#who might not read me as a man and then they see me in the guy's bathroom 😬 it would be easier w strangers

[doberbutts]

I also think that when I see people demanding a *unique* oppression, that they are asking for something impossible and also are very much misunderstanding intersectionality in the first place.

I don't believe any oppression is truly unique. I do think there are faces of oppression that change with the demographic, but more likely than not you as Oppressed Group X have way more in common with Oppressed Group Y than you might think.

But also, Crenshaw's original paper on intersectionality discussed a specific context: black women being skipped over for hire where black men and white women were both getting hired, making that specific context unique to the intersection of black womanhood.

People get skipped over for jobs they are more than qualified for all the time. Even within the paper itself, there is discussion about this happening to black men and white women at other companies, just that this specific company was excluding specifically black women from its pool of candidates due to their specific bias against black women.

Experiencing workplace discrimination and hiring discrimination is not at all unique to black women. The *context* was. It was not "just racism" because black men were being hired, and it was not "just misogyny" because white women were getting hired. It was the intersection of both that resulted in black women being excluded.

When a trans man states that he is being removed from, say, a reproductive rights conversation and it's happening specifically because he is a trans man, what's meant shouldn't be that no one else struggles with reproductive rights. It means that it's not happening to the cis women who are actively leading the conversation, nor is it happening to the cis men who are pitching in. It is, however, happening to anyone with a uterus who is deemed as too "gender devient" to count: trans men, trans women, intersex people, and nonbinary people. Albeit, for different reasons, and the face of which changes depending on the demographic of the person receiving it.

But the conversation around reproductive rights is also one that must include disability, must include race, must include sexuality, must include class, must include age, because these things also have a direct effect on discrimination within the medical field and whether someone truly has access to the autonomy needed to make reproductive choices of their own without others choosing for them.

Similar to how we can understand the context provided in Crenshaw's coining of intersectionality to examine how black women specifically were experiencing something that neither black men nor white women were victim to within that specific example, so too must we understand that these are contextual and circumstantial conversations that will not always be truly unique.

After all, black men and white women do both get rejected for jobs on account of race and gender. Cis women and other marginalized genders frequently must battle for their right to make their own reproductive choices.

But when someone says "this happened to me due to the combination of my race and my gender", we must understand that likely the combination, the intersection, created a unique scenario that cannot be understood by only examining a single piece of that person's identity. So, too, must we understand the same when someone says "this happened due to the combination of my transness and my gender".

So when I see a challenge to name something unique from someone also flinging around the "learn intersectionality" phrase at those who are trying to describe the things that happened to them that hurt them, all I can think is that clearly that person does not understand interaectionality. Nor have they ever actually read the words of the woman who coined it. She's still alive. Her TED talks are on YouTube. Many of her essays are online for free.

Finally, I must remind these people that Crenshaw is not the woman who coined misogynoir, and while both Crenshaw's and Bailey's theories do work in conversation with each other, being discussed by different people does mean there is not a 1-to-1 basis to compare them to. There will be disagreements and inconsistencies between the two because they are two different people.

[chaoticwriting]

Danny X Cass Part 4

They arrive at the pantry in just a moment. Danny, Cass and the rest of the batfam go to take their seat while Clark and Diana go to make some teas and snacks. Danny and Cass sit beside each other with the other side of Cass being Spoiler. Opposite of Danny is Bruce while beside him are Nightwing and Robin. Red Robin takes a chair and sits right behind Batman while still taping on his wrist computer.

Batman, Nightwing and Robin keep staring at Danny while Clark and Diana prepare the snacks and teas but Danny doesn't look nervous at all. As much as Danny wants to take all of them seriously, he really can't when he knows what he knows.

A moment later Clark and Diana come with 2 trays of snacks and teas and put them on the table. They take a chair each and sit near the end of the table. Clark and Diana can feel the intense glares from 3 bats. Both of them glance at the target in question and they can see that the guy takes the glare with stride. It's like the person that is being glared at is someone else.

Suddenly, a loud ding sounded in the room. Danny takes out his phone and a grin spreads on his face. Danny shows the screen to Cass and she also releases a few giggles. Feeling the glares becoming more intense, Danny puts his phone on the table and lets everyone see what he is seeing.

On his phone is a selfie of Dan holding a bloodied Darkseid in one hand with a caption "Can't even give out a decent fight. Even Boxy is a better sparring partner than him." Another message entered Danny's phone and there is a selfie of Elle with Danny's clone bitch slapping Trigon in the background. "This place is so cool. You gotta bring me here to play more." Danny shows the rest of the heroes that the deed is done and they finally relax. Clark stands up from his table and goes back to the other room to inform the other heroes that the threat had already been taken care of.

Danny then puts back his phone and continues drinking his tea. Heh. They might think that they are being scary but they don't even know even now Danny is still flirting with Cass. That's one of the benefits of being able to read the opponent's body language and ghost speak. To others holding hands is just holding hands but to them, holding hands can be used to convey all of your emotions.

They stay like that for a while longer until Clark returns from the other room. Seeing Clark fully seated, Bruce finally speaks.

"Who are you really?" Bruce asks with the most intimidating voice he can use.

"Didn't I say? I'm Danny Phantom. High King of Infinite Realm etc etc. I have a lot of titles but the high King one is the only important one." Danny says carelessly.

"How old are you?" Bruce asks.

"20"

"Impossible." Red Robin suddenly interjects.

"Why is it impossible?" Danny looks curiously at him. He genuinely doesn't know why it is impossible.

"There are records of you all across time all the way back to the ancient human. There are even traces of you in multiple pantheons." Red Robin says.

"Oh, you mean that. Duh, it's easy. I time travel. It's quite easy to time travel when your pops is the master of time." Danny says.

"But didn't you say Clockwork hates when someone messes with time?" Superman asks.

"If there is a time traveler that messes with the timeline, who do you think will deal with the guy? It certainly ain't that old man. He sends me to deal with the time traveler/magician who are trying to change the timeline." Danny says.

"Is Clockwork your father then?" Diana asks.

"Adopted parents. He is my parents/mentor for anything ghost related. Well actually for most things related except personal human problems." Danny says.

"How long have you known Black Bat?" Nightwing asks. Finally the real question.

"Wait, I think 10 years now. You are 21 right Cass? I remember when I first met her she was being chased down by this weird ninja. After I shot a few of them down with my Fenton Taser, Cass handled the rest of them. She then passed out from exhaustion and I brought her to my secret hideout (A cave Danny found just then). After a few days, Cass fully recovered and since then, she and I have been meeting every few months whenever she comes around."

"Also, I know all of your real identity. The phrase 'Dead man tells no tales' is a complete bs by the way. The ghosts really like gossiping. Like that one time I heard a ghost say that he sees Bruce fall into the dumpster because his grappling hook is jammed. Or that one time Dick got catcalled by an old lady."

