#vvv pleased with how it turned out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crueisummer · 1 year ago

Text

𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝓒𝓛16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

series summary: Kika and Pierre invite you to their engagement party where you meet her and Pierre’s friends from F1, specifically, a certain handsome Monegasque driver.

chapter summary: You and Charles stay up talking about your dreams, fears, insecurities, and things that haunt your mind when you're alone.

chapter warnings: vvv emotional, feminism (oh no! jk), derogatory remarks, swearing, mental health, mentions of death (herve, jules, tonio)

playlist: ♫ gorgeous ♪ delicate ♬ i think he knows ♡ you are in love

author's note: Part 2 means we're halfway there!! For this chapter, I focused on the delicate's chorus to show the more vulnerable and "human" side of the characters. I will add the other aspects of the song to the following chapters. I also wrote this in a different style but I hope u guys like it. <333 Lastly, thank you all so much for almost 500 likes on the first chapter. ·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·. screaming! crying!

word count: 3.5k

disclaimer: All characters and events in this story, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

01:57 ━━━━●───── 03:52 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

The light beamed into your eyes from the window, intensifying the pounding in your head and increasing your thirst. As you opened your eyes, you squinted against the brightness, gradually adjusting to the sudden flash. Sensing movement beside you, you turned around to find Charles sleeping shirtless beside you. Memories of the previous night flooded back, replaying in your mind.

Before leaving the party with Charles, you looked for Kika to inform her of your departure. Seeing Charles waiting for you near the elevator, phone in hand, she expressed concern with a worried expression. Charles had recently ended a three-year relationship, and his ex happened to be the best friend of his previous ex. Kika was well aware of Charles' red flags, as she knew you, her dear friend Y/N, were known for wholeheartedly loving and falling hard for others who often failed to appreciate you as you deserved.

“Please be careful,” She smiled at you to which you nodded. She watched as you approached Charles and he smiled upon seeing you. As you waved farewell to Kika, she softly whispers to herself, “with each other’s hearts.”

You and Charles found yourselves seated on the floor of your hotel room's living room, uncomfortable party clothes off, cozy hoodies on, and legs crossed, with a spread of chips, beer, and mini alcohol bottles laid out before you. During your conversation, you discovered your shared value of family, discussing the strong relationships you both had with your loved ones.

"Are you close to your mom?" It was a question you always asked the guys you were interested in. You believed that a man who had a good relationship with his mother would treat his partner with love and respect. Although it didn't always turn out to be true, you still posed the question.

"Yeah, the first thing I do when I return to Monaco is visit her. You know, she's the only one I trust to cut my hair?" Charles smiles warmly, reminiscing about his mom. "You see, she's a professional hairdresser. So, sometimes when she watches me on TV, she'll send me a text saying I need a haircut. I just reply with her flight details to come see me, and we laugh about it, but she still comes over. That's why I've never had a bad haircut!"

"That is adorable! How often does she visit and watch your races?" You ask, eager to know more about his mother.

"Well, not as often as I'd like, that's for sure. She usually accompanies Arthur to his races."

"Races? He races too?"

"Yeah, he competes in Formula 2. Sometimes the Formula 1 and 2 races coincide on the same weekends so I get to see them both." You're momentarily taken aback. Wow, they must be RICH rich!

"Formula 2? How many Formulas are there?!" You exaggerate.

"Just three, cheri," he chuckles. "You know, my dad used to race in Formula 3 back in the '90s."

"So, it runs in the family, huh? What does your dad do now?" You inquire, looking down and grabbing a chip. The room falls into an unexpected silence, and you glance up, noticing a soft and melancholic expression on his face.

"Well, actually, I lost my dad seven years ago," he replies, offering a tight-lipped smile.

"Oh, Charles! I’m sorry, I had no idea..." Shock overtakes you, and you instinctively cover your mouth with your hand. Is that why he’s only been talking about his mom and brothers the whole night?

He interrupts, "No, it's okay. I think I’m getting used to talking about it. You know, they always interview me about their deaths. Sometimes I feel like they don't truly respect them, or me, and they just want me to talk about them for views and content."

"Deaths?" You're taken aback, struggling to comprehend the weight of his words.

"Yeah, over the past seven years, I've lost three important people in my life. My dad, my godfather Jules, and one of my best friends, Tonio."

"Charles, I'm so sorry to hear that. How have you been coping?" Rising from the floor, you move closer to him, placing a comforting hand on his thigh.

"Sometimes I find myself spiraling into these depressive episodes where I just want to close off my heart. Because if you close your heart, no new people can enter, only to leave again." He looks away, his eyes welling up with tears. Your expression softens, and he musters a small smile in your direction. He continues, his voice filled with emotion, "I've tried it before, but I realized that it doesn't make anything easier. These days, I just choose to remember them for who they were, their lives, their dreams, and the sacrifices they made for me to be where I am today."

You were taken aback at Charles’ maturity. The mere thought of losing someone dear to your heart was overwhelming, and here he was, having experienced the loss of not just one, but three significant people in his life. You couldn't help but admire him for getting through his hardships and finding happiness in the time he shared with them. Especially since he uses it as motivation to be a better person.

As your conversation continued, you decided to shift to a lighter topic in an attempt to lift Charles' spirits. You shared stories of performing in numerous countries, while Charles recounted his experiences racing in Formula 1 events across the globe. You laughed at how unfamiliar you were with his sport, just as he was with your music.

He asks if you have your phone with you.

"Um, it's somewhere around here," you respond while searching for it. Eventually, you spot it on the kitchen counter. "Why?"

"Just open Apple Music or Spotify, whichever you prefer," he says with a mischievous grin as you sit back down in front of him. You nod and show him that Apple Music is open.

"Now search for my name," he instructs, and you type his name, discovering that he is listed as an 'artist'. There’s no way…

"Charles Leclerc Artist? How are you an artist?" you raise an eyebrow at him and glance back at your phone. You notice that he has released two songs in the past year.

He laughs at your confusion. "Well, Ms. Grammy singer, I also play the piano. I wrote these songs last year and finished them around the time of the Australian GP and the Miami GP, which is why they're named AUS23 and MIA23."

You're shocked, your mouth hanging open dramatically as you listen to the songs. Charles laughs at your reaction. You didn't think he could become any more attractive, and now he surprises you with this. Could he be the incarnation of your dream man?

"That's amazing! I guess I know who to call when I need help with a song," you wink at him, and he chuckles.

"No, no. You're at least 100 times better than me. I don't have as much talent as you do to write lyrics for the music," he praises you.

“Okay, since you know a bit about my art and making a song and all that, I, on the other hand, have no fucking idea about Formula 1. Like, why do you have to travel all around the world and race on different tracks? Is it like some kind of world tour?" You burst into laughter at your own humorous analogy, and Charles, who was as intoxicated as you, finding it amusing as well.

“Do you really want to understand it?” You nod at his question as he sits up straight and stretches his head and hands, “warming up” to explain.

"You see, every race weekend is different. Let’s say you do Plan A for this weekend, sometimes it works, and we get podium. But sometimes despite our best efforts, it doesn’t. So, after the race, we talk about what went right and what went wrong and then we make a new plan for the next race. Do you understand so far?”

You nod at him. Though a slight confusion still lingered in your mind, you couldn't help but be captivated by the passion radiating from his every word. The way his eyes sparkled, and his voice exuded genuine excitement revealed the depth of his love for his job. In that moment, you realized that this wasn't merely a profession to him; it was a true calling, a relentless pursuit of excellence that fueled his spirit.

"I still don’t understand. Maybe being there and watching it firsthand can help me. What do you think?" you playfully suggest, winking at Charles as you extend your legs onto his lap. He responds by grabbing your leg with his left hand and dramatically clutching his heart with his right, feigning a heart attack. "Oh, amour, the thought of you in red."

As your connection deepened, you both began to open up and share parts of yourselves that were usually kept hidden. You spoke honestly about your doubts, worries, and the overwhelming thoughts that haunted you when you were alone.

"Can I ask you something?" you inquire, looking up at him.

"Go ahead," he replies, grabbing a chip and taking a bite.

"Have you read about me? Like on the internet, in articles or magazines?"

"I see the headlines, but I don’t really read them, so let's just go with a 'no,'" he says, wiping the salt and dust from his hands. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I’m sure I already know your answer, but doesn't it bother you sometimes, the things they write about you?" you question, and he nods, encouraging you to continue. "It's just that they always make comments about my personal life, especially with the people I choose to be with."

"Yeah, well, those people's lives are so miserable that they have nothing better to do than try to ruin ours," he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood, and you find yourself laughing.

You glance down at your lap, your hands fidgeting as you gather your thoughts, when Charles interrupts, taking your hand. "Hey, I know it sucks, but I think it's something that comes with success. It bothers me too when they do that to me. Look, I won't pretend to fully understand what you're going through because I know I don't."

You look up at him, puzzled. "Do you remember earlier at the party when you arrived before me? When your car pulled up at the restaurant, they went crazy. Now, I've been in front of cameras since I was a kid, and I know a thing or two about paparazzi, but I've never seen fame like yours before. They were taking so many pictures of you that it didn't even look like flashes anymore, it’s like someone had switched on a blinding light for those few seconds you walked from your car to the door."

"I couldn't really see you because of the crowd, but when I heard them shouting your name, it just made sense. Don't tell the engaged couple, but I'm 100% sure you were the best thing at the party. " he winks at you. "But still, that doesn't make it okay. The reason they act like that is because they are taking advantage of your popularity. They think that getting a good picture of you, or a story, out of you or even something they made up, is big money.”

You’ve thought of this before, the way they treat you is different from other celebrities, but you hesitated to bring them up, fearing it would make you appear arrogant. It was a nice change to discuss about your life, popularity and the challenges that come with it, and to be met with Charles' honest and genuine response. You look back at the times you talked about this with a partner, and how they dismissed your concerns, labeling you as ungrateful, overreacting, or even a drama queen. The contrast in reactions causes you to appreciate Charles' maturity, understanding and support.

Despite your seemingly different lives, his centered around sports, yours with music, your personalities and passion for your respective crafts and families made you remarkably similar. With every word exchanged, the infatuation between you grew stronger.

So, at 4 am, while leaning against the balcony of your hotel room, a comfortable silence settled between you.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I’ve never experienced this before.” Charles says softly. “Staying up at this hour and talking about my life and the shit I go through to a girl I’ve only met for 8 hours now. It makes me feel like I want to tell you my whole life. It feels…” He trails off, a loss for words.

“I get what you mean. I never thought we would have a lot in common, especially since from the outside, it looks like we’re living different lives. But it looks like we're not so different after all.”

“Y/N, I know it’s too soon because we’ve only just met but I really want to get to know you better.” He faces you and draws himself closer. His green eyes pierce your Y/E/C eyes, he smiles genuinely at you.

As you gaze at him, your heartbeat quickens. You can’t tell if this is real life because you’re experiencing emotions you’ve never felt before. Here stands a guy who is caring, grounded, and by the way, absolutely gorgeous, and he is genuinely interested in getting to know you. Your thoughts waver back and forth, questioning whether this is okay. Is it cool that I’ve shared everything in my mind with him? Is it chill that he’s in my head?

Your mind and heart go into battle. Think! After all, you've only known this person for eight hours! Eight hours, Y/N! On the other hand, what if this is actually okay? Could this be the story of you meeting "the one"? Or your soulmate?

You tried to find a compromise.

Blushing, you gazed up at him and agreed, “I feel the same way. But can we take it slow? I never like to rush things, especially relationships.”

He nods and hugs you from behind. “Is this alright?”

You hummed and you both stayed there, watching the stars and the beautiful view of Florence.

You didn’t want the night to end, and you couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to him right now. So you tried to make up excuses for him to stay. “But, you know, it’s too dangerous to drive at this hour.”

“Cheri, there is no such as thing as a time that is too dangerous to drive.” He chuckles at your cuteness. “Plus, I’m a Formula One driver, I think I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t because we just finished doing shots like three hours ago! And what if other drunk people are driving around too?”

Charles lightly laughs at your stubbornness. He knows you’re too prideful to just tell him to stay the night, especially after you both agreed to keep things slow. He sees you avoiding his gaze, so he addresses you, “Y/N.”

As you looked up, he smiled at you and gently holds your chin and locking eyes. "Je suis folle de toi.” he uttered.

Confused, you smiled in anticipation, knowing he had likely said something sweet. Seconds later, he translated himself, the proximity between your faces nearly undoing you. "I am crazy about you.”

...

Carefully locating your phone, you closed the bedroom door behind you. Retrieving two water bottles from the mini fridge in the kitchen, you settled on the couch in the living room of your hotel suite, resting your legs on the coffee table.

