violet respectively?

Edit: - Both's true faces are concealed and were advertized and hinted that way until their event's release (funny how Ogerpon's face is concealed in battle while Pecharunts true face isn't and vice versa in the overworld)

Another edit: - Both also have set natures, with Ogerpon's as Lonely and Pecharunt's as Timid

I know ones a Legendary and ones a Mythical and also ones gender exclusive while the other is genderless, but same thing has happened with the Lunar Duo sooo

[rowretro]

✧𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍✧

WARNINGS: none I know of

✧CHAPTER 1✧

"Hee- ever heard of a Uni called Yah leh?" y/n asked tilting her head as Heeseung frowned "You mean Yale?" "Yeah whatever it's called- do you think I can get in?" y/n asked as Heeseung sighed "look here... sweetie I think you should look for a more uhhh reachable school, y-you know- maybe film school? maybe preschool?..." Heeseung, kindly suggested as Sunghoon snickered.

"No I wanna go to Yale! all the smart people said that its a good place-" y/n pointed out as Heeseung pat her head "Oh y/n... 18 years and you haven't changed one bit." he said before walking away from her "Hoon somehow convince her to apply for an easier uni or college-" Heeseung whispered to his friend who nodded.

Well it's everyday now, since the oh so sweet, darling Sunghoon started visiting their home, Heeseung trusts him completely, their mother does, and the sweet little gullible y/n does. "Sunghoon I think I can get in! I was studied at a University once-" y/n pointed out as Sunghoon frowned.

"Ah y/n..." Sunghoon started as he ran through her dark, silky hair, her innocent, curious eyes, meeting his. Oh how goddamn vulnerable she looked, how he wanted to keep her, protect her, break her... "Yale sucks. why don't I put in a good word for you and you go to the same Uni I go to?... it's a good place" Sunghoon said, smiling down at her. "Will there be pretty boys?... I saw pretty boys on the Yale advert-" Y/n pointed out as Sunghoon sighed.

Pretty boys? when he's standing in front of her dressed in all black, his hair swept to the side revealing his forehead, that black t-shirt was perfectly fitted on him. How could she possibly want prettier than him? "Pretty boys?..." Sunghoon asked, tilting his head as y/n nodded smilling "Hee gets lots of girls in college- I think I should start dating more people too- I only ever dated one person- A clueless idiot who bangs his head everytime he rides his bike out of th garage... everytime." she repeated, still upset about her break up with Jooyeon.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, as he put up with his peaceful act, oh how bad he wanted to end that Jooyeon... "Hey... there are many pretty boys in my college... I mean I am there." Sunghoon pointed out as y/n shrugged "Ok it'll be nice to have a familiar face in college next year, and well I do have to start in the coming months-" y/n said as she smiled up at Sunghoon.

All the better to keep an eye on her 24/7... Make sure he could gradually get her closer to him and let her innocent self fall into his trap. God she was so gullible it made it so easy for him. Sunghoon Smiled as he pat her head, seemingly friendly. "So it's your last day of school today huh?" Sunghoon asked as the girl nodded "You coming to the party tonight?" He asked as she nodded again.

When the girl left to help her mom out in the kitchen, Sunghoon was in Heeseung's room, gaming with the male. "You know the drug dealer? his ex asked me out on a date tonight- so I can't come by for your award event bro hope you don't mind-" Heeseung said. Well that just makes things better for him...

"Isn't your sister meant to go to a party tonight?... Jooyeon will be performing with his little band" Sunghoon oh-so innocently pointed out as Heeseung's eyes widen in shock, he choked on his beer as he turned to Hoon "No fucking way she's going there, fuck-" Heeseung complained, downing his beer. "The event is next week- I'm completely free today-" Sunghoon pointed out as Heeseung handed him a beer bottle "Hey you know you're like the brother i never had right?" He asked as Sunghoon snickered "I'll accompany your sister at the party~" Sunghoon said as Heeseung smiled at him, the 2 going back to their game.

✧𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍✧

[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker x Abema Collab video

To celebrate Wind Breaker airing on Abema as well, there was a collab video made with the 6 main cast on their tik tok! For some reason I can't find it there, but some kind soul uploaded it onto twitter (thank youuuuu)

(edit: the twitter reupload got taken down, but I found most of it on this official tiktok)

I'm going to take some liberties with the translation, because they're playing this rhythm game that isn't very well known in the west.

Script

All: All will be purged by Boufuurin! (t/n: in reference to Boufuurin's motto)

Umemiya: Mike test, testing 1, 2, 3, 3, 2, 1, hmm, which switch should I press?

Umemiya: Eh?? It's already on?! You should've said so earlier!

Umemiya: Hello to the people in Shibuya! I'm Boufuurin's primo, Umemiya Hajime!

Umemiya: Let's see, there's a lot of people we're meeting for the first time, so let's properly introduce ourselves! Let's start from Sakura!

Sakura: Sa-Sakura Haruka! I'm the guy who'll become the top [of Boufuurin]! Remember that!

Sugishita: I'll crush you!

Umemiya: Haha, we've got some strong first years this year! Sugishita your turn ok?

Sugishita: Fuurin High School first year Sugishita Kyoutarou.

Nirei: I'm Nirei Akihiko! I'll get stronger from here on!

Suo: Suo Hayato here! Nice to meet you!

Hiiragi: One of the Four Kings of Boufuurin, captain of Tamonshuu, Hiiragi Touma!

Umemiya: Everyone did well with their introductions!

Umemiya: Since this is a rare chance, let's play a game! The topic is Sakura's strengths!

Sakura: Huh?! (t/n: very very big "HUH")

Umemiya: Let's start, *clap clap*

Nirei: He's strong!

All: *clap clap*

Sugishita: ... He's loud.

All: *clap clap*

Suo: Hmm, he's cute.

All: *clap clap*

Umemiya: The way he eats food makes it look delicious!

All: *clap clap*

Hiiragi: Not bad. (t/n: thanks @/bluapapilio!)

Suo: Ahaha, Sakura, your face is so red

Sakura: SHUT UP!!

Hiiragi: Don't fight... My stomach hurts...

Umemiya: That's a wrap!! Please look forward to Wind Breaker and Abema!

Umemiya: Great, we're done! Let's go grab a bite!

Hiiragi: The sound is still on!

(the rest is just an advert for watching on Abema so I'm lazy to translate lmao)