The bats (except Cass)froze when they hear that Danny knows their secret identity. Bruce sighs and takes off his cowl followed by the rest of the family.

"Do you also know my identity, Danny?" Clark asks.

"Yes, I know you Kal-el. Your parents are very proud of what you have become."

"You met Ma and Pa?"

"Your biological parents."

"You- you've met my parents?" Clark's voice shakes. Danny nods while smiling warmly.

"If you want, I can set up a meeting with your parents. Not for long of course. It's not good for a mortal to be inside the realm for too long. And that invitation extends to all of you."

Most of them stilled at that invitation.

[rafedarling]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

pairing: husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader

summary: rafe cameron was your everything, your husband, the man who once promised to love and cherish you unconditionally. despite your inability to speak, rafe always treated you as though the world revolved around you. but your perfect life comes crashing down on an ordinary monday when you…

warning(s): reader in this fic are mute, so if you felt uncomfortable please click back, will see you on jan 9. infidelity, emotional distress, angst.

must read: italic mean sign language.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. i don’t know but this idea came up after i went to the toilet 🫠 i’m tagging no one since i’m writing this for fun and might deleted if i felt it’s needs to be remove and hope you enjoy!! 🌟 . taglist | ask

Just like any other Monday. You were sitting on the edge of your bed you reached for your phone to check the time. That’s when you saw it… a text message from an unknown number.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the notification. You weren’t one to invade someone’s privacy, even Rafe’s, but something about this felt… off. When you finally opened it, your entire world shattered.

The message began with ‘Hi, I’m Sofia. I didn’t want to do this, but I think you deserve to know.’

You froze, dread pooling in your stomach as you continued reading. Sofia laid everything out; dates, times, even explicit details. She wasn’t apologetic; her tone carried the confidence of someone who knew she had already won.

Sofia wasn’t just anyone.

She was the friend Rafe had introduced you to months ago, the one he’d reassured you was “just a friend.” She was gorgeous, effortlessly confident, and everything you weren’t.

Most painfully, she could speak.

The betrayal hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at your phone, your breath hitching your so tight you couldn’t even breath.

You wanted to scream, cry, or yell so badly but you couldn’t. That had always been your curse your inability to voice your pain.

Instead, you stormed downstairs, gripping your phone tightly. Rafe sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone while sipping coffee, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

When he saw you, his face lit up.

“Morning, babe,” he said casually, his tone warm and easy.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you slammed your phone onto the table, the screen still displaying Sofia’s message. His eyes flicked to the text, and the color drained from his face.

“What”

He reached for the phone, but you yanked it away, glaring at him as your hands began to move.

“Who is Sofia? And don’t you dare lie to me.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Babe, it’s not”

“Don’t!” you signed sharply, your movements quick and angry.

“Do not call me that right now. Answer the question. Who is Sofia?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his hand raking through his hair.

“She’s… She’s no one. She doesn’t mean anything.”

So you admit it happened.

“I—” He faltered, his eyes pleading.

“It was a mistake, okay? A stupid mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”

You stepped back, shaking your head as tears burned your eyes.

“How could you?” you signed, your movements slower now, weighed down by heartbreak.

“I trusted you. I loved you. Was that a mistake too?”

“No!”

Rafe’s voice cracked, and he took a step toward you, his hands reaching out as if to ground you.

“It wasn’t a mistake. You weren’t a mistake. I swear. You’re my everything.”

“Clearly not,” you signed, bitterness dripping from your fingers. If I was, you wouldn’t have done this.

He pressed his palms against his temples, exhaling shakily.

“I don’t know why I did it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was stupid, I was feeling… I don’t know, lonely?”

“Lonely?” Your hands froze mid-motion, your eyes wide with disbelief.

“You think I don’t feel lonely? I live in silence, Rafe. Every day. And yet I stayed. I fought for us. But you…” You stopped, your chest heaving as fresh tears slid down your cheeks.

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking.

“I know, and I hate myself for it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of it.”

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” you signed, your movements trembling.

“What does she have that I don’t?”

Rafe looked devastated, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Nothing,” he said firmly.

“She doesn’t have anything you don’t. You’re everything to me.”

“Clearly not enough for you to keep your promises.”

He stepped closer, his voice urgent. “Please, don’t leave.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking into a million pieces. The Rafe standing before you now was a shadow of the man you thought you knew, and yet, his desperation was tangible. Part of you wanted to believe him, to cling to the love you’d shared for so long. But the pain was too raw, the betrayal too fresh.

You wiped your tears, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Rafe called, his voice shaking as he followed you.

“Where are you going?”

You paused, turning to meet his tear-filled eyes. Your hands moved slowly, deliberately, as you signed one final word

“Away.”

“Don’t,” he begged, his voice breaking.

“Please, give me one last chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you how sorry I am.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you opened the door and stepped out of the door, leaving Rafe behind.

But this time, love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time in years, the silence between you felt unbearable.

[maureen-corpse]

I think you have a bad perception of the romance genre!

Now, I see that this was initially about the manga I'm a Wolf, but My Boss is a Sheep! and I haven't been reading a lot of comics lately, so of course take everything I'm going to say with a grain of salt, but I do read a decent number of romance novels, and genre romance has lot of conventions.

So! Prose-wise, genre romance has a pretty defined structure and a pretty defined goal (the HEA or HFN) and then you're done. If you depart from it too much, you will lose your reader, and then you will get bad reviews, you will get a reputation for writing outside of the genre you claim to be a part of, and you will not get money for writing alleged romance where they die at the end or something.

(I'm just getting in a dig there at people who aren't here; from time to time on Book Twitter you will see someone roll up and say, "I am going to change the romance genre forever--my characters won't have a happily ever after!" and then the romance readers who know what to expect from genre romance--a happily ever after or happy for now--will say, "No, no, if you try that, the reviews will kill your career, if you even successfully get into the romance section at the store." The term "romance" is an important marketing tool.)

Now, anyway, this proposal that a romance story not be able to the formation of a relationship, but rather about the time in the HEA...I believe you are simply proposing, here, a different genre. All kinds of stories happen to people who are happily in relationships. A nosy amateur detective in a cozy mystery might well be married. (A nosy amateur detective in a cozy mystery might even start the twenty-book series unattached, meet a hard-boiled PI, and form a relationship that is ultimately happy--all while solving twenty mysteries.)

Now, a story that doesn't have another genre like that, however--well, that will just be...general fiction. Slice of life, perhaps? (I suspect "slice of life" is more likely a descriptor for comics than for prose.) But calling it Romance will just annoy the Romance readers. And while each person is the center of their own universe, their experiences are not universal, and the readers of genre romance are probably more numerous than readers who want to call things Romance that don't fit into current genre conventions.