You check your messages and there were some from Kika, and your management team. Kika texted you and said to meet her for brunch at 11. Though, with a Monegasque driver in your bed, you don’t know when you can leave, so you move on to the other conversations, keeping in mind that you reply to her soon.

Your management team’s group chats were asking where you are and who you were hanging with. You read their earlier messages and saw that there are articles and pictures of you and Charles leaving the party last night. You open your Twitter account and see the two of you are trending. Of course, we are.

You scrolled through the tweets and some fans were happy, some were not, some just... don't have any opinion. And you prefer the latter. Reading the tweets of the fans was one thing, but the way the media and articles talked about you was different. It's like they didn't have respect you.

The articles get to you, Why is there so much scrutiny around my dating life? They called you a serial dater, manipulator, etc., even creating "warnings" about you for Charles; saying you're just gonna break his heart and write a song about him.

You furrow your brow, wondering why they single you out like this and why other women aren't subjected to the same level of scrutiny. It's frustrating because they never say these things about other people, especially men in the industry who engage in similar dating behaviors. Your male friends in the industry can date different people or even cheat and sing about it without raising any eyebrows. But when it comes to you, the accusations fly.

When they accuse you of "jumping" from one relationship to another, they label you a player or claim you cheated. If you choose to casually date without exclusivity, they call you a slut. It never ends. Where do they expect me to stand? When will it all just stop?

You start to question whether the people you want to be with have seen what has been written about you and if your reputation, which may be based on something fake, can affect the real connections you might make. You begin to ponder the significance of it all and how much weight a reputation actually carries.

It's unfair. Your personal life should be yours alone, and people should mind their own business. If this is the price you pay for sharing your music and being famous, you want no part of it anymore. It feels like they don't respect you as a human being.

Hot tears stream down your face as your thoughts consume you, overwhelming you completely. Seeking solace, you sink from the couch to the floor, resting your chin on your knees. It's a familiar position, offering some comfort when you're feeling low. The grounding sensation reminds you that you're still here.

Unbeknownst to you, Charles already woke up and was also reading messages from his team. He was about to greet you when he heard you sniffling. He slowly opens the door and sees you on the ground, knees to your chest, crying. Suddenly, he understands the pain you're going through. He felt awkward. He didn't know whether to comfort you or pretend to go back to bed.

But Charles can't resist the sight of your shattered state. He pushes the door open fully and gazes at you, broken and vulnerable. His heart shatters alongside yours. Slowly, he approaches and sits in front of you, taking in the magnitude of your pain. You're startled, having forgotten he was sleeping in the other room. You wonder if he knows what you're crying about, if he's seen the internet already, but the thought pushed back behind your head when a pair of warm, gentle hands cups your face, thumbs trying to wipe away your tears.

"What's wrong, mon ange?" he asks softly.

"Everything. The things they say about me... they're so mean. They're ruining my name, my reputation..." You manage to utter between sobs.

"Shh.. I know, cheri. But I don't care about what they write, alright? I want to know you. The real you." He comforts you. Running his hand up and down your arm as you find solace in his comforting embrace.

For the next ten minutes, you pour your heart out to him, releasing your pent-up emotions. When Charles senses that you had calmed down, he fetches the water bottle from the table and hands it to you. You finish it in one go.

"Feeling a little better now?" He offers, his considerate nature shining through. You smile and nod, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" he asks, showing his concern for your well-being. You shake your head for a no.

“Do you feel like going downstairs, or should we order room service?" Going for a walk would be refreshing, and it might help improve your mood, but given that you've just bared your soul to him, you don't feel like going out. More importantly, you remember that you'll encounter numerous people and potentially face unwanted attention when you're seen again with Charles.

"We? You don't have to stay here with me. I feel better already." You face him, pulling away from his embrace. You instantly regret it as you start to feel cold already, missing the warmth of his body against yours.

"And I'm not leaving until you feel your best again. So, restaurant or room service?" He asks again. God, he is even more hot when he's stern... and caring about my well-being, of course.

Considering your current state, you prefer the comfort of staying within the confined space of your room, cuddled up next to him. "Room service, please."

↠ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬

615 notes · View notes

analog-kidd · 7 months ago

Text

If Digimon Had Tumblr

🤖goin-ballistiac Follow

Hey guys so uh,, it turns out that @/donedevidan is an x-antiphobe, especially towards those who naturally carry it (screenshots under the cut)

Keep reading

😺guts-but-lion-x Follow

always hated that dude, guess I have another reason to hate him more

#dude was always a prick #and he loved making leomon dying jokes #those arent fucking funny #leomons dying arnt fucking funny

(103 notes)

👽s-n-a-t-c-h-e-d Follow

she evolved on my digi till I shinka

🥶️frostybirb Follow

bro wtf is this

👽s-n-a-t-c-h-e-d Follow

me trying to be funny😔

#i thought this webbed site would be easy #it isnt

(128 notes)

⚡️pulsingheart Follow

I think I'm going to evolve soon!

🦴️mean-and-green Follow

Runnermon is just Lighdramon but green and white

Go Bulkmon

🐺lycangaruthrope Follow

First of all, its Raidramon.

Second, whats wrong with Raidramon and Runnermon???

🦴️mean-and-green Follow

Oh of course the FRIENDSHIP WOLF DIGIMON is gonna vouch for the OTHER FRIENDSHIP WOLF DIGIMON

Bulkmon is so much more stronger than both digimon combined

🐺lycangaruthrope Follow

Strength isnt everything!!! But wrong tho, bulkmon is just some meaty digimon who is obviously compensating for something with those "muscles"

raidramon would def beat bulkmon anyways, so would runnermon

(374 notes)

💗extra-extra-big-dragon☑️☑️☑️ Follow

Windows 98 trying run me without exploding

(3,941 notes)

🌺hydrangeavenom Follow

Can digiblr stop flagging my selfies as nsfw????

I SWEAR I dont have a "hydrussy"

It's just a mouth!!!

(13,112 notes)

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

honestly I've been deathly afraid of spider digimon for most of my life and idk why

🌐not-a-spider-woman Follow

oh? why don't you come and meet with me so we discuss this fear further.

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

Sure! I really want to dig deep and see why I am so afraid of spiders

🥬️snivelingsni Follow

Good News! I now know why I'm afraid of spider digimon!

Bad News! I was almost eaten by a spider digimon today!

(691 notes)

❌alphaxxxxxx☑️☑️☑️ Follow

Fuck everyone on this hellsite

except you ouryumon

you're cool

🔥ouryuken Follow

THANKS FATHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#omg!!!! #he loves me!!!!!!

(56,884 notes)

👼the-top-angle☑️ Follow

Tamer forgot to take me to the toilet now there's shit on the floor

🕊piddy-piddo-pid Follow

Can't believe I serve this dude

#can i digivolve into an icedevimon #please yggdrasil

(44,529 notes)

🖤botablack Follow

just hatched😊

☯️silvertdao Follow

Arent you a little young for digiblr

🖤botablack Follow

kys

☯️silvertdao Follow

nvm you fit right in perfectly

(1,227 notes)

👿donedevidan Follow

I hope every Appmon gets deleted

Fuck them useless mfs

😇lady-of-the-light Follow

How tf are you still here??????

@digiblr-staff can you ban this bigot?????

😇lady-of-the-light Follow

Fuck it, I'm tagging all of the staff's personal blogs cause this is ridiculous

@extra-extra-big-dragon @alphaxxxxxx @duftycat @do-the-wyvern @omega-delete @pinkknightfab @thegallantdukedom @useurcranium @the-bara-hero @i-am-not-jc @ultra-vvv @goldenarmorv @sixlegsandabow

staff, ban this asshole

(102,333 notes)

#digimon #dashboard simulator #unreality #digimon world #digimon tcg #digimon adventure #digimon 02 #digimon tamers #digimon story #digimon cyber sleuth #digimon vpet #digimon xros wars #digimon ghost game #digimon world 3 #digimon survive #digimon world next order #digimon vital bracelet

127 notes · View notes

strxwberrybtch · 5 months ago

Text

A Hellish Love Story // Pt. 3

Pairing: Vox x F!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, NSFW 18+, Oral (male receiving), Masturbation

A/N: This is the first time I have ever written anything remotely smutty... that should be a warning in itself. That being said I had so much fun writing this part and can't wait to see where my brain ends up taking this. Anyways, enough of me yappin. Enjoy :))

---

Vox couldn't help the smirk that crossed his screen as he watched your nervous form slowly approach his desk. Before he was able to speak again, he heard your tiny voice squeak out.

"M-Mr. Vox... Sir... I am so sorry for being late this morning. This is the first time that I've done this. I-It was an honest mistake and I promise that-" But before you could finish your sad excuse of an apology, Vox interrupted you by raising one of his hands.

"Y/N, it's quite alright! I know that you are always good about being on time," He said smoothly and laid back in his chair.

He watched as your anxious expression slowly turned into one of confusion.

"Oh... so you're not gonna feed me to your sharks?" You asked nervously, rubbing the back of your neck- trying your best to avoid any kind of eye contact. Vox must have thought you were joking by the way a small chuckle escaped his lips.

Did he not know that you were being dead serious??

"Oh quite the contrary! Please, have a seat," He said motioning towards one of the black, leather seats situated across from his desk.

You eyed him suspiciously before doing as you were told. Once situated in the chair, you got to take a good look at the TV demon in front of you.

You always thought that he looked good while passing him in the halls. But being up close, you were able to notice details about him that you didn't see before. One of those not so little details being that he was utterly handsome. How could a man with a TV for a face look so-

Vox caught you in your brief stare, causing a light blush to come across your cheeks. He sent a smirk your way and watched as you fidgeted in the seat.

Oh, he was loving every second of this.

"So if I'm not in trouble then... why am I here?" You asked quietly, not entirely sure you wanted to know the answer.

"I am so glad you asked! While going through some writing submissions, I came across the one that you submitted a while back-" At the mention of your work, your ears perked up- a mental victory for Vox, "- And I just wanted to start off by saying WOW! I am thoroughly impressed with what I read,"

You had to be dreaming.

No way this was actually happening.

"Are- Are you serious?" You asked with a beaming smile that made Vox's heart rate spike.

"Of course! You truly have a gift,"

The best part, he wasn't lying.

-- flashback to the previous night --

Upon arriving back at the VVV tower- Vox instantly went to look for your writing submissions.

He hired people specifically to go through and narrow down the best submissions of the month. The narrowed down bunch would then be sent to himself- for him to ultimately decide whether or not they're television worthy.

Sitting down at his desk, Vox quickly found your file. Much to his surprise, you had only submit one over the course of the years that you had worked for him. Regardless, he opened it and began reading.

Vox wasn't much of a reader but even he could tell that you were good at what you did. He wanted more.

He needed more.

Your words flowed beautifully into one another, captivating the overlord almost instantly. It was truly a sinister love story. A forbidden love between an angel and sinner. Oh and his favorite part?

Without a doubt- the smut.

But this wasn't your average porn script.

It was erotic yet, truly passionate. Vox didn't know how but, you were able to capture and convey the connection that the main characters had with each other. Hell, he felt it.

But like- actually felt it.

While reading the alluring words on one of his monitors, he began to palm himself through his tight dress pants. As he moved on, he found himself becoming more hot and bothered. Soon enough, he freed his stiff erection from the confines of his pants.

With a tight hand, he began a slow pace on himself. Vox felt truly immersed in the scene he was reading- maybe a little too immersed.

He imagined that it was you and him performing the scene- not the characters you had created.

"Her lips slowly wrapped around the tip, tasting the salty arousal that began to ooze out. She relished in the groan that her beloved ushered out above her. Ingrid's Y/N's lashes fluttered as she began to ease his my cock down into her throat. She pulled back fully- watching with seductive eyes as a string of spit connected the two of them us. Ingrid She placed both hands around Luca's my slobbery shaft and gave an oh so innocent look. Teasingly, she began to kitten lick at the tip. Before he I knew it, her mouth and hands began a delicious pace. Her head bobbed up and down with the added sinister twist and tug of her hands. She moaned quietly as Luca's my hands found a tight grip in her hair-"

Vox found himself panting slightly as his impending climax was about to release. He glanced down at the hand that was tugging at his rock hard cock. He groaned imagining you underneath his desk; looking up with fire in your eyes as your small hands moved along his length, a sweet smile playing on your lips.

He couldn't help but moan loudly as his orgasm crashed over him. His hips bucked furiously up into his hand- imagining it was your pretty mouth instead. He shuddered at the thought of you swallowing every last drop of his seed.