Now, as for these suggestions about people's bad perceptions of relationships: I will assert that people don't actually want to read about real relationships. This is evidenced by the fact that they happily read about the wild shit that happens in romance novels. People want to fantasize about a little light dubcon with a rakish marquess in a castle or about seducing a woman who is also a car or something, but they don't want these things to happen in real life. Goodness knows I don't have any interest in marrying a man and then being unknowingly widowed as his twin brother takes his place to try and keep me from finding out so that I won't lose the baby*, but it certainly is fun to read about.

Preferring to read about the drama of people eloping to Gretna Green or being rescued in the snowy forest by a mysterious wolf woman over reading something steady and smooth like the simple day-to-day of living in the wolf woman's cave (if it's not steady and smooth, by the way, I propose that it would likely become an adventure or drama or action story; a different genre altogether) does not mean someone has a bad perception of relationships. It means they have a preference for what they read. It also probably means they've been reading genre romance , are familiar with the structure and conventions, enjoy the structure and conventions, and don't care to adopt something new, even if they don't say, "Well, the genre convention is this and I like it fine."

I am very lucky in that "responding to other Tumblr users" is not a genre with widely accepted conventions so this doesn't have a strict structure of any sort to stick to, because I feel it is disorganized. But I also feel like maybe you don't actually like genre romance. And that's fine! You just have to find the things that are for you.

*Lorraine Heath, The Earl Takes All

So I posted this elsewhere yesterday but like...

Why does almost every romance series spend all the time in the world on getting the two characters into the “actually dating” phase and then immediately zip to “married with kids and now the series is over.”

This is, currently, about “I'm a Wolf, but My Boss is a Sheep!” which was very fun and cute and I enjoyed it a lot!

But I wanna see the meat of things too dammit! Don’t skip over the actual relationship! That’s the best part!

A lot of folks mentioned it's "an easier story structure to follow the building of a relationship", that "real relationships are hard work and unromantic", that it's more fun to focus on "THE CHASE" and "THE DRAMA", and I legitimately cannot disagree more.

I should note I’m very much on the Ace/Aro side so all those replies and quotes saying “THE DRAMA/CHASE IS FUN” is so counter to how my brain works.

I legitimately hate the drama, I don’t understand the chase, I just wanna see the characters I like grow together and be happy.

The drama is boring and gross and often times just like... sets bad examples for how real relationships are.

Anyway, I'm rambling, but it's just very frustrating.

[kashedelic]

A HAT OF HEARTH - trafalgar d. law x f!reader

SUMMARY: Sometimes if you look closer (to a certain hat), you’ll find that Law loves in ways you didn’t expect.

NOTES: law x reader, second pov, established relationship, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, some possessiveness if you squint, law being lovey dovey, i just need law fluff tbh.

wc: 900

a/n: this is the first fic im uploading and I can’t say that i’m disappointed. currently working on some more fics and i’m hoping to get those out soon, but I cant exactly say when because i NEED those ones to be a little bit more detailed than a silly little drabble like this. and yes, those include the reqs! anyways, I need a law in my life frl.

Be sure to like, reblog, or even follow! Your support means everything to me and helps more people to find this story! Thank you for reading!

The hat was an emblem that Trafalgar D. Law, the Surgeon of Death, was capable of loving. Sure, the man was never too forward with how he showed love, but who said love had to be overt? Could it not manifest in quieter forms? What was wrong with loving in silence? Was it such a sin to care, to praise, to cherish quietly before daring to be bold? “We’re headed into a colder climate, wear this.” The clipped, brusque command might make anyone else think he was chastising a petulant child or begrudgingly tending to a nuisance. Yet, with the way his eyes flickered over your face for a moment longer than necessary, and the subtle brush of his fingers against the side of your head, the truth was far from that assumption.

Law was a doctor, after all - one fully capable of nursing you back to good health, but just the mere thought of seeing you feverish, voice weak and body frail, made his chest tighten with unease.

Even if your falling ill meant more one-on-one time together, he’d never risk it. He would rather see you well than selfishly enjoy your dependance on him. However, in the scenario that sickness did strike, Law would be readily beside you, caring for you every step of the way.

Law cared.

“Take care of it for me, will ya?” He hastily flopped the hat on your head, slightly askew, its brim tilted awkwardly. Your fingers instinctively reached up to adjust it, bewilderment etched into your features. Law, who rarely ever parted with his signature hat, had entrusted it to you. There was a small pause, a moment of lingerment, before he adjusted his grip on Kikoku and dashed back into the fray.

You watched as the blade caught and reflected light, clashing against a formidable enemy. The hat sat heavy on your head, a reminder of its significance. You didn’t know too much about the hat’s origin, but you know one thing: Law didn’t part with it lightly. 

The thought of joining the battle crossed your mind - you were perfectly capable to - but something about the weight of the hat felt grounding, as though it was urging you to stay. Something in your gut told you that it wasn’t just a token of trust; it was a silent request to hold down the Polar Tang, to handle any threats to the ship. In that moment, you weren’t merely entrusted with just the hat, but you were entrusted with Law’s entire livelihood. That alone made it more symbolic. It was a quiet testament to how Law trusts.

“Need to cover yourself more,” he muttered, tugging the brim down until it shaded your face. It was definitely larger on your head than on his and if his expression hadn’t been so grumpy, you would have joked about his supposedly “mega-sized head.” The hat swallowed you whole, but he would rather it that way. In fact, if it were really up to him, it would come with a veil to shield you from every prying eye. 

Law didn’t care - he wanted to protect. Law often thought the world didn’t deserve you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he deserved you. In his eyes, your smile put the sun to shame, and all your curves and edges made him think that there’s another place that he wants - no, needs - to explore. Though again, he won’t admit that to you and he reluctantly agreed with himself to put those thoughts aside and instead focused on the desire to shield you.

He knew you were pretty, too pretty for his liking - at least when it came to the crooked world around him. The thought of anyone else noticing, of anyone else having thoughts about you, grated on his nerves. He hated the way men stared when you dressed up, hated the way his chest tightened and his breath caught when you twirled in new clothes, showing them off to Bepo. “They've got beady little bird-brain eyes,” he’d grumble under his breath, his hand tightening around Kikoku’s hilt whenever anyone started a second too long. Still, even as he kept his guard up, the hat stayed on your head. A silent declaration, a mark of who you belonged to. 

Law protected.

“Didn’t know I got us a clown on the Tang,” he chuckled, placing the hat on your head once again - this time even more lopsided and deliberately so. He turned away, and leaned his back against the ship’s railing, one leg crossed over the other. Taut muscles flexed as his elbows lazily rested against the bar, his chest tattoos peaking through the wifebeater he donned. Law lets you humor him as he humors you back by sloppily placing the hat on your face. You scowled at his teasing, but Law snickered at your ruffled appearance, finding you endereaning despite the exaggerated frown on your lips. 

Law humored.

The hat rests carefully in your hands, the fluffy material caressed between your digits. You hadn’t meant to look into the hat so much, but now, as he silently slipped the hat onto your lap  before heading off to shower instead of placing it on a shelf like usual, you couldn’t help but reminisce on all the fond memories associated with the hat.