Vox felt himself blue screen before inevitably causing a blackout throughout the entire pride ring.

After coming down from what had to of been his most intense orgasm yet, Vox had all the information he needed.

He also needed to get rid of those damn submission reviewers.

-- back to the present --

"Wow Mr. Vox, that's very kind of you. Thank you sir, it truly means the world," You replied, trying your best to contain the excitement bubbling inside you.

"You deserve all the praise in the world Y/N," Vox said with a small smile. You felt yourself blushing again, not used to all this praise.

You also didn't fail to notice the tiny heart beat that occurred between your crossed legs, one that you hadn't felt in a long time.

You tell yourself it's because of how much your work matters to you. Definitely not the fact that your sexy ass boss is staring at you with a panty-dropping smile.

Yeah, definitely not that.

"I want to make that little script of yours into something more. It has all the potential to become a hit movie! That is of course, if you were interested," As soon as the words left Vox's lips, you shot up eagerly.

"YES! I- I mean yes. That would be a great opportunity for me sir," You down played how excited you were but deep down, you knew he could see right through you.

Vox couldn't help but think of how adorable you looked when excited. He wanted to make all your dreams come true if it meant he got to see you like this more often. Who was he kidding?

He already planned on making it happen.

"I am so glad to hear that," Vox rose to his feet and slowly walked around his desk to where you now stood.

You gulped lightly as he towered over your tiny frame. He examined your features briefly before extending his hand out.

"I can't wait to start working with you"

---

A/N: Sorry for this being short but the next few parts are in the works ;)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin vox #vox #vox the tv demon #vox x reader #vox smut

64 notes · View notes

fanofthelamb · 6 months ago

Note

I just went through your entire blog looking for more of your art!! Loved your work!!! I have a question though, in ur au does the lamb and narinder end up falling in love or is it one sided? Since the lamb married narinder to humiliate him, how does he react to the "humiliation " ??

HIIII IM USING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO RAMBLE ABOUT MY NARILAMB PAIRING ENJOY THE ABSOLUTE NOVEL IM ABOUT TO DROP!!!!!!!

vvv Including a SHITLOAD of Pics <3 vvv

Actually, they’ve been in love for a long time! Narinder was the one who fell first, and was NOT shy about showing the lamb.

REST BELOW THE CUT!!!

Of course the lamb didn’t care at first. In fact, they were trying to have ANY of Narinders bullshit. They were here to kill their executors and everyone else could get fucked, honestly.

He DID eventually win the lamb over. They were still extremely shy about it, being able to see the obvious problems that came with having a relationship with their god, but YOLT, right?

Now, though, it’s still reciprocated. The lamb is still angry at Narinder for asking them to lay down their life, and is happily taking it out on him! Depending on the AU, whether it be my main blog and it’s interpretation of the lamb or my BTG AU, it really depends. FOTL I do really have plans for the lamb to at least soften up on Nari, BTG explores the lamb being unable to let go of what happens and letting it and the crown lead them down a path they can’t turn back from. Very fun either way!!

The marriage thing had the OPPOSITE effect of what the Lamb was hoping for. To give context; the lamb and Narinder are “married” before he leaves his chains (the lamb will DENY the hell out this though + comics about that still in progress) so when the lamb married him again, he completely misinterpreted the marriage as the lamb telling him They still loved him instead of it being a punishment, even with the lambs threats after the ceremony. It’s his strongest piece of evidence that the lamb is just pissed and needs a LOT of time to cool down. He is right, but no one believes him. Especially with how the lamb acts towards him.

The "humiliation" of the marriage failed terribly, and the lambs attempts to torment him fail just as badly. Any time the lamb tries showing affection though, that is when Narinder is truly terrified.

So... The "humiliation" they try to put him through never works but when they have a tiny moment of weakness that fucker's whole life flashes before his eyes skDASKHGFFJH

n e way... YEA!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TY FOR THE ASK <33333

#cotl #cotl lamb #cult of the lamb #the lamb #cotl narinder #narilamb #cotl narilamb #IM TAGGING THIS I SPENT EVERY BREAK AT WORK ON THIS TEEHEEEHEE #these are just really shitty doodles bc no way i got the stamina for lined and colored images but SQUEE HOPE U LIKE

120 notes · View notes

theyfiles-au · 10 days ago

Text

Yo @mystic-warriors here :3

I WANTED TO MAKE AN AU WITH BLUNDER AND FOLLY BECAUSE STFU I LOVE THEM

I finally finished the main story of 3 (so just 90% more game to go 💀) I know there’s some quests with blunder and folly which I have not yet done, but my friend told me after they turned into ghouls for like 5 minutes they gained the ability to see Yokai

BUT JUST HEAR ME OUT OK (more rant and art below vvv)

THIS AU IS BARELY THOUGHT OUT AND WILL PROBABLY JUST BE THE OCCASIONAL DOODLE DUMP BEFORE EVENTUALLY BEING ABANDONED BUT THIS AU IS KIND OF APART OF MY MAIN AU WITH MY OCS (comyst, Sam, saturn, etc) BACK ON MY MAIN @mystic-warriors so the events of the game didn’t even happen, (just pretend they’re researching other wacky shit around town ok again this was not well thought through just let me have this)

I like to think they’re in the same world as my main Au but I don’t have any plans of them actually meeting the protag comyst, they’re just off on their own doing their own shit, maybe they might reference or bump into eachother for a joke or something but that’s about it. (DONT EVEN START ON ASKING WHERE TF COMYST OR BLUNDER/FOLLY LIVE THEY JUST… IDK EXIST IN THE SAME PLANE OF EXISTANCE CLOSE ENOUGH LEAVE ME ALONE)

ANYWAYS now that you all understand that (TLDR) this Au is purely so I can give the two a team and draw them in wacky shenanigans while lore/plot is not a worry I MAY DOODLE DUMP

Also please excuse this awkward stage of me trying to figure out how tf to draw blunder and folly

#yokai watch #youkai watch #yo-Kai watch #blunder Yokai watch #folly Yokai watch #blunder #folly #blunder and folly #y files #the y files #art #the y files Au #AU #fby

43 notes · View notes

i-literally-cant-with-this · 9 months ago

Text

A/N ::: I woke up on the weird side of the bed today so, yeah. I don't usually write like this. But change is the spice of life, right? I read this as many times as I could to make sure I got everything. If I missed anything that should say "he", "him" or "Mikey", please let me know! I initially didn't know who I was going to make this about and I may not have caught all of those things. Thanks!!

C/W ::: Mikey (Tok_Rev) x F.reader/roommate, language, pillow licking & sniffing, dirty day-old boxer fucking, masturbation, lip biting (vvv brief mention of blood), oral F->M & M->F, quick deepthroating, anal, fingers->ass, names: slut, whore, little fuck, pet names: good girl, F->begging, "gonna punish you again if you ...", overuse of italics

WC ::: 2,100 (ish)

You walk out of your room, sleep still heavy in your eyes. Mikey is in the kitchen, pouring himself a 2nd cup of coffee. "Hey," you say releasing a big yawn, "pour me one? Please?"

He looks up and smiles at you, taking in your cute, soft body stretching the material of your worn old band shirt. The writing on the front is so illegible that you can't even see who the hell the band was to begin with. It hugs you perfectly, they think.

"Sure." He reaches out to the shelf in front of him and pulls down a cup to fill for you. You're already pulling the creamer from the fridge, probably giving them a fair view of your ass in your cute little panties. If they were looking, that is.

But there's no shame between roommates, no. You're both mature adults who can maintain a platonic relationship with one another.

"Thanks," is all you say as you stir the milky white flavoring into the dark liquid. You take a sip and wince at how hot it is against your tongue. "Fuck, is that a new coffee maker? It's hot as shit. Could have warned me, man."

You start heading back to your room, but then stop. "What uh, what time will you be home today?" It's a seemingly innocuous question. Though it strikes Mikey as odd. You never really ask when he'll be home.

"Why? You gonna have a big party while I'm out?" He jokes.

Blinking at them with a blank stare you fake a laugh. "Ha, yeah. You know me. I'm a party animal. Anyway, when?"

Mikey narrows his eyes, "I dunno. Around 5? Same as always. I gotta run. I'll see you." Hes pick up his backpack and coffee and heads out the door. You hear his bike start and pull out onto the street until it gets so quiet you can no longer could make out its rumble.

Glancing at the clock on the wall above the kitchen table, it's 7:40 AM. You have all day before he comes home. Finishing your coffee, you walk down the hallway and stand in front of his door.

There is a voice screaming in your head about how you need to stop doing this. How it's a complete violation of Mikey's privacy - and not to mention, just pretty fucking disgusting. But you can't.

You can't stop climbing into his bed after he leaves for the day. You can't stop burying your face in his pillow while you rub yourself on his most recently worn pair of boxers. Mikey's scent has far exceeded intoxicating to you by this point. And though you can't even remember how long you've been doing this, you do know that it's been happening for too fucking long.

Lately, you've even caught yourself slipping up. Talking about something you saw in his room that you don't think you were even supposed to be aware of.

There's not a doubt in your mind, you need to stop. But first, you need to be more careful.

However, today is not that day. You turn the knob on his door and help yourself to the bed as if it were your very own. His room still smells of that heavy sleep smell. Morning breath and man sweat and BO. And it doesn't turn you off like it probably should. Nah, it turns you on in the sickest way.

You pull the blanket back and see the outline of his body imprinted on the sheets. It's still warm from when he was there not so long ago. You take your clothes off and lay there, imagining him. Imagining that he is still here, in bed with you. That he is holding you and that he wants to fuck you just as badly as you want to fuck him and not his stuff.

You grab his pillow and shove your nose into it, taking in his scent as close to the source as you could get without swallowing him whole. There's a little splop of drool on his dark gray pillowcase and you lick at it. Anything at this point to have a piece of him inside of you.

You begin to rub your clit. It's already wet and thrumming at the thought of him. Of his smell in your nose, his spit on your tongue. You keen as you get yourself closer and closer to cumming. You can feel it building in your belly, you're getting so close.

Your breaths are coming quicker, your tits are jiggling as you bounce yourself around on your fingers - that will never measure up to what his cock would feel like being fucked into your cunt. You bite your lip and you taste blood, but you don't care.

You cum hard, harder than you have in months. You're moaning his name over and over and over, wishing he was here to fuck you like you want him to. Like you NEED him to.

And you hear the front door as it opens. You hear Mikey's voice call out to you and it all comes crashing down.

"Hey, I forgot something, just ran back to gr-" he says, until he walks into his bedroom. "Y/n, what ... the ... fuck ... are you ... doing?"

You scramble to cover yourself as you try to make up some excuse for why you were in here. But it's too late. You know it is.

"You sick, sick, little fuck."

"I - I - I - I ..." you stutter out, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"The actual fuck do you think you're doing in here? In my bed." Mikey looks at what's between your legs, "and my boxers?"

You get up, pulling on your clothes as quickly as you can. Your hands are shaking and your heart is racing. You don't know what to say or do, so you just leave.

You walk passed him, to go, you feel a hand come down on your ass. "You fucked up, big time. And now? You're gonna fuckin' fix it." He gestures for you to go back to their bed. "Go on. Slut."

You do as you're told, hoping he won't kill you after what you'd just been caught doing. And as you watch Mikey take his clothes off, you realize that this might not be going the way you expected it to. But it might be easier if he did just kill you.

"Knees." He orders.

"What?"

He raises an eyebrow at you, "Fucking. Knees."

You obey and drop to your knees, your face level with his dick. "Suck."

Without saying a word, he opens your mouth and shoves himself in. Mikey grabs the back of your head and pulls you forward, making you gag. And he doesn't care. You deserve it for being such a little slut.

He fucks your mouth, thrusting his hips into your face, slapping his balls against your chin, until he pushes you off. "Up."

You do as you're told. "Face the bed. Bend over."

Again, you do as you're told. You feel him spread your ass and rub his cock against you. You can feel it pulsing between your cheeks. "Please. Please ..." You say softly.

"You don't deserve mercy, you little whore. Unless you're begging for something else? What'd you have in mind, hm? You gonna make this up to me? You fucking pervert."

You can't see it, but Mikey is smiling at your exposed cunt. It's dripping wet and begging to be filled. He spit on his hand and rubbed it on his dick before spitting on his fingers and rubbing it around your asshole.

He pushes two fingers into you, slowly, while rubbing your clit with his other hand. Mikey pumps his fingers in and out of you, stretching you open. You moan and whimper at the feeling of fingers inside of you, at the sensation of being touched like this.

"Fuck me, please. Fuck me. I want to feel you inside of me. I've wanted it for so long." You whimper. You sound so pitiful but can't help yourself.

Mikey laughs at how pathetic you sound. He pulls his fingers out and spreads your ass again. "Beg for it. Beg ... for my cock, slut."

You feel him press the head of his dick against your hole. It's throbbing and you're about ready to explode. "Please! Please fuck me!"

Mikey eases his cock into you slowly. You gasp at the feeling of it stretching you open. It hurts ... but it's so fucking good. He thrusts into you hard and fast, filling you up and fucking you like the little whore you both know you are.

Mikey grunts and moans as he pounds your ass. You can feel him getting close as he pulls out of you and cums all over your back. It drips down between your cheeks and onto the floor. "If you were a good girl, I'd have cum inside of you. But here we are," he whispered against your skin.

He smacks your ass and you feel his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Turn around. Lay down."

You do as you're told and lay down on your back. He climbs on top of you and straddles your hips. "Open." Mikey says, grabbing your jaw.

He spits on your tongue, "Swallow."

You swallow his spit. "Good girl. Now, let's see, ultimately, just how good you can be."

He grabs your tits and squeezes them, pinching your nipples and pulling on them, assaulting your chest, leaving marks and bruises. You moan and arch your back, loving the feeling of his weight on you. The attention he's finally giving you.

Mikey kisses and licks and bites his way down to your pussy and buries his face between your legs. His tongue wandered around on your clit and he put a finger in your pussy, making you squirm.

He pulled back and smiled, "You like that? Don't you, you little slut?"

You nod your head and whimper, "Yes."

Chuckling, he spits on your clit and rubs it with the pad of his thumb. He starts lapping at your cunt so feverishly that it sounds like a dog drinking water from a bowl. Licking and sucking and biting at your clit so dedicatedly that you feel yourself getting closer to another orgasm.

"Please, please, please let me cum. Let me cum," you beg him.

Mikey looks up at you, his face soaked from your juices, "You want to cum? You want me ... to make you cum?"

You nod your head furiously, "Yes, yes, yes."

"Did you not? Earlier, I mean. Because your pussy was pretty fucking wet when I walked in."

You whimper and shake your head, "No, not like this. Not with you."

He smiles, "You're such a little fuck, you know that?"

You furrow your brow as he starts to rub your clit again. He sucks on your tits, making you writhe beneath him. He's biting and nipping at your sensitive skin. It's the most exquisite pain you've ever felt.

"Do you want to cum now, baby girl?" He asks, as he rubs your clit, harder and faster. Faster and harder.

You moan and nod your head, "Y-yeh-hess, please! Please, please."

He smirks at you and stops touching you all at once. "You gonna stop breakin' into my room and fuckin' my dirty clothes?"

The question caught you off guard. Fucking his day-old boxers was the furthest thing from your mind right now. "Wh-wha -"

He starts in rubbing your clit again, even faster and harder than before, "I asked you a fucking question."

"Yes! Yes, I'll stop! I'll ... I promise to stop, Mikey."

He smiles at you and keeps rubbing your clit until you feel that warm, bubbling feeling in your stomach again. "Cum for me, baby girl."

You twist and turn beneath him as you cum. Your pussy clenches around nothing as he keeps rubbing you until you feel like you can't take it anymore.

As you come down, he looks at you and gives you a sly smile. "Good. You wanna be a good girl for me, huh?"

You nod your head. "Yes. Yes. Yes ... I'll be so good for you."

Mikey chuckles, "You better be. Or else."

He gives you a long kiss on the forehead and stands up. "I'm going back to work. Don't do anything stupid. I'll be home in a few hours."

You lay there, naked and spent, unable to even think about doing anything but sleep. "Yes, sir." You say softly.

Mikey walks out of his room and goes back to work, leaving you in a state of blissful exhaustion.

"Wait," you call out, "what if I can't be good for you? What if I just ... can't stop?"

He turns and looks at you, a calm look on his sweet face. "Well, I guess you'll just have to learn your lesson all over again, won't you?"

Taglist ::: @darkstarlight82 @viburnt

#tokyo revengers #mikey sano #manjiro sano #sano manjiro #tokrev #mikey tokyo revengers #mikey tokrev #mikey x reader #mikey x you #mikey x y/n #manjiro x reader #manjiro x you #manjiro x y/n #tokyo revengers smut #tok rev x reader #tr x reader #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader

136 notes · View notes

lupineaerosol · 1 year ago

Text

traveler | thomas shelby x f!reader

Not my image!

pairing : thomas shelby x time traveled!reader

word count : 3,831 :P

summary : a trip to scotland for a belated birthday celebration turns into a blast from the past when you find yourself in 1919 with no chance of getting home, until you meet someone on a train to London that tells you he can help your situation and get you a visa....

warnings : angsty at times, near death experience (hypothermia), inspector campbell being creepy for the plot, bad writing, i have no concept of how much money a british pound is so ??, warnings will change with each chapter so please read them carefully!

notes : reader is 23-27 but no specified age, this is kind of an Outlander A.U. where the reader travels through a stone circle (or cairn for this one lolz) and goes back in time

a.n. : this chapter is technically an intro to the rest of the plot that ties in with the canon + vvv descriptive bc thats my writing style :P + also i suck at summaries + just recently got back into writing as a hobby, so this might be absolute trash but I'm very proud. if anyone has any issues with the content or what i write about because it goes against anything online please let me know so i can fix it!!

Not my image!

The black hoodie clings to your skin, sopping wet and forcing a chill through your skin. In the split second it took to regain consciousness, you realize your clothes are soaked, and judging at how badly you're shivering and that you're face-down in the grass, you've been asleep in the rain for god knows how long. Rolling over the damp grass to sit up, you catch a glimpse at the location you find yourself, the cairn outside the small town you had been staying at in Scotland on vacation.

The sky was dim, sunrise slowly encroaching over the heavy raindrops on the hills. Sitting against one of the boulders of the cairn, a shaky breath leaves your chest, fanning out in front of your face. Through the near hypothermia that's started to quickly make you sweat, a deep uneasiness started to take root, but you were far too panicked to acknowledge it in the moment.

You jumped to your feet, realizing how little time you have alive could be without action, rubbing your hands together for as much friction they could create, dancing your legs in place to wake your body back up. Attempting a warm breath into your hands barely helped your frigid and close-to-death state. The cold was numbing, the fog in your brain was all around you, mentally and physically, keeping the hilltop the cairn sat upon as an island amidst a sea of grey. And suddenly there was a faint light approaching.

The candlelight within the squeaking lamp softened the mist, making it far more inviting than the haze the man emerged from. Your shivers halted abruptly, the uneasiness bubbled up from your stomach to your throat, a foul taste in the back of your mouth spread over your tongue.

"'ello!! 'ello is anyone out 'ere?!" The man's shoulders shook with a powerful Scottish accent, and a strong sense of safety accompanied it. Alas, the shivers returned in full force.

"Here!" Your voice broke sharply. "I-I'm over here!" Attempting to speak up through the shakes and ambiance of early dawn proved difficult, your breathing overtaken by the cold and feverish urge to survive.

And luck was on your side today, for the first time.

"Hello?" The gentleman turned to the sound of your voice, not expecting to find you curled in a ball and soaked to the bone. And in strange clothes that were quite unseemly for a woman of your age. The outer layer that draped over you and the denim that clad your legs were downright outlandish to the man in front of you. 'Damn Americans and their strange styles of dress' He thought to himself quickly, before stepping lightly over to you, helping you up, and taking his overcoat off to throw across your shoulders.

The warmth was welcomed greatly. You nearly stopped shivering for a moment as the smell of worn and slightly wet leather, cologne and fire overtook you. It was the most definitive thing you could grasp on to in the few minutes, or hours, you had been conscious of.

"Ma'am, what are you doing out here at the time of morn'? You'll catch yourself a death of a cold out in this weather for much longer." The older man took your hand and led you to his carriage and horse. What am I doing out here? The reasoning escaped you through the fog, but you caught a glimpse.

A stone in your hands, turning in your palm as you walk the grounds of a historic castle. Your phone died in your hands mid photo, with the cairn in the fading pixels.

Where are you?

Your slowly warming hand finds its way into the soaked pocket of your hoodie, and alas, no such stone was to be found. Your cell phone and wallet remained, but judging by the man assisting you, there didn't seem to be much hope in asking if he had a charger you could borrow.

He paused to let you lean against the large wooden wheel of his cart, waiting a moment before speaking. A gentler tone took his voice. "Ma'am, do you remember how you got out here?"

The fog had cleared, both in your mind, and as the first bits of sunlight rose from the eastern horizon. After a pregnant pause, you responded.

"I'm vacationing here, from America." That much was true, you were from America and you were here on vacation, the only question was when you were visiting. You had flown over in a modern plane, taken a modern train from London to Edinburgh, and then a taxi to Inverness. The man in front of you made a subtle face of surprise, as if the journey you have described could have taken over 6 months, when in it only took 2 days for you to be a quarter of the way around the globe.

"I'm sorry you've found yerself so far from home, Inverness 's not a place I would expect an American to want to travel." The man moved the lantern from his hand to a metal bar attached to the seat of the carriage. He busied himself with his gloves. "If I'm correct, you're shivering out of yer britches and startin' to sweat at the same time." You nodded quickly, sharp pins and needles erupting from the skin you moved. The man brushed his hand over his chin, considering his options.

"My daughter Isa will have coffee and a warm hearth awaitin'. Once you've warmed up we can 'elp you return to wherever ye came from." The man sounded less than enthusiastic to have an American in his home, but the desperate need of your medical situation demanded his unwilling help. No one wanted to have any connection to a dead foreigner found at a locally mysterious site known for having a frequency of people going missing when visiting.

He helped you up onto the bouncing wooden seat. The smell of horse and leather of the reigns was the second most tangible thing you could consider basing your reality off of. This was obviously not the 21st century. A young woman, possibly anywhere in the 1830's to the 1940's (judging the man's attire and horse) in a foreign country with no possible way of proving her existence via official documents. That was the reality of the matter. You had no idea when you were, and if there was a possibility of getting back to the modern day.

Focus, and compartmentalize. There will be time to deal with the larger issues later on. Don't freeze to death, and then figure out what time and day it is. Gently and slowly returning to work, your brain made its first decision of this strange crisis: Deal with it later. In the meantime, you were able to do a quick mental diagnostic ; Legs work, fingers bend and grab, your stomach growls and you understand that your guts and heart still work, you've spoken to the man, so obviously your mouth and voice still work just fine. The only outlier was what year you were inhabited by accident.

The gentleman took one last glance at the girl who had barely spoken, and urged his horse forward toward the gentle outline of a stone town a few miles away.

The fire overtook the crisp and clammy feeling that crawled over your body. Heat licked at your hair and half exposed arms. You had met the man's daughter, Isa, and she had practically thrown a warm cup of half brewed coffee out of half awake panic. Although your father walking into your kitchen with a strange young woman at barely 5 in the morning would alarm you as well.

Adding to the alarm, Isa was just as perplexed about your strange, "American" clothes. She was convinced no one was strange enough to wear those clothes willingly, and since you were of similar size with Isa, she gave you a few of her old clothes to wear as you warmed in front of the fire. A bulky, tan skirt slightly too tight at the waist and a thin, loose in the bosom white blouse. You sat at the hearth with a large blanket draped over your shoulders, reminiscent of the smell of the man's overcoat.

Your clothes draped near the fire, steam coming off of your printed socks with cats on them. Isa had commented about the craftsmanship and how expensive they must have been. You barely muttered a response that would have made sense. All that time spent taking notes in World History class, and you remember nothing about Britain and Scotland after the Revolutionary war or before WWII. The grip on your phone was tight and you quietly pondered as to how you were going to keep it hidden while you were here. There was hope to get home. At least for now.

"So you really can't remember anything?" Isa leaned over to place the back of her hand over your warm forehead.

"Nothing from before your father found me." You only partially lied, you can't directly remember how you ended up at the cairn.

"But you remember your name, right?" Isa sat back in her chair, reaching for a cup of coffee on the dining table.

"Oh, right, sorry. My name is (y/n)." Your answer was curt, unrevealing as possible.

The morning dragged on. The sun was up, the clock on the wall above the sink read 7:46. Time.

"What day is it?" You asked quietly into your coffee while attempting to cool it off.

"Wednesday." Isa had been buzzing around the kitchen, completing various tasks but while also keeping an eye on you. Her father had toddled off somewhere else in the house, his footsteps were heard, but not yet seen in daylight. "But if you would like the specifics, it's Wednesday, February 5th, in the year 1919."

"Thank you, Isa."