You noted that this hat would not only bring heat to your head, but to your heart too, because Law loved.

Please don’t repost, translate, or redistribute my work without permission. Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. All rights to One Piece and its characters belong to Eiichiro Oda and respective copyright holders. © kashedelic 2024

[yassbishimvintage]

Shut it Down

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

MDNI!

A/N: Merry Christmas y'all.

The sun was shining down in Imani’s face. She had to tear herself away from Terry this morning. Her sister Maya wanted to have breakfast with her to check in. “So now that he’s home how is he?” She asks. Imani sighs. She had to be careful of how she answered the next question. Even though Terry loved her family like his own, he still didn’t want to show weakness. 

Imani sipped her coffee as her sister, Maya, watched her curiously from across the diner booth. They had always been close, and Maya could read her like a book. Setting her mug down, Imani took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"He’s... adjusting," Imani replied softly. "It’s been tough for him. Losing Mike, the stress of everything back in Shelby Springs... it’s a lot to process."

Maya nodded, her brow furrowing with concern. "That man has been through hell and back, hasn’t he?" she said. "But what about you? You okay? I know you’re strong, but you can’t pour from an empty cup, sis."

Imani smiled faintly at her sister's words. "I’m okay," she said, though the truth was more complicated. "I just want to be there for him, you know? He’s carrying so much, and I can see it weighing on him. Some days he’s better, but others... it’s like he’s still fighting a battle, just in his head now."

Maya reached across the table and placed her hand over Imani’s. "You’re doing more than enough, Imani. He’s lucky to have you. But make sure he knows it’s okay to lean on you, really lean on you. Sometimes men like him think they have to bear it all alone."

Imani nodded. "I try to remind him of that every day," she said. "Last night, he... he let me in a little more. It’s progress, I guess. I just want him to see that he’s not alone anymore."

Maya leaned back, studying her sister. "You love him, don’t you?"

"With everything in me," Imani said without hesitation.

Maya smiled. "Then he’s got a fighting chance. But don’t forget—taking care of yourself is part of taking care of him. Don’t lose sight of that."

Imani gave her sister a grateful look, appreciating the reminder. "I won’t," she promised. "Thanks, Maya."

"Anytime," Maya said with a wink. "Now, tell me more about this roast beef dinner you made last night. I’m starting to think you’re spoiling that man."

Imani chuckled. "I might be. But he deserves it."

They spent the rest of breakfast laughing and catching up, Imani feeling lighter after the conversation. She had her sister's support, and that meant everything.She smirks. “Now. How’s the sex?” She asks. Imani nearly choked on her coffee, her eyes widening as she looked at Maya. "Really? That’s what you’re asking me right now?" she said, trying to keep her voice down.

Maya raised an eyebrow, unbothered by Imani’s reaction. "Of course, I’m asking. You’ve been glowing lately, so either it’s the sex, or you’ve found a new skincare routine, and I know you too well to believe the latter."

Imani rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at her lips. "It’s… amazing, as always," she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. "He’s just... so attentive. Like, he takes his time, you know? Makes sure I’m good before anything else."

Maya leaned in, her interest clearly piqued. "Girl, go on. Don’t leave me hanging."

Imani laughed softly, shaking her head. "Let’s just say he knows exactly what I need, even when I don’t say it. And he’s so... gentle with me, but not too gentle, if you know what I mean."

Maya grinned mischievously. "Oh, I know what you mean. Big, strong, marine boyfriend who’s soft for you but can turn it up when needed? Imani, you’re living the dream."

Imani blushed but couldn’t help laughing. "Okay, enough about my sex life. How’s yours?"

Maya waved her hand dismissively. "Nonexistent at the moment, but that’s fine. I’m focused on me right now. But seriously, I’m happy for you. It sounds like Terry really sees you and loves you the way you deserve."

Imani nodded, her expression softening. "He does. And I don’t take that for granted, not for a second."

Maya raised her coffee mug in a toast. "To men who love us right and know how to handle business."

Imani laughed, clinking her mug against her sister’s. "I’ll drink to that.” Maya turns her head to glance out the window. She sees a black GMC Dua..ley pull into the parking lot. “Who’s that?” she asks. 

Imani turned to look where Maya was pointing and spotted the large GMC Dually parked a few spaces away. The truck was pristine, its black paint gleaming under the morning sun, with chrome accents that looked freshly polished. It stood out among the sedans and SUVs in the lot.

Imani raised an eyebrow, recognizing it immediately. "That’s Terry’s truck."

Maya’s eyes widened as she leaned closer to the window. "Wait, he followed you here? What is he, your bodyguard now?"

Imani couldn’t help but chuckle. "No, he probably just wanted to check in on me. You know how he is."

Maya smirked. "Yeah, overprotective and a little territorial. But honestly, can you blame him? Look at you."

Imani rolled her eyes but smiled, gathering her things. "Come on, let’s go say hi before he thinks I’m avoiding him."

As they stepped outside, Terry climbed out of the truck, his towering frame and confident stride impossible to miss. He wore a simple fitted T-shirt and jeans, but the way he carried himself made him look effortlessly commanding.

"Hey, babe," Imani called, walking up to him. "What are you doing here?"

Terry flashed her a small smile, his eyes softening when they met hers. "Just wanted to see you. Figured you might want to grab lunch after you’re done with your sister."

Maya crossed her arms, looking between them with a teasing grin. "You’re setting the bar way too high for the rest of us, Terry. Showing up unannounced just to take her to lunch?"

Terry shrugged, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "What can I say? I like spending time with her."

Imani shook her head, trying to hide her amusement. "Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come sit with us for a bit?"

Terry glanced at Maya, who raised her hands in mock surrender. "Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll keep the embarrassing sister stories to a minimum."

He chuckled, holding the door open for both women. "Appreciate that."

Maya smirks and quickly asks him. “So tell me Mr Marine. What kind of sex spell you got on my little sister.” She says

Terry paused mid-step, his brow arching as a slow smirk spread across his face. "Excuse me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement. He glanced at Imani, who was already groaning in embarrassment, her hand covering her face.

"Maya!" Imani hissed, shooting her sister a glare.

"What?" Maya said innocently, shrugging as she took her seat. "I’m just saying. She’s been glowing since y’all got together, and I’m convinced it’s not just the happy weight."

Terry chuckled, taking the chair beside Imani and resting an arm casually on the back of her seat. His eyes flicked to Maya with a mischievous gleam. "Let’s just say I aim to please," he said smoothly, his tone playful but carrying enough weight to make Maya blink in surprise.

Imani gasped, turning to him. "Terry!"

He laughed, leaning over to kiss her temple. "What? She asked."

Maya burst out laughing, clapping her hands. "Alright, I see you, Marine. No wonder she’s hooked."