Hours later and lots of planning around the limited memory you spoke about having, it was decided that Isa's father would lend you a 20 pound note he had been saving (He was subtly adamant you got his address to mail money back to him) for the trains to London, and Isa gifted you a few of her mother's worn skirts and blouses.

The plan was for you to travel back to London and hopefully return to either your home country or your family, though you knew both of these things were problematic. Isa's father, Robert, had left around 8 to ask around the town about your family, or anyone who may have traveled with you. No one had a clue. You thanked both of them urgently, and with deep appreciation. A small mental note was categorized that you should repay more than just the 20 pounds, kindness as bountiful as had been shown to you was deserved of a larger reward.

A short walk with many stumbles to the train station back to Edinburgh. The heels of your company's shoes clicked against the raised wooden deck parallel to the stone station.

"Thank you both, for your generosity." You gripped at the skirt that fell to the tips of your toes barely covered your Chuck Taylor Converse. Isa smiled gently, holding a worn and broken leather carrying case out to you to take.

"I can't do enough to pay you all back." You made a note to include Isa's mother in the thanks, as she was also indirectly gifting you items.

"Goin' home safe," a large pause entered the conversation following Robert's comment. Isa had earlier explained that her father has a strange and unusual issue with Americans. Especially visiting somewhere like Inverness. "-Is all we can pray for." His voice was genuine, but with a hint of resentment. Not towards you, but aimed at something far larger than you. Robert was odd. Everything is odd. If you were only slightly more deranged, you would be acting just as cold and bitter as he was.

The train whistle was enough to make you jump out of your skin slightly, and the final call for boarding passengers was announced by the conductor.

"Again, thank you both. Your kindness is appreciated more than you can imagine." Taking the bag from Isa's hands, the heft slightly surprised you, but recovered as you walked up the steps to the train. Part of you wanted to stay, see what life you could carve here while trying to get home through the cairn. The other part of you understood that there isn't a choice in going home.

A large smile was across Isa's face when you found her among the scattered people on the raised deck, her father seemed to have already walked away and started on the walk home. A smile and wave and the train chugged into motion, steam flying behind the glass. You catch your reflection briefly. (y/e/c) eyes and an ill greenish grey colour clung to your skin, the grey skies unrelenting in their goal to forbid sunlight from reaching Scotland’s soil. It was pitiful to see yourself like this, a homesick and anxious ache bloomed in your gut. Settling into the steady chugging, the warmth of the shirt on your shoulders, and the steadiness of your seat beneath you was reality enough to coax you into a well deserved sleep.

A clamorous crash awoke you from the short nap your body allowed, the train had stopped, and with it came your carrying case from the weak storage compartment situated above your head. Calming your racing heart, you leaned over to stand and pick the dry leather handle from the floor and returned the hefty item to its previous place. A huff of breath while you fall into your seat, and your pulse finally calms down. You looked out the glass at the yellow train station sign reading the carefully painted words ‘Welcome to Manchester’ slowly.

People filed onto and off of the individual train cars, and soon enough your train car was mostly filled, all except the private aisle you suddenly shared with an older man in a bowler hat and bulky, black overcoat. Scanning him as he took the opposing corner seat in the small room. Everything about this man was understated, his tie held no colour, nor did his vest or suitcoat. The only colour to bespeckle this man was the icy blue of his eyes, weathered by age, and his salt and pepper hair and mustache.

He carried and opened a file of paperwork close to his chest, but sitting across from him it was easy to see that he had no intention of keeping the title private; ‘TOP SECRET, SPECIAL BRANCH, BSA MUNITIONS ROBBERY : PRIME’- Suspects, finishing the sentence you couldn’t read fully. With the amount of heist movies you watched before you were thrown back in time gave you a good inference that this man was police, or whatever British version of the FBI that happened to exist in 1919.

You were shocked the man didn’t seem to acknowledge your existence in the train car, until he swiftly checked to see where your eyes had been trailing and caught you staring directly at the opened folder.

“Has your family yet taught you that staring is quite rude?” A gruff and grumbled voice projected from beneath his bushy mustache. You removed your eyes quickly from the grey-green envelope. He carried the corners back towards each other, closing the file to place it on his lap.

“They did, I apologize.” You moved to turn your body away from him, crossing your left leg over your right to lean against the window, eyes dragging sleepily over the quickly passing trees. You hadn’t even been aware the train had started moving again. Your accent seemed to surprise the man.

“American?” He queried. You nodded, turning your head back to look in his direction. “If I may be so bold and ask, are you traveling to London?”

“Yes, actually. I hope to travel home once I arrive there.” You pondered quickly over the depth of information you wanted to share with the man. “I lost my passport while visiting Inverness, I need to speak to the police in London to figure out how I can get home without it.”

The man’s mustache lifted gently with a slight smile. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing we met today, my name is Chester Campbell, I’m an Inspector with the Scotland yard. I can get you a travel visa in Birmingham tomorrow, and then the day after you can be on a boat in London sailing back to the states.” He enthusiastically put his hand to his knee, outwardly excited for the upcoming few days. Your warning alarms were blaring in your head, but you doubted this man would let you stray away from the plan he just created.

“May I see your identification?” You hoped he would be too excited to hear in your voice how deeply you distrusted him. “It’s awfully dangerous for a young woman like myself to be traveling with a stranger who can’t prove his identity.” A shy smile lit your face gently, hoping to ease your own tension. He gave off waves of steeled and attuned senses to something. What it was you couldn’t pinpoint, but you could barely manage to stay in the same car with the way your skin suddenly crawled.

“Of course m’lady,” He handed you his badge after drawing it from within his breast pocket on his overcoat. All his information seemed appropriate for a man of his age and stature, and your hackles smoothed down with the small comfort that he was in fact a police officer. “Anything for the comfort of the fairer sex.”

Ew. Forget your skin crawling, you felt violently ill. But he could get you to America sooner. Although, what the hell would be good about being a woman traveling by herself to her nonexistent home in the states? Where would you even go once you got to New York? Dangers lurk around every turn, this Inspector Campbell was proof of this. I can’t give this opportunity away, as much as I dislike him. I might not get another chance to fall into my lap like this. “Thank you, Inspector.” A response finally fell through your teeth as you handed his badge back to him, and he tucked it back into its place within his coat. A tense conversation of small talk filled the remainder of the ride to Birmingham, your trust in him was nonexistent, and the hour and 30 minute ride didn’t improve it.

Stretching your legs from the excruciatingly long train ride was a welcomed feeling, stepping off the train and onto the Birmingham station platform. The sun was setting and you needed a drink. The trunk in your hand bumped your leg as you walked with it, eager to get away from that god forsaken room the Inspector filled with conversation through the entire ride. Swiftly asking those scattered around the buildings surrounding the station, The Garrison seemed to be the only pub within walking distance and price range, and so you started your venture to find food and drink. Your legs carried you away from the station as fast as possible before the Inspector had the chance to corner and engage you in yet another drawn-out commentary on the weather.

The Inspector had also offered to take you out for dinner, but you refused politely as you were collecting your things on the train to leave swiftly. If an hour of his time was grating years off of your life like it seemed to have done, you can’t imagine dinner with him. It might kill you on the spot.

The intricate details on the glass of the front façade gave The Garrison an odd aura that felt so very welcoming and warm, and yet the building itself had a feeling of owning wary and watchful eyes. Pushing through the doors, the rubber of your shoes squealed loudly against the marble flooring, catching the eyes of many of the other patrons through the frosted glass. You paused against the second set of doors to steady yourself and grip the handle of your carrying case before walking directly to the golden bar top and shimmying up onto a stool.

It wasn’t a great bar, in fact it was barely more than four walls, a few windows, and a mountain of liquor. The lighting was dim, keeping the more unseemly stains from the eyes of the customers. The woodworking of the booths behind you was gorgeous, beautiful craftsmanship that was beer spackled and possibly pissed on. The woodwork behind the bar seemed less abused, instead worn and well loved, and before you could admire it any further, the tall bartender asked you for your order.

“What food do you have here?” You asked swiftly, running on fumes and short tempered from the train ride. You, very less than subtly, reached down your shirt to where you had stashed the 20 pounds in your bra. Luckily The Garrison paid no attention, and you were able to order the largest meal the man in front of you could provide: a few slices of sourdough bread, cheese and a small chicken breast with potatoes. Pairing it with a large stein of beer, you were barely awake by last call, nearly asleep on the bar after everyone else had cleared out, except for the strange group of men that had been in and out of the corner room over the course of the night.

“Ma’am, I hate to do this to you, but you can’t sleep at the bar tonight.” The bartender leaned against the golden surface with a rag over his shoulder. God knows what time it was, and there was no possible way of getting you to care.

“Is there anywhere nearby for less than,” You did a quick tally in your mind to count the remaining coins in your pocket. “10 pounds a night?” Lifting your head from the counter to gaze up at the barman.

He sighed above you. “Look, don’t let anyone know about it, and I’ll let you sleep at one of the booths for tonight. You seem like a good enough woman, but tomorrow morning you are done loitering here and you’ll move along.” He bargained, and your heart leapt in your chest at the grace of the cards that have been falling into place around you.

“Thank you so much, sir. I’ll help you open tomorrow morning if that would help at all, I really do mean to earn my keep for tonight.” You suggested, overexcited at the fact you had a place to stay the night. He seemed to chew on the idea in his mind for a moment.

“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.” He nodded. “The name’s Harry Fenton, I own the Garrison.”

“I’m (y/n),” You smiled slightly. “And I think I will be going to bed now.”

notes pt2. : woooaaah holy crap that was a lot im so sorry for such a long intro chapter but trust itll make sense next chapter :P i legit worked on this chapter for a week and I will try my best to learn how to make a freakin masterlist now that im finally back into writing stuffs :> idk when pt 2 will be out but i can start a tag list if anyone wants to be added

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you

226 notes · View notes

wokecipher · 1 month ago

Text

p. 1 // p. 2

After Weirdmageddon.

This is LONG so I'm just leaving it ALL under the line!

MORE ART AND LORE VVV

Things went bad. Like I mentioned in my previous post, Tony takes over and Anthony is put into hiding. Once Anthony comes back out, Tony is an adult and they are still a child.

Ann (Anthony's nickname) slowly grows up with Tony taking care of them. They're scared, alone, don't know what happened with Bill, and Tony is different now, not in a good way. Tony has been ruling over the Nightmare Realm (he's decided to ignore the threat of erasure for now, a rather horrible decision, but you do you I guess) for almost a decade. Not much time for the henchmaniacs or residents, but a long time for both of the twins.

Tony quickly shields Ann from the worst of it while Ann grows up, but is incredibly verbally abusive, alongside minorly physically abusive. Once Anthony is "old enough", Tony starts using them for help with "keeping everyone in line" and soon enough, Ann is doing all of Tony's dirty work.

Anthony is easy to keep on a leash, they're so scared of Tony rejecting them, they'll tolerate doing things for him even if it means hurting other people. Tony uses threats of abandoning Anthony often to keep them in line, too.

This goes on for millions of years, time starts losing meaning and both twins are also slowly losing their sanity and morals. The threat of the Nightmare Realm being erased is slowly feeling more an more real. It was billions of years off, originally, why should two kids care about that? That's unfathomably far away! But time passes, and that window starts closing faster and faster.

Tony is unconcerned, Anthony is terrified.

Tony refuses to do anything about it, Anthony is frantically searching for a solution.

And meanwhile, Tony is getting worse, she thinks power is the only meaning of existence, she's continuously horrible to everyone around her. Tony knew people wanted her dead, gone, but she never really expected her own sibling to turn on her.

Anthony attempts to assassinate Tony. The two get into a nasty fight, which ends in Tony dead and Anthony scarred. Anthony is left alone without the only person they'd learned to rely on for so long, and it leaves them near non functional.

They could not handle the things they had done for Tony, the things Tony had done to them, and now, what they had done to Tony.

They were haunted by this, horrified and shocked. They had to do what they did, they had to. Tony was making everything worse, hurting everyone, what was Ann supposed to do?

This is when The Axolotl finally presented themself to Anthony, with an irresistible deal too. All their crimes can be washed away if one day, Ann calls upon them. Anthony takes the deal, scared, alone, unknowing. and The Axolotl is pleased, and leaves Anthony to their own.

Anthony spends the next few hundred years sulking and minorly attempting to save the Nightmare Realm, these efforts are in vain however, and they eventually die one way or another. Maybe assassination, maybe the Nightmare Realm finally erases itself, maybe something worse.

It doesn't particularly matter how it happened, but it did, eventually, happen.

And they, alike to their father before them, was sentenced to a life in the Theraprism, making up for their crimes and misdeeds. Unlike their father, they will change, they will get better, they will improve.

They will be reincaranted.

I still do not know if the two will even be aware the other is there, I'll leave that to readers interpretation. If Bill knows Anthony is there, if Anthony knows Bill is there... if either meet? That's up to you!

Here's some extra art for your travels, friend.

#wokecipher DRAWS #//#Bill & The Kids #\\#bill cipher #gravity falls #book of bill #the book of bill #bill cipher fanart #gravity falls fanart #bill cipher art #billcipher #bill cipher au #billy pines au #since hes here for .1 seconds #LMAO #gravity falls au #gravity falls oc

44 notes · View notes

yikeskauri · 8 months ago

Text

Here’s the modern outfits I was talking about the other day! I wish I knew how to sew bc I’d totally wear these dresses. 😭

Now I wanna design dresses for other characters like Qi Rong, Shi Qingxuan and Pei Ming. Idk why I like those three so much but I do. 🤷🏻‍♀️

If anyone wants to use any of my designs please tag me bc I’d love to see what y’all make!! 💕💕💕

There’s an alternate version with more glitter and concept sketches under here! vvv

I couldn’t decide on if I wanted Hua Cheng’s dress to have a bodycon skirt or one that flows more. I ended up going with the flowy one because I like how the skirt is pleated & loose. The texture looks more interesting to me. I also like the ribbons that help hold the dress together. I need to stop now sorry for gushing over this dress so much. 💀💀

Xie Lian’s dress is supposed to have a lotus on the torso. Idk how well that translated into the design. It was originally just going to be white, but I ended up taking the blue from his official design and played with the brightness so the lotus would stand out more. Ofc the blue ribbon reflects the one he has in his official design.

Aaaand ofc they have matching silver butterfly hair clips. Their jewelry also matches Hua Cheng’s boot chain thingies.

I really like how these designs turned out so I can’t stop talking about them… sorry! 😭

#art #fanart #digital art #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hua cheng #hualian #xie lian #dresses #fashion #design #my art #mxtx

58 notes · View notes

etherealyoungk · 2 years ago

Note

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS84tCEfM/

😭😭😭😭 why did my mind immediately go to wonwoo & seuncheol, like you’re both still clearly haven’t gotten over each other and one day he remembers something you’re so fond of and texts you “i know how much you loved these” (please indulge me skye i’m feeling vvv angsty & fluffy idk ily i hope you’re having a good day 🫶🏼)

anonn!! tiktok is blocked where i live so i can't open the link :( but i just tried to write something based on what you explained! i did this with wonwoo btw

your and wonwoo's breakup wasn't the best. it was rushed and hasty and both of you still clearly haven't gotten over each other. so when wonwoo sees the new book release that you had been waiting for, he immediately thinks of you. he remembers how you would talk about this book, counting down the days to its release. he loved seeing you so passionate about it and he had even promised you that he'd take you and buy it for you on it's release day. but here he was, without you by his side, still thinking of you.

so he snaps a picture of the book on the shelf and sends it to you. "this was released today, i remember how much you were waiting for it".

when you saw wonwoo's notification on your, you were excited for some reason and even hopeful. when you opened it and saw the text, you couldn't help but smile a little. of course he'd remember something like that. so later that day you plan to stop by the bookstore to buy the book.

you reach the bookstore, only to be disappointed because you were too late and all the copies sold out, and you'd have to wait atleast two weeks till more copies arrived. you're walking away, defeated when you hear someone call you.

"y/n!", you hear and turn around, seeing wonwoo running up to you. your heart gets nervous and you give him a small smile.

"wonwoo", you say as you look at him. "i saw your text", you tell.

"oh...sorry for texting you out of nowhere, i just remembered that when i saw the poster", he explains. you still weren't over wonwoo, you didn't want to really break up.

he reaches his hand out with a paper bag. "here, for you. i thought the copies would get sold out so i bought you one", he explains and you smile. "wonwoo....you didn't have to", you exclaim, taking the bag and seeing the book, smiling.

wonwoo loved your smile and he'd do anything to make you smile. "y/n...can we maybe talk about us?", he prompts a minute later. you nod. and that's how you both end up having a real talk and getting back on good terms with each other.

310 notes · View notes

paybackraid · 1 month ago

Text

Hubris

Summary: Wes had only wanted Fenton captured on film! Transforming! He had wanted the truth out there; for people to stop acting like he was insane, like he was in the wrong, like he was a freak. He hadn’t wanted Fenton captured by his parents. He hadn’t wanted Fenton captured in a government-sanctioned search and seizure. He hadn’t wanted Fenton captured kicking and screaming for his life, begging anyone around him to help, to understand. He hadn’t wanted this at all.

Words: 4,471

Trigger warnings for electrocution and torture of a teenager/child

-----------

Janice Pumstone was having a perfectly, very normal day at work. The kids were being good, if a little goofy. Principal Ishiyama announced an entirely too peppy string of announcements in second period. Danny Fenton was late to two classes, left early from another, and missed one entirely. All normal. Completely normal.

And then the Fentons came in.

Jack and Maddie were frequent visitors of the high school. Their daughter Jazz was a senior and was well on her way to a 5.0 GPA, and one didn’t have a child like that by being totally absent parents. Their son Danny—yes, the one mentioned before—was a constant behavior case and had several marks on his record that the parents had to come down to talk about—although the school had stopped calling about all the absences and tardies last year. Even if their children weren’t the reason the Fenton parents came to the school, Casper High was a frequent setting for ghost fights, and they were always on the scene, even if they arrived long after Phantom put the ghost in question in his little thermos.

But, there was no ghost. Janice hadn’t heard a thing about a ghost, the ghost alarm hadn’t gone off. Not even Phantom, who sometimes flitted around before and after school, had been spotted according to the students. Why were they here?

They looked… dressed up. Different. Jack and Maddie both wore large metal belts around their waists. There were pistols in their belts, but the green on them told Janice exactly what they were for. With the frequency of ghost attacks, even some of the kids brought ectoguns to school, in case Phantom wasn’t quite fast enough to stop whichever one was attacking before someone was put in the line of danger. They were precautions, not necessities, but it made the kids feel safer.

Something different, though. Jack normally wore a huge smile on his face, even when he was coming to actually hunt a dangerous ghost. He didn’t. He looked mad. Maddie’s face was similar to how she normally looked, set and determined, but there was an anger in her face, too, that was different from usual.

“Hi,” Maddie said with a fake, cookie cutter smile. “Can you tell me where my son might be?” Her eyelid twitched after she said the word son, but Janice decided she didn’t notice that.

“I. Uh. He,” Janice said intelligently. She took a moment, then pulled up the kids’ schedules. Daniel James. Fenton. F. F. “Well, class just let out. He might be at his locker, but he is between history and English. Both are on the third floor, west wing.”

“Excellent!” chirped Maddie. She turned out of the office. Jack didn’t say anything. Just nodded and followed.

Even further to her surprise, ten men in pure white suits followed them without even stopping into the office. A chill went up and down Janice’s spine. This wasn’t right. Something was off.

So Janice did the right thing, she thought, and called her boss. Danny’s next class was with him anyway.

“…Hey, Bill? Something weird just happened. The Fentons are here. No, I know. That’s why… I don’t know. Something’s off. Please just keep an eye out.”

Graphic violence under the cut vvv

-------

Wes was feeling particularly smug today. He felt confident, he felt good. The whole school was days away from knowing the truth. The whole world was. Danny Fenton-Phantom would get what was coming to him, and Wes would rub it in his stupid face afterward. He’d make Fenton say it to the whole entire school. That Fenton was Phantom, not Wes. That Wes Weston was not a creep, was not crazy. That Wes Weston had been right all along.

That was all Wes wanted. To be right, and for people to know it.

So he’d sent his evidence in to some scary people. It had only been a few things, but it was proof! And Fenton was human, too, so it wasn’t like they’d do anything. They wouldn’t be that callous.

He never heard back, but he knew they’d received it. He knew in his gut.

And Kyle was gonna eat his words.

Between classes, Wes glanced over his shoulder to see Fenton standing around chatting with his friends. He had no idea, did he? He’d been fucking around with Wes for far too long—going intangible in plain sight just because he knew Wes could see him, flashing his glowy green eyes just because he was a little unhappy, unnatural bouts of inhuman strength especially for his scrawny body. Wes had seen it all, and now the world would.

And Wes only wanted a little recognition out of it. He didn’t want to be, like, world-famous about it or anything. Statewide, maybe even nationwide would be cool, but not the whole world.

A door at the end of the hallway suddenly opened up. Wes glanced over to see a pair of eerily recognizable adults, even if they seemed… different today.

The Fentons strode in. They had something strapped around their waists and another something strapped around their shoulders. Wes could see green glowing weapons holstered around their waists—ectoguns.

They looked mad.

What… were they doing here, dressed to the nines in ghost hunting gear? There had been no ghost alarms, and they didn’t go off around Fenton, since no one but him, Manson, and Foley knew yet.

Fenton didn’t notice them right away, but then Foley hit him and nodded at them. The Fentons looked around, and their eyes locked on Danny, and suddenly Wes’ stomach was in his toes. Something felt wrong.

“Hey, guys,” said Fenton, hand in his hair. “Haha, what are you doing here?”

Neither parent answered, nearing. Mr. Fenton looked angry.

“Did I forget something?” wondered Fenton. Beside him, Manson and Foley said, “hey, Mr. and Mrs. F.”

The air of the whole exchange changed when Mr. Fenton reached Fenton. The entire hallway came to a frozen halt when he reached out and slammed Fenton into the locker behind him so hard his head snapped back.

And then, in stormed ten men in pure white suits. All of them were also armed with ghost hunting gear.

Fenton recovered quickly (more proof) and looked up at his father, grabbing his hand, fingers inching toward the inner pulsepoint to squeeze. Mr. Fenton’s hand squeezed, and Wes thought for a second that he’d choke the afterlife out of him right there.

And then, an accusatory breath said “Phantom”.

Fenton’s pupils were pinpricks in his massive eyes. His response was as breathy as his father’s.

“How’d you find out?”

Mr. Fenton did not answer.

With Fenton and Mr. Fenton occupied with one another—one obviously threatening, the other squirming to get away—Mrs. Fenton took out another belt, one that matched the metal one around their waists. She moved forward, the belt going for Fenton’s waist.

Manson, who had been watching the scene play out with horror in her eyes, shouted “Wait!! Don’t!! You’re gonna kill him!!”

Mrs. Fenton looked at her. Wes couldn’t see the look, but he could read the increasing horror on Manson and Foley. She… didn’t care. She didn’t care that that was her kid, and she didn’t care that whatever she was trying to put on him was going to kill more than just his social life (was going to kill him even more than he already had been).

Mrs. Fenton moved back to Fenton. Manson lunged for her, Foley not far behind, but one of the guys in white—wait, one of the Guys in White—grabbed both of them and held them back.

Fenton’s eyes flickered around and landed on his mother and the belt, and he started kicking and squirming. He choked when Mr. Fenton shoved on his solar plexus somehow harder.

“Quit squirming.”

Fenton didn’t. Still, Mrs. Fenton moved around and clipped the belt around Fenton’s waist.

The hall was lit up in a magnificent, horrifying display of dancing yellow and white lights. Fenton’s scream echoed through the hallways and came back toward them with a vengeance. His father dropped him, but Fenton didn’t stop screaming and the lights didn’t stop dancing. A white ring that Wes had seen once and only once, way back when, appeared around his waist, and then vanished with an inaudible pop.

“Danny!” Manson and Foley both sobbed. They were still in the agents’ arms, watching as everyone did with horror. Similarly, Wes stood with his hands clapped over his gaping mouth, disbelieving.

What

The actual fuck

Was happening?

Only when the scent of burnt hair and flesh permeated the hallway did the electricity pulsing through Fenton’s skin apparently stop. He slumped there on the floor, fully laid out in front of his folks who stood just… watching him. Wes didn’t even see his back moving with breath. God. Was he dead? All the way dead? Had the Fentons just killed their son, right in the middle of the school, right in front of government agents?

“DANNY!!” yelped a voice Wes knew well. Long ginger hair chased a tall girl in a black sweater. Jazz—Fenton’s older sister—tore down the hallway from the Senior wing and came to a stop, staring at her brother. She was probably thinking the same thing that anyone watching this was. Surely, this wasn’t real?

Then, she lunged. Unlike Manson and Foley, she was not so easily stopped. She bunched her fists and met her father head on, pounding them on his back. Mr. Fenton didn’t even seem to notice them—he was a big man, her punches were probably little more than mosquito bites. Annoying, but not so much that he stopped in his quest. Whatever that quest was.