Imani shook her head, trying to hide her smile. "You’re impossible, both of you."

Maya grinned, picking up her coffee. "Hey, I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so happy all the time. If it’s because of him, then props to you, Terry. You’re doing something right."

Terry shrugged, his expression softening as he looked at Imani. "She deserves to be happy. That’s all that matters to me."

Maya tilted her head, a rare seriousness settling in her tone. "Well, as long as you keep that mindset, we’re good. I’m just looking out for my baby sister."

Terry nodded, his voice steady. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."

Imani glanced between the two, her heart full as she reached for Terry’s hand under the table, giving it a squeeze.

When she gets in his truck she rests her head on the glass. Everytime he drives his hand rests on her thigh.

As Terry drove, the hum of the engine and the subtle rhythm of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between them. Imani leaned her head against the cool window, her thoughts wandering as the scenery blurred past. The warmth of Terry’s hand resting on her thigh was a steadying comfort, grounding her in the moment.

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about their bond. His thumb moved in absentminded circles, a habit he had whenever his hand found its home there. She glanced down at it and smiled softly, her fingers drifting to rest lightly over his.

"You okay, baby?" he asked, his deep voice breaking the silence.

She turned her head slightly to look at him, the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how his eyes flicked between her and the road. "I’m okay," she replied, her voice gentle. "Just thinking."

Terry gave her thigh a small squeeze, his way of saying he was there for her without needing words. "About what?"

"About how much I love this," she said softly, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before returning to the passing view outside.

"This?" he asked, his brow arching slightly.

"This," she repeated, covering his hand with hers. "The little things. You driving us, your hand here...it’s just us. I love it."

Terry smiled, his expression softening as he gave her thigh another squeeze. "I love it too," he said simply.

And with that, they fell back into a comfortable silence, letting the unspoken connection between them speak louder than words ever could.

He pulls over. She lifts her head up confused. Terry eased the truck onto the shoulder of the quiet road, the hum of the engine settling into a low idle. He turned to her, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let’s play 'wandering hand,'" he said, his voice deep and teasing, the hint of mischief in his eyes unmistakable.

Imani couldn't help but roll her eyes, though a soft laugh escaped her. "Terry," she said, her tone half-amused, half-scolding.

"What?" he replied, feigning innocence as his free hand left the steering wheel and settled on her knee. "You know the rules."

His fingers began their slow, deliberate journey, trailing up her thigh in featherlight strokes that sent a shiver through her. Imani pressed her lips together, trying to maintain composure, but the way his touch lingered just enough to tease made her heart race.

"You’re impossible," she muttered, though there was no real annoyance in her voice.

"And you love it," he shot back, his grin widening as his hand slipped just beneath the hem of her skirt.

Imani reached out, placing her hand over his to halt his progress, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her resolve. "You’re going to get us caught, Terry."

"We’re parked," he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent heat spiraling through her. "And it’s not like anyone’s around."

She bit her lip, trying to resist the pull of his charm, but when his lips brushed against her neck and his hand resumed its exploration, resistance became futile. "You’re lucky I love you," she whispered, her voice shaky as she gave in to the moment.

His soft chuckle against her skin was his only reply as the game of "wandering hand" took on a life of its own, the world outside the truck fading into the background.

Terry’s hand paused at the waistband of her panties, his fingers teasingly slipping just beneath the fabric. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “You gonna let me keep going, baby?”

Imani’s breath hitched, her body responding before her mind could form words. She glanced at him, her gaze caught in the intensity of his eyes. “Terry...” she began, her voice soft, laced with a mix of hesitation and desire.

His thumb stroked the delicate skin of her hip, his lips brushing against the corner of her mouth. “Say the word, and I’ll stop,” he said, his voice calm but thick with want. “But if you want me to keep going... I need to hear you say it.”

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she let out a shaky exhale. The heat of his hand, the gentle yet deliberate pressure of his touch, sent sparks skittering through her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her words barely audible, but they carried all the permission he needed.

Terry leaned in, capturing her lips with his as his hand slid lower, exploring her with the same care and attention that always left her breathless. The world outside the truck was forgotten entirely as they lost themselves in each other, the quiet intimacy between them deepening with every touch and kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless and tangled in the charged energy of the moment, Terry rested his forehead against hers. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

Imani smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Right back at you,” she replied softly, her hands resting on his shoulders as the truck’s engine purred quietly in the background.

“Now I’m turned on and we’re no where near home.” She says. 

Terry smirked, his eyes darkening with mischief. “Who said we need to be home for me to take care of you?” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine.

Imani raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, so you’re bold now, huh?”

He chuckled, leaning in closer so his lips brushed against her ear. “I’ve always been bold, baby. You just bring it out of me.”

Her cheeks flushed as she swatted at his chest. “Terry, you’re impossible.”

He grinned, his hand still resting possessively on her thigh. “Only for you.”

His hand moved up her thigh as they drove down the road. His thumb doing lazy circles on her exposed skin.

As Terry’s hand moved higher up her thigh, Imani let out a soft breath, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through her. She glanced over at him, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes as his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles. Her heart raced a little, the anticipation of their playful energy making her pulse quicken.

That’s when she couldn’t take it anymore. Not the first time and won’t be the last time they had car sex. In her head she thanks him for the dark tint on the windows. Imani maneuvers herself over the console. She straddles him. “You know I hate car sex.” She says.

Terry chuckles softly, his hands resting on her hips as she straddles him. “You always say that, but then you seem to enjoy it once we get started.” He smirks, his lips brushing against her ear as he speaks.

Imani laughs quietly, leaning in closer. “It’s the lack of space. I like to take my time,” she responds, her hands sliding up his chest as she finds comfort in the familiar closeness of his body.

He presses his forehead to hers, his voice turning playful but with a touch of sincerity. “If you don’t like it, we can always find somewhere else next time.”

She smiles, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Next time,” she repeats softly, her fingers trailing down his chest, slowly teasing. “But for now...” she leans in, kissing him deeply as her body melts into his.

Terry, ever responsive to her, deepens the kiss, his hands moving to the small of her back to pull her even closer. As the moment lingers, they forget about the cramped space, lost in the connection they share.

“Now. Let me hear you moan for me real fast.” He says. She moans as his hands reach their destination. One thing that always made sure that made him on rock hard was her moans. In the next breath, “Now. Tell me you love me.” He says.

-

As they arrived at their destination, Imani instinctively reached for Terry's hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She gave it a gentle squeeze, glancing up at him with a soft smile.

“You ready?” she asked, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Terry nodded, his grip on her hand firm yet tender. “As long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything,” he replied, his tone carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayaesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @haechvn @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @notpradagurl7 @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque

[agarbar]

Don't Leave- Prologue

Sevika x Reader

MDI!! +18

You were Sevika's most loyal pet.