Torture, it had to be. Wes didn’t know what else it could be. He had never thought… that it would come to this.

He’d just wanted people to know.

The body—because surely after all that it was just a body—moved. Slowly. But it did. Its shoulders started picking it up achingly slow. Wes thought a lot of things about Phantom, very few of them truly good, but prior to this, he had had to hand it to it: Phantom always got back up.

Now, with a mix of red and green—blood and ectoplasm—dripping from his face as his nose and ears bled sluggishly, Wes was parsing together that that, maybe, wasn’t such a good thing.

The body—Fenton, he was still a human even if it was only half—picked himself all the way up. His elbows locked as he worked his knees beneath him. He was going to try getting to his feet next, Wes just knew it, but he didn’t want to see Fenton stumble and collapse into a puddle of his own bodily fluids.

But he didn’t. He just stopped there, quaking. Of course he was.

And then, words.

“You don’t… understand,” Fenton said. He coughed hard, and a bubble of blood and ectoplasm burst somewhere in his throat and splattered on the ground under him. “You don’t understand,” he said again, a little steadier, as if the words brought him conviction rather than dread. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand. You don’t understand.”

It was a mantra. Maybe he was getting strength from it. Maybe it was one of his ghostly abilities. Wes had heard him yell “I’m going ghost!” to the whole world; maybe those words gave him strength, too? Or maybe Wes was just reaching.

“Danny!” Jazz called on the other side of her father, who was holding her back now, keeping her from Fenton. Maybe he thought he was protecting her. Or maybe he cared more about obtaining his specimen than preserving their relationship? They’d apparently already lost one, what was one more?

Fenton looked at her. Wes thought he might vomit.

“You have to Wail!” Jazz cried loudly. “We’ll be okay, but you have to get out of here! Wail!”

Wes was pale; even if they didn’t see it often, Wes had been cataloging Phantom’s actions and abilities for the better part of a year now. He knew what the Wail was. It was devastating.

Fenton pathetically got to his feet, a hand braced on the wall. His mother took out her ectogun and pointed it at him. One hand still braced, the other bunched in a fist, Fenton squared his feet and sucked in a huge breath. Wes braced himself for destruction.

Before the spectral attack came forth, though, Mr. Fenton moved forward. Wes saw something in his hands he’d never seen before—a slightly rounded something like a mask with a short structure protruding from the concave side. He took the thing and shoved it towards Fenton’s face, sunk the protruding structure into his mouth, forcing the sonic attack to stop before it even began.

When the man pulled away, Danny Fenton was muzzled like an animal.

Mr. Fenton seized the front of Fenton’s shirt, now that he was safely muzzled and subdued. He lifted him right off his feet and shoved him back into the wall, again smacking his head on the wall. It occurred to Wes too late—could ghosts or half-ghosts get concussions?

“How dare you,” snarled Mr. Fenton. “You would have killed anyone in this school. They’re children, but I suppose you don’t care about that. They’re just a cover story for you.”

Fenton shook his head. Wes could see it now—tears fell freely down his face as he tried to fight Mr. Fenton’s grasp unsuccessfully. His hands were back on Mr. Fenton’s hammy fist, trying to get him to back off but probably too weak, now, to do it properly.

“I’m through with all this. All your games, all your lies,” Mr. Fenton continued, voice so low Wes almost couldn’t hear it. “Whatever the truth is, we’re going to get it out of you.” He leaned in close, so close their noses nearly touched. Fenton squirmed uselessly. “Molecule. By. Molecule.”

“NO!” Jazz yelled.

“Saved by the Light, people, what is going on here?”

Mr. Lancer made a gracious entrance from a different hallway. He looked a little frazzled—maybe a student had managed to tear their eyes away long enough to fetch him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” one of the agents said, moving in front of Lancer.

Lancer glanced around, looked at the Fenton adults, saw the way Mr. Fenton had his son pinned to the wall and muzzled. “Like hell it doesn’t! That’s my student!” He turned to a nearby student and hissed to call the police.

“That won’t be necessary,” one of the agents said. “The government has already wiped Daniel Fenton off the record. As far as anyone knows, he doesn’t exist. Any calls made on behalf of Fenton will be rerouted to the Ghost Investigation Ward.”

They’d removed Fenton from government existence? But he was human! Even if he had some… spooky qualities, surely they couldn’t just—

But they had. There was a terrifying truth in their statement. They had. Because they were sitting back and watching as a pair of parents tortured their half-ghost son.

“He’s right there, he clearly exists!” Lancer snarled.

“That’s an ecto-entity with impressive manipulative powers. Nothing more. Back off, Lancer,” the agent said, like he just knew who he was.

“Help!” Jazz sobbed, having a hard time staying on her feet with the force of her emotions. “P-please, help, h-he’s good…!”

Manson and Foley were still fighting with their captors. It had waned while Fenton was muzzled, but they fought with renewed strength at Jazz’s plea. Wes thought he saw teeth flash, but he couldn’t tell.

This was all wrong. He hoped one of them bit them.

Lancer moved forward toward the fracturing family, but one of the agents put his arm out to stop him. Lancer turned burning eyes on him. Lancer was good at many things, one of which was taking care of his students. He was always the first in and last out before and after ghost attacks, and frequently tucked stray students behind him if he felt it necessary. Wes was pretty sure he could remember Lancer trying to deck a ghost once, and briefly succeeding, too. So Wes wasn’t that surprised when the agent whose arm was in his way suddenly got a swift punch in the face.

Unfortunately, though the intention was good, that agent and two others near him tackled Lancer and pinned him to the floor, accusing him of being uncooperative, and he was lucky they were there dealing with a certain violent ecto-entity and didn’t have the time for small fry like him.

“Enough!” Mrs. Fenton this time snapped, looking up at Fenton. “You’ve manipulated enough people; my family least of all, but can’t you see that you’re getting innocent people hurt?” She gestured back towards Lancer.

Fenton was shaking his head, eyes closed. Probably trying to chase away… everything that was happening today. Wes always had a lot of Things to say about Fenton, but he couldn’t fault him for that.

“You just don’t care,” Mrs. Fenton concluded. “That’s what I thought.”

If Fenton nodded, it would look like he agreed. If he shook his head, it could just as easily be interpreted as agreement. The only chance Fenton had was talking his way out of this, but the muzzle prevented that. Wes wanted to do something, put a stop to this, but he didn’t know what to do. These were adults around him, adults who were supposed to know better. How was Wes meant to contend with that?

Suddenly, there was a loud beep from the Fentons. Mr. Fenton dropped Fenton at his feet and—god, again electricity arched up and down his body. Why?! Wes hadn’t seen Fenton do anything that would require payback! But Fenton’s screams, even hidden behind a muzzle, echoed through the walls of Casper High. That stench—burnt hair, burnt flesh, burnt ozone—thickened the hallway again. Wes fought down the need to gag.

The white ring appeared again around Fenton’s waist as he writhed. This time it didn’t flicker on and off, rather split and moved up and down. This was a moment Wes had been looking forward to, but not like this, not at all like this. A familiar black jumpsuit slowly revealed itself, until that familiar DP insignia was visible and solidified what, exactly, was happening to anyone unlike Wes, anyone who didn’t strictly know.

“Stop!” a few students called. Not just Jazz, some of the onlookers, too. Wes thought his own voice may have been added in there. The Fentons didn’t stop, but Fenton wrangled the rings back down his body, not triggering the full transformation. The rings vanished and he was in his normal human clothes.

“God, stop this!” cried a different voice. Was that Dash? It sounded like it.

The body slumped again as the belt (?) shut off and electricity stopped pumping into him. He twitched and jerked and spasmed, whatever energy was leftover from the attack rocketing through and out of him. This time, Fenton did not try to get up. Maybe he really was fully dead now. Maybe… maybe that would be better.

After everything they had just witnessed, Wes hardly thought anything of it when Mr. Fenton crouched and gathered Fenton up, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. There really was no other logical conclusion, but the position, with Fenton’s head flopped over his shoulder, face toward Wes, made the muzzle even more obvious to the wandering eye. It glinted charcoal gray at him, but with that eerie green ghostly F dead in the center claiming it as FentonWorks tech. Worse than that was the streams of mixed red and green that spilled from his nose, his eyes, his ears.

Worse still, even though Fenton was fully unconscious if there was any life in him at all, eight of the Guys in White operatives aimed their ecto-weaponry at the body. Eight red dots lit on his back and head made it clear who, exactly, every single one of them was aiming for.

And… that was it. Without even an apology to the students for the horror show they had all been forced to watch unprompted, without even a glance to their daughter, to Mr. Lancer, to Manson or Foley, Mrs. Fenton led the way to the stairwell with Mr. Fenton close behind and their son slung over his shoulder. The eight agents with weapons drawn followed, those red dots never leaving Fenton’s prone, near-lifeless body.

“WAIT!!” Jazz cried once she collected her bearings. Like her parents, she ignored everyone around her, brushed off offers to help her to her feet and questions if she was alright and what the hell just happened. Instead, Jazz jumped to her feet on her own and chased the Guys in White out of the hallway. “You don’t understand! You have to listen to me!” Her voice echoed through the hallways, almost as eerily as her brother’s tortured screams.

Lancer, once he got back on his feet, chased after her calling “Miss Fenton! Miss Fenton!” And then he and his calls were gone, and the hallway and what felt like the entire school fell into an eerie silence.

Then, Manson collapsed. She fell into broken sobs, and Foley fell into equally broken cries on top of her, holding one another. Gray approached them from… somewhere and put her hands on their backs, and the three of them sat together. Motion in the hallway started up again, and Wes was sure he saw several people move towards the bathrooms.

Wes didn’t. He couldn’t make himself move. Instead, he stared at the spot burnt black on the ground where Fenton had been tortured. His hands quaked. Vomit was broiling at the base of his throat but wasn’t coming up yet, thank god. Whenever it did push up, Wes wasn’t sure he would be able to swallow it.

Because this hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have happened. Right? Not even the worst parents in the world could storm into a high school, torture their son, and carry him out more-than-half dead and muzzled, and they certainly couldn’t do that in front of at least three teachers, most of the student body, and no less than ten government agents. It had to be some horrible, awful dream. When Wes woke up, he would never have sent the evidence in. Or he did, but everyone acted normal about his evidence. A little shocked, but not… not… not like that.

A voice, sharp commanding and hard, was the only thing that was able to break Wes from his spiraling thoughts.

“Wesley Weston?”

Wes flinched at the use of his full name. Only his mom was allowed to use his full government name. He looked up to see two of the Guys in White—or, Ghost Investigation Ward, whatever they were calling themselves now. They watched, their hands tucked neatly behind their backs.

“Uh… yeah,” Wes said, wishing very much in that moment that he was not Wesley Weston. He glanced side to side, saw Manson and Foley watching him with fire burning in their eyes, and then looked away. This had to be a prank. It was a prank. Someone—maybe the real Fenton, or one of his duplicates or something—was going to jump out of a locker and shout “you’ve been Punk’d!”

No one did, though. And if they were going to do that, they needed to hurry up and do it soon, before it became impossible to pretend it was fake anymore.

The man with the handlebar mustache, the one who looked the most important, stretched out his hand for a shake. Wes looked at him, looked at his hand, looked at him and then extended his own, much smaller hand to shake back. He tried not to be offended when the Guy in White immediately took out a bottle of spray sanitizer and spritzed his hands clean.

“Well done, son,” said the Guy in White. He took something out of his back pocket, something leather (or, pleather, but Wes wouldn’t know the difference) and a pen. He wrote something in his little book and, much to Wes’ surprise, he cut him a check.

The Guy in White gave Wes a smile. Or something that passed for a smile anyway, in the glare of the fluorescent lights. He handed the check to Wes with no preamble. When Wes took it and looked it over, he noted the zeroes. There were too many. Each one made Wes’ stomach clench with guilt.

“This should cover everything,” the agent said plainly. “Plus the thanks of the US government. We will need to confiscate all evidence you have on Phantom.”

It wasn’t a question. Wes didn’t say no. He had a feeling he couldn’t.

He wanted to tear the check in his hands into a million billion little pieces. Scatter them all on the agent’s feet. But that wouldn’t stop Fenton from being gone. That wouldn’t stop them from taking his stuff, anyway. So, he thought, college. He could pay for college.

Immediately after, he thought, Fenton.

“But he’s human,” Wes said in a tiny voice, still staring at the check, at all the zeroes. There were four of them. Six, counting the cents. Had he sold Phantom—sold Fenton for five figures?