Warnings for whole story: (I will avoid giving too much detail of the plot of the fic, read at your own risk.) SMUT, Sexual descriptions, age gap, ANGST, SLOOOOW BURN (years literaly pass, kidnapping, aggression, Toxic relationship, aggression, cheating (situationship type), Sevika does not even like (or respect) the reader, Reader is delusional. Sevika hasn't lost her arm (yet), manipulation, reader might be described as curvy. More warnings be added later. SLOW WRITER! (sorry)

English is not my first language. I struggle a lot with punctuation and grammar. This will take multiple parts, and its set before the first events of Arcane. Its technically an x reader, but I will avoid using (Y/N) the best I can. There is an age gap in this story, the reader is also a bit weird and obsessive.

Sevika made her way through the crowd, her steel-toed boots making loud thumps as she marched along the wood and metal floors of the Last Drop. She headed to the ornate doorway of the top floor. The men guarding the entrance knew better than to attempt to block her path. The door swung open and banged against the wall, slammed shut just as loud. Silco did not even need to glance up to see who it was, he called her up after all. 

“You asked to see me, boss?”

"Have you been taking good care of your pets, Sevika?" Silco questioned as he reviewed their latest shimmer supply record.

She nearly rolled her eyes at his question. "My men know their place— they do as I say, no questions asked. They don’t need pampering."

"You must already know how vital loyalty is for someone of your position. Particularly the ones you are affiliated with." The man poured himself a glass of liquor. “So then? How have you been treating your pets?”

The woman slumped down on a wooden coffee table, not bothering with the fancy velvet settee. "What exactly are you getting at?”

"Certain rumors are spreading around," Silco picked up his drink, swirled the golden-hued beverage, and leaned back in his seat. "In regards to Sheriff Grayson." 

Sevika scowled as she heard the Piltie’s name. “What type of rumors?” She drew a cigarette from her vest and dug into her back pocket for her lighter.

"Insiders say Sheriff Grayson is going around digging for dirt."

Sevika blew a cloud of smoke out her nostrils, the burn alleviated the itch in her lungs. “Thought the Piltie had no interest in ‘fixing’ Zaun.” 

"The sheriff does have a deal with Vander.” Silco dropped the papers on the table, no longer interested in revising them. “But things can change fairly quickly."

“You think she will start meddling with our business?”

"She might," Silco said, circling his chair to look at his large window. "There are numerous sightings, all late in the night. She visits one person in particular.”

“And you want me to deal with them?”

Sevika could tell Silco was more amused than enraged. Especially by the stupidly obnoxious way he swirled the liquid in his glass. Strange, considering that the possibility of the Sheriff suddenly placing importance on their business was a big reason for stress.

“Sources claim that the sheriff has been visiting a little seamstress.”

Sevika froze for a moment. So this was it? This was the reason why you've been avoiding her for months? Her jaw clenched in anger. Of course. Of course, Grayson would be targeting her... she pushed her thoughts aside, focusing on what was important.

“Blue building, three stories high, store front at the bottom, sound familiar?”

"Yes, I know the place.” She answered, gripping the cigar in her thick fingers and drawing it away from her lips.

Silco turned his chair to face her once again.

"The sheriff has been going in late at night, and leaving before sunrise.

The girl was a..... plaything of yours,” He arched his thinning brow. “right?"

Sevika averted her eyes. She despised being questioned. “I never claimed her as my own, just.. entertainment. A distraction.”

Silco leaned back in his chair, his eye never leaving Sevika’s face. "And, don't you think it's odd that the Sheriff is visiting your ‘distraction’, night after night?" his voice both serious and amused.

No, you wouldn’t. You were an attention-seeking hog, but you were too obsessed, too devoted to her for something like that. But then again... you had stopped attending to her needs. After ‘that night’ you had not shown up at the Last Drop to see her. Or tried to seduce her, shown at her doorstep for some fun, or showed your face anywhere she frequented. 

“Are you implying she’s a snitch? For Grayson? My brat?”

Silco chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not implying anything, Sevika. I’m merely stating the facts. Grayson has been spotted entering that little seamstress shop, night after night. And I find it awfully convenient that your little pet happens to be involved."

Sevika clenched her jaw, her irritation and anger growing with every word Silco spoke. "Bullshit," she hissed. "She would never.”

But a small, nagging doubt crept into her mind. It had been months since you stopped seeing her. Could it be that you were working with Grayson? Betraying her? No, there was no way. Was there?

Sevika took a long drag from her cigarette, calming her nerves before she spoke again. "Even if Grayson has been visiting that shop, it doesn’t prove anything," Sevika said, her tone stern. “There's no proof that they are involved."

"We don't, but we don't have any proof she is not either," Silco said, looking at how his glass gleamed with the moonlight. "I was going to let two of my men give her a visit for answers, but I doubt you'd appreciate me bruising one of your apples."

Sevika grimaced at the thought of you being roughened up by some ruffians. "No. Nobody touches her. I'll handle this myself." She snuffed out, her cigar on one of Silco's trinket plates.

Sevika stood up from her seat, determined to find out the truth. She needed to know if you were truly working with Grayson and if you had sold her out. She headed towards the door, her mind set on confronting the little seamstress she had spent most nights with for the last 3 years. Her hand grasped the door's brass knob.

"Take better care of your pets, Sevika," Silco said, "She was so loyal just months ago."

Sevika paused in the doorway, her hand on the handle. Silco's words dug deep, reminding her of the once loyal girl who used to attend to her needs.

"You think I don't know that Silco?" she said, her voice low and laced with irritation. "Just... let me handle this." She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

[burning-an-indifferent-hell]

"Sociopath," types the rabid, hysterical quasi-fascist whose driving purpose in life is to punch down at vulnerable targets to feel better about her own helplessness and inadequacy.

"When you claim women aren't oppressed for their sex. When you claim a woman is just a feeling inside someone's head." I do? Where? I'm not a liberal who believes in transcendental-idealism or sex essentialism, I'm a Marxist with a materialist view of sex-based oppression. You have no idea who I am or what I believe, you just pigeonhole anyone who disagrees with you into this vague straw man "gender ideology" because you're incapable of intellectually honest conversation. All of this bombastic deflection and projection is coming from the same place of insecurity and insularity that fuels the rest of your asinine prejudice and misguided rage. It might sound compelling or intimidating to people who lack an ideological foundation in the first place, but not to the rest of us.

"Unlike you, we are not a one dimensional caricatures—" More projection. Everyone is aware of the extreme case of tunnel vision that afflicts your movement. Go on any radfem's blog and it's just post after post obsessing over trans women and mythical "gender ideology". Go on X and look at JKR's page and it's nothing but the same. Even her fascistic billionaire comrade Musk was so disturbed by it that he publicly asked her to focus on something other than trans women once in a while. You bigots aren't feminists, radicals, or revolutionaries; you don't care about anything other than obsessively slandering and antagonizing trans people. You're reactionaries who align yourselves with the explicit enemy and throw vulnerable women under the bus in a heartbeat if it means achieving the singular goal of destroying trans peoples' livelihoods.