“It’s a powerful spectral entity,” said the Guy in White simply.

Wes looked up at him, looked at his fellow agent. Looked around at the hallway. Eyes were on him. “He’s their son.”

“It’s a monster,” the Guy in White continued. He sighed, cradled his head in one hand, mumbled something about not working with kids. “Look. You’ve done your part. You helped take a dangerous ecto-entity out of the skies. You should be proud.”

Hadn’t Wes thought that same thing, just a few days ago? When he gathered everything he had, all of his evidence, and decided that it was, actually, his business to tell the whole world that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were one and the same?

If he was supposed to feel proud, why did he feel so revolting?

On the other side of the blackened stain that would forever mar Casper High even if they got it chemically clean, Paulina Sanchez stirred from her baffled trance and looked between the weeping trio, the stain, the conversation. “...Wait,” she said. Wes looked up at her. She looked pale as… well, pale as death. “I don’t understand. Danny Fenton is Danny… Phantom? Wes was right?”

Those were the very words that Wes had longed to hear since the moment he’d pieced together Fenton’s secret last year. Now, though, they didn’t feel like he had imagined they would feel. No, they didn’t feel good at all.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfic #electrocution #graphic depiction of violence #torture #danny fenton #wes weston #bad parents jack and maddie fenton #creative aces #my writing #this is sooooo meeeeeaaaaaaaan #lemme know if i need to tag anything else its p heavy

18 notes · View notes

astronyu · 1 year ago

Text

Sketches and commentary on the Folly ref sheet for RAT's newest plush! (info below the cut vvv)

(note: RAT commissioned me to make the character ref sheet, which is NOT the plushie schematic that Makeship actually uses as reference to produce the plushie)

This is the first sketch we sent to Makeship!

I'm starting to add details to push Folly's identity a bit more and differentiate her more from RM (Rat Maid), i.e. neckline, nose, gloves, blush. Lots of curves! (And I also added two rats instead of one <3O~ <3O~)

At one point we considered giving her the eye design shown on the right (red thread embroidered around her eye) as a reference to her MC skin's glowing eyes, but we decided eye shadow was a better look. also it looks like sans undertale

This is the back! The Folly skin has a long pretty bow, but it's scrapped by the end because A. her hair obscures everything on her back and B. as we went along we increasingly afraid of the sheer mass of fabric building on this plushie.

Most of her palette is colorpicked from the original minecraft skin by Arathain (who also made RM!) but iirc we made the ears pinker and lighter. You can see their OG tweet featuring the Folly skin here!

Onto the dress design!

RAT wanted the Folly plush to feel like more than just a recolor, so he had me redesign her dress. I started off with an inspo board focused on elements we wanted to keep-- Folly's lighter palette, the middle slit of her dress, the off-shoulder straps, and the overall maid theme.

You'll notice that Folly's expressions here are kind of all over the place (I don't think she's ever looked that sympathetic in her life). I think I made these sketches before I finalized her face, where RAT requested some mixture of murderous intent with mischief, but in a subtle way. Later down the line the specific smirk Folly has actually gave the physical plushie a lot of trouble (faces do not scale easily on cone shaped snouts).

The first alternate dress designs!

RED: RAT (paraphrased), PURPLE: me ofc More refined sketches! As you can see here RAT's working me to the bone with all of his requests. It's okay though, b/c after I sent him the completed ref sheet I got to watch him turn on Makeship. (KIDDING, KIDDING)

Overall, I was looking for a dress that felt regal, beautiful, and unconventional, while still feeling like a maid dress. Wow, after physically typing that out I feel like face palming. "I need a dress for a GODDESS also a uniform good for housekeeping please" (???)

After feedback, I focused more on variations of the 2nd option.

You'll see at the last Folly, I combined the 2nd variation with the tie ribbon, the layered dress design, and long puffy sleeves. I decided to bring over the long puffy sleeves specifically because I hoped that they would give Folly a more interesting silhouette that of course contrasts with RM.

(To be fair, this contrast isn't very visible on the plushie itself but it is fun to draw.)

And finally, the second and last ref we sent to Makeship!

imo Makeship did an INCREDIBLE job translating the design to plushie!! I'm sure there's plenty of challenges Makeship's plushie makers have to deal with that we don't see, so I always specify that I'm only responsible for the initial drawing when people ask me if I "made" the plush.

One really delightful surprise were the 3d rats; we didn't think they were possible but they were (ilu makeship)!! You'll probably also notice that Folly's eyes look pretty different--- they were changed slightly in each step and ultimately ended up softer, which is interesting because I feel that it kind of mirrored how RAT's approach to Folly as a character changed in the months of the plushie's development (and up to her release!).

And that's all I have for my part of the plushie! I always love working with RAT on projects and plushies are a highlight. They're especially surreal to think about when we all used to joke about them before RAT really blew up.

ofc, the shill if you want to get her: Makeship Folly plush and RM's ref sheet if you're curious: Rat Maid plushie ref

i think the campaign ends about October 7th, 2023, but you and i are very likely to be in different time zones so if you're interested doublecheck with the site. if the date has long past then ig this is just a fun little time capsule for you, which can also be pretty cool :)

#doctor4t #csmp folly #doctor4t folly #content smp #content smp folly #makeship #ratgang #myart #my art

67 notes · View notes

nkirukaj · 1 month ago

Text

vVv is for Voe (17)

Pairing: RadioBeau

Warnings: Swearing; Mentions of Mass Murder

Genre: Humor! Angst!

Word Count: 1.6K

<Chapter 16

17. Vaughn

She arrived at the Hotel earlier than usual and opened the door slowly, wondering who would be on the other side of it. Unfortunately, luck was not on her side, for it was the exact person she was and wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Alastor. He seemed shocked to see her again, but his smile never faltered. She walked in with her head high and her spine straight.

“Hmm, look who came crawling back,” his tone dripped with condescension

“Is that how you say hello?” she asked, her voice monotonous

“What do you want?”

She closes the door behind her “I’m here for my room,”

“Isn’t your room at the V Tower right next to Vox?”

She shakes her head “Obviously not,”

He rolls his eyes and goes back down to reading

She squints “That’s it? No snarky comment?”

“Aren’t you going up to your room?”

She inhaled deeply “Fine,” and walked right past him and up the room, on the stairs, she turned back around, facing him “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,”

“Mhmm,” he replied turning the page “What are you so sorry for, you got everything you wanted,”

Voe shakes her head “No, I didn’t but that doesn’t matter anymore,”

“Really? And why not?”

“I’m one of those that hurt people. And I don’t wanna be anymore,”

Alastor doesn’t respond momentarily, only placing the book down “So I guess the fun’s over?”

Voe laughs a little. “I didn’t have any fun. Except for going at it with you,”

“Aw, I am quite honored,” he stands and turns to her, hands behind his back “So what’s next for Voe the Beau?”

Voe grinned “Same thing that got me here, revenge,” she turned and made her way up the stairs

Alastor pretends to shiver “I’m excited,”

Voe knew she had to do this, but that didn’t change how much she dreaded it. She was never good at apologizing when she was alive because she just didn’t do them, but if she was going to make this turn into a different kind of person, then she knew she had to start here. She knocked on Angel’s door and waited for a response. She examined all the pictures on the doors; they were of his friends. She was surprised to find a picture of her up there. She tilted her head, wondering where he would have gotten that picture from. How were these men getting these pictures of her? What was more surprising was that she would still be up there after the way she had treated him. She was examining the picture when Angel Dust opened the door.

“What?” he sounds annoyed when he speaks

Voe rocks back and forth on the balls on her feet “Hi,” she responds

“Bye,” he mocks her tone and goes to close the door

She puts her hand out, stopping it “I wanted to say something!”

“Oh, you gonna tell me to lick your feet too?”

“No! Gosh, that would be gross. I wanted to say that I’m sorry!”

“Okay,” he reopens the door

She takes a breath “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. And I hope that I can keep being your friend,” she smiles a little. “I guess you still consider me one,” she gestures toward the picture

He checks the door “Oh, I forgot to take that down,” he says with a straight face

“Angel, please. I’m begging you to forgive me,” she looks around to make sure no one is around “I will get on my knees if you want me to,” she whispers

“Is that what you think I want? For you to get your knees and suck my dick?”

She shakes her head “I-I didn’t even say that,”

Angel sighs and rubs his forehead “Look, I know you think this is right. Is that what you think? That this is right? But you need to show me that you’re sorry,”

Voe looks around “Okay, how?”

“I don’t know, damn. Shit, I don’t know,”

“Well, what do you want to see?”

He shrugs and waves his arms around “I don’t know, quit working for the Vees I guess?”

She nods and rubs her hands together “Already done,”

“Okay?? Well, I don’t fuckin’ know. Just like, give me a fuckin’ minute,”

“Okay,” she stands there staring at him

“Good night!”

“It’s the middle of the day,”

“Oh uh..”

Voe squints at him “Are you high right now?”

“That’s none of your business!” he slams the door in her face

Voe smiled to herself; he still hadn’t taken down the picture.

She sat on her bed and glanced at her purse, unsure if she should. This was part of what got her here, no? She was a changed woman, or at least trying to be, but they reached out to her, and they called her name. She yanks the purse over to her and pulls out the files. Velvette, Valentino, and Vaughn. She would start with Velvette. She opened the file and began to read.

Velvette Armstrong

She was born on December 12, 1970. She has a mom, a dad, and three younger siblings. She grew up in Manchester and attended a private high school where she was bullied and teased for being short and dark-skinned.

She died on 9/11 while filming a video for MySpace, trying to prove herself to her friends that she could make it to New York. She was responsible for around 30 deaths, internet-related, due to ruining people’s lives and reputations online and goading them to commit suicide. This is interesting because the internet was still fairly new around that time. She poisoned the partners of about 15 of her exes and framed people for theft while playing the victim.

She adores attention, is easily flattered, lets her guard down when complimented, and takes immense pride in her appearance. The most embarrassing thing to ever happen to her was making a video without makeup and getting roasted into oblivion.

Voe laughed at the picture in the file. She had acne, fried hair, and nerdy glasses. It must have been before her transformation into a mini MySpace star. She picked up the next folder.

Valentino Alvarez

Born February 16, 1952, he had a mom and a deadbeat father. Grew up in Puerto Rico, dropped out of high and became a prostitute to put money on the table. When he came of age, he traveled to California and became a high-class prostitute until he came across his sugar daddy, Ernesto. He’s had the highest standards ever since.

He was responsible for around 70 deaths, due to gang-related activities, shootouts/ drive-by’s, and whatnot, as well as knowingly passing STIs to unsuspecting victims. The most embarrassed he’s ever been was being whipped butt naked in front of an audience for disobeying his sugar daddy.

He hates being talked down to, and risen against. He wants to feel powerful, and like he doesn’t need anyone else. He wants everyone to need him.

Voe would never admit it to anyone but herself, but she bit her lip at Valentino’s photo. He was a sexy-looking man! She shakes her head to refocus herself enough to read the last file.

Vaughn Anderson

So this was Vox’s real name. ‘Vaughn’. She stared at the photo before reading the rest. He looked like an average white guy—pale skin, black hair, thin lips, with blue power-hungry eyes. Born on April 6, 1900, Vaughn grew up in an affluent northern family in Newton. Spoiled and coddled by his parents, he grew up quite full of himself. He was a bully and a little tyrant in school, eventually becoming a cult leader in his mid-30s.

Voe pulled the file away from her eyes as she did a double take and read that a second time. He was a cult leader. And not just a harmless cult, one of them that performed ritualistic sacrifices on babies. Babies that Vaughn had helped conceive. He had fathered about 90 children, only 30 making it past infancy and only about 5 of them making it to adulthood. These children were conceived with teenage girls and sometimes his own daughters. There were a variety of reasons why many of them did not survive, some had genetic mutations, some grew sick, and some were straight-up poisoned.

So Vox had been a rapist this whole time, she thought before she kept reading.

He kept his followers in the dark about his affluent life. He had them live in tents on the outside ground while he lived in a house that he often disappeared to when he grew tired of the outside world. He copied the Jonestown massacre in 1949 (not really, thought, because this happened first) when he poisoned the food of all of his followers, as he had grown weary of leading them. He died in 1950 when one of his hidden and surviving concubines followed him to his home and confronted him about all the lies that he told them about the detriments of being a part of “modern society,” especially for women. They fought, and she got him to the ground, throwing his brand-new television onto his head and killing him. She was never caught.

Voe looked up from the folder, putting it to the side. Not only was Vox just a bad dude, he was practically a supervillain. She pondered where those souls ended up because, with a little bit of luck, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Chapter 18>

9 notes · View notes