"Keep your mouth shut from now on, you smug piece of shit." Shut me up, faceless creep. There's nothing you could say that possibly could. Your ideology, empty threats, and insults are as useless on this blogging website as they are against the real-life patriarchy.

"You clearly don't know what the hell you're talking about, so stop embarrassing yourself." How embarrassing was it when the fascistic and fundamentalist right you allied yourselves with in the name of anti-"gender ideology" raped your movement both ideologically and literally, used you for political propulsion, discarded you, and taunted you with the fact that the rights to your bodies will soon belong to them? How embarrassing is it that you learned nothing from that and continue the same behavior that has accomplished nothing over the past two decades aside from effectively aiding and abetting patriarchal oppressors in their ulterior goal of splintering the feminist movement and destroying women's rights?

Anyways, my original point still stands and has only been reinforced by your response: you really hate trans people so much more than you care about women that you see femicide in action and jump to using those victims as a red herring to antagonize irrelevant and already disenfranchised people. Disturbing and pathetic. And get that picture of Dworkin off your profile, we both know you've never actually read her works and she wouldn't support this impotent, self-sabotaging heap of burning shit that the modern radical feminist movement has devolved into if she were still alive today.

Trans activists:

'Woman is an identity and a social construct'

Planet Earth:

[nymphea0]

Then can I request a continuation of that oneshot with Matthias? I was wondering what their marriage life and parenthood is like. Thank you in advance!! 🥰

The Duke And His Secret

Yan! Matthias x Reader

Oneshot Story (Special Chapter).

(Warnings : Balcony mature scene at the end.)

*Minors are prohibited from reading this story🚫*

Manhwa : 울어 봐, 빌어도 좋고.Cry, Even Better if You Beg. Cry, Even if You Pray.

Author & Ilustration : Solche & Van Ji

Word Count ; 1.395k word.

Hello this is Neva🦋, hope you have a nice and happy day, it's been a long time since I updated any story whether it's manhwa or Oc. sorry about that, I'm currently very focused on making a "supernatural" expecially Vampire character series project investigating and deepening it so that the character I make doesn't seem stiff and my darlings enjoy reading it. So heres some matthias cup of tea story (^3^), hope you like it Anon🦋, Lots of love - Neva🦋🦋

Might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story, much love.- Neva🦋

- Main story : The Duke and His Secret

.

.

The residence of the Duke of Arvis, the kingdom of Berg.

The atmosphere of the residence was very cheerful, full of laughter from the 2 children of the opposite sex.

One had jet black hair like the color of a crow's feathers, with bright blue eyes like the sky. The other had snow-white hair with amethyst purple eyes.

The servants in the residence could only blush in excitement seeing the two children who were only 8 years old.

2 children, siblings, with different genders. The older brother was a man with black hair like a crow, while the younger sister, a woman with snow-colored hair.

Both of them played and ran with each other in the garden

While on the other side of the garden under the tree, there was a table with a complete set of tea and also a light side dish for the mouth that went well with tea, Pastry.

There were two women sitting there, one was no longer young, estimated to be 80 years old, while the other, still looked young but not so young, estimated to be 50 years old.

The two women were, Elysee von herhardt, and Norma Catharina Von herhardt, daughter-in-law and mother-in-law, who were both watching their grandchildren.

Felix Von Herhard and Airedith Von Herhard. Felix and Aire. Siblings who were only 1 year apart. The servants said they were Irish twins. Because they were only 1 year apart.

Norma stared at the two little children playing with each other, the woman was no longer young, she felt very sad if she couldn't play with them.

While Elysee occasionally smiled and drank tea elegantly, her eyes staring towards the balcony of their manor house. There Elysee could see her affectionate son and daughter-in-law.

In fact, as Elysee remembered when Matthias brought you to the Herhardt residence for the first time, a forced marriage that made your parents agree, you really didn't like being close to Matthias, but as the saying goes, struggle will never give disappointing results. The fact that Matthias desperately shows that he does love you, sincerely even though his way at the beginning was wrong.

Slowly you accepted Matthias, he never forced you to make love or do things he wanted but you didn't like, he listened to your wishes, all your anger, even though at the beginning you were afraid Matthias would hurt you, but he didn't do that.

Matthias even went to a psychiatrist to help overcome how to eliminate apathy and grow an attitude of sympathy and become caring and willing to accept differences of opinion, rejection and so on.

There Elysee could see how Matthias kissed your cheek affectionately, if Elysee remembered again the woman wanted to laugh at how Matthias' expression said love but with a flat expression.

Like father, like child. The fruit does not fall far from the tree, that's Matthias, just like his father.

.

.

You are relaxing on the balcony, enjoying the hot spring, so warm but shady.

Down there, in the garden, you see your mother-in-law, Elysee and Matthias' grandmother, Norma, busy staring at Felix and Aire who are playing with each other, your and Matthias' children.

While your husband? Matthias, the man is busy cooing affectionately behind you, kissing your bare shoulder affectionately because you are wearing an Off-shoulder dress. Damn, this man knows the opportunity in adversity.

Many things have happened during the 9 years you have been with Matthias, you have faced the ups and downs together, but you know that Matthias wants to learn and tries to prove himself. As a result, the man becomes like a cat in heat, always wanting to be close and not wanting to be far away.

"Matty! Don't bite! Later mom and grandma will see, I'll be embarrassed"

You complain because this time Matthias bites and sips lovingly leaving a mark on your bare shoulder.

While Matthias, the man is only busy kissing, sucking your shoulder and neck, his hands also don't stay still on your thigh, stroking affectionately. Never mind that it was currently in public, but fortunately the balcony railing was 100% covered with carved marble, so the people below only saw that Matthias and you were just hugging.

"Don't refuse like that my love, it's your own fault for wearing such revealing clothes, this is called an invitation for me"

Matthias continued kissing and nuzzling your shoulder and neck.

"Felix and Aire are already 8 years old, isn't it time for them to have a new sibling?"

"No! Wait until they are 10 years old, then a new sibling"

Too bad, your husband didn't accept the rejection, instead Matthias stared with a mischievous grin.

.

.

Elysee chuckled softly at what she had just seen, causing amazement at Norma and the 2 little kids who were currently sitting in front of them, resting because they were tired of running and playing.

Norma snorted and drank her tea slowly, softly asking.

"What made you chuckle so cutely Elysee?"

Elysee just smiled shaking her head, and poked Felix's cheek which was a copy of Matthias and also rubbed Aire who was busy eating pastry.

"Nothing mom, I think we need to build another house"

Blinking one eye mischievously at her mother-in-law Norma, while Norma who was given that just laughed happily.

Wiping away tears slowly because she was tired of laughing. Norma knew exactly what Elysee meant, a new presence, a new member, Felix and Aire's future sibling.

"Well, at least our Matthias is full of energy to want to have lots of children"

The two middle-aged women laughed together, making the two little children in front of them look at each other, shake their heads slowly and just continue eating the pastry served in front of them.

.

.

.

On the balcony, Matthias was still busy kissing your shoulder and neck affectionately which was so tempting to his desire.

His hands were so adept at entering your lower dress, rubbing your soft thighs gently with full squeezes passion.

"Matt! Not here!"

You tried to protest Matthias, but like talking to a wall, Matthias ignored your protest.

Until his ladder slipped into your underwear, rubbing your sensitive intimate area slowly.

"Matthias!?". The more firmly you refused, the wilder Matthias became.

"What love? I know you enjoy it"

Matthias naughtily sucked your neck slowly, while his 2 fingers were busy moving back and forth in your sensitive area, so deep and expert.

You were only able to hold back your moans, afraid that a servant would pass through the balcony door or Grandma and mother would see you both suspiciously from down there, as much as possible you acted normal.

"Come on love, don't be so shy, I know you enjoy it"

Your ass was slapped lightly by Matthias deliberately full of temptation.

His hands got faster when he felt your walls squeezing his fingers.

"Want to come out love? Yes? Come to me love, came to my hands"

Until, you came hard! Both of your hands covered your mouth to muffle your moans, your eyes closed while your legs shook unable to bear the weight.

While Matthias' fingers were still busy moving slowly, down there, Matthias could feel and see the puddles of water falling. You squirted, it turned out.

Matthias chuckled softly and kissed your cheek tenderly.

Matthias passionately devours your lips, forcing his tongue into your mouth, tracing every inch of your mouth. Claiming it to be his.

You who are out of breath try to pat Matthias' chest, but Matthias this man is full of passion, so you bite his lips and scratch his neck, causing blood spots on his lips and neck.

Matthias just winces softly before pulling your hair back, not too roughly but not too slowly, enough to make you look at him.

Matthias' passionate eyes stare directly at you, whispering sensually right in front of your lips, while licking the corner of your lips affectionately.

"Feels so good love? Do you want to continue here or in the room hmm?"

Damn, your fate is so unlucky to marry this shameless nobleman but god, you cant hold your heart, you love this man, as same as matthias love you.

His secret, his little heaven secret.

.

.

.

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @rai-xxx @thehopingfairy @ryusooze @yaoduriaa @merveeeeesworld

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Story.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Wrong Start

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (with a twin)

Summary: You're arrested for a crime you didn't commit. After you point Officers Bradford and Chen in the right direction, Tim decides you got off on the wrong start and wants to make it up to you.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, discussion of mass murder, estranged family

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

A knock on your door at midnight wakes you long before you hoped to, making you reach for your phone. Los Angeles is dangerous enough with a mass murderer still on the loose. Your neighbor has watched the story closely, and though you’re not overly interested in the reporters’ version of the crime, you know it pays to be vigilant. When you see two police officers standing at your front door, you grip the phone tighter and pull the door open.

“Good evening, officers,” you greet.

The male officer says your name, and you nod. You spare a glance at the woman beside him, and she grimaces nearly imperceptibly. It’s fast, but something in her eyes tells you this night will worsen.

“That’s me,” you tell him. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re under arrest,” he states. “Please step forward and turn to face the door. Slowly.”

Your brows furrow even as you step forward and begin to turn. “For what?”

“Murder,” the woman supplies. “Fourteen counts of felony murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and domestic terrorism.”

“Whoa, what?!” you exclaim, pulling away from the half-secured handcuffs.

“Don’t,” the man warns lowly, gripping your wrist and pulling you toward him. “Trust me, you don’t want to make this any worse than it already is.”

“But I didn’t kill anybody!” you argue. “You have the wrong person!”

“That’s not up to us to decide. You’ll get your day in court, but the warrant says you are the person we need to arrest, so stop resisting.”

You fall silent as the man reads you your Miranda rights, and for a brief moment, you’re struck with an unwelcome sense of attraction. The officer is undoubtedly handsome, but this is not the time to develop a crush. You haven’t killed anyone, and there is absolutely no reason they should be looking for anyone even remotely like you!

At that thought, you stop on the sidewalk less than three feet from the police car. The handsome officer nudges you forward, but you feel like your shoes have been filled with cement.

“You are under arrest; do you understand that?” he asks.

“Why me?” you question.

“What do you mean?” the other officer – whose name tag you now see says Chen – inquires.

“Did you find fingerprints at the scene?” Neither of them answers, so you say, “DNA then.”

“It’s on the warrant, might as well tell her,” Officer Handsome but Grumpy rumbles.

“Yes, we found DNA at the scene of the murder,” she explains. “Yours.”

You exhale slowly. “I… I have a twin. Estranged, but we have the same DNA. How did you even connect it to me?”

“Short answer, trash is public property once it’s on the curb,” Officer Bradford explains.

“Okay, okay,” you mumble. Speaking up, you say, “I’ll go with you. But please look for my twin, I-I know I didn’t do it, so if you found my DNA…”

“Blaming a twin,” Bradford muses. “That’s a new one.”

“Tim,” Officer Chen whispers, cutting her eyes toward yours.

He hesitates, watching your eyes as you fight tears and stare at a crack in the sidewalk. Then he places you in the back of his cruiser and drives you to booking.

“She claims she has an estranged twin who had to have done it,” Tim tells Angela. “I don’t buy it.”

“That kind of devastation is hard to fake,” Lucy argues. “She seemed genuinely distressed that her sibling could have done this.”

“Or she was distressed that you didn’t seem to believe her,” Nyla offers. “I’ll look into her family, see what I can find. If she actually has a twin…”

“Let us know,” Lucy requests.

“Timothy Bradford,” Angela greets as he and Lucy return to the station. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Pass,” Tim says.

“You can’t pass.”

“Pass.”

“Uh, Tim?” Lucy interrupts. “Who is that?”

“Looks like your murder suspect,” he tells Angela. “What changed?”

Lucy flinches as the handcuffed woman jerks back before attempting to kick a passing officer as she less-than-politely asks for his handcuff key.

“That,” Angela begins slowly, “is the twin.”

“I told you.”

Tim turns quickly, and his shoulders drop when he sees you standing behind him. You send him a small smile and wave with the folder in your hand.

“You did,” he concedes. “Sorry.”

You smile as Angela pulls Lucy away from Tim. “No hard feelings, you were just doing your job.”

Your twin begins yelling your name, and you pull your lower lip between your teeth as you look down. Tim lays his hand on your arm and directs you away from the bullpen. Out of your twin's sight, you laugh wetly and thank him.

“I guess this is better than being wrongly convicted, but it’s…” you begin before shrugging.

“It doesn’t make this part any easier,” Tim adds. “Finding out someone you love is responsible for something like this isn't easy. I’m sorry you had to get pulled into it.”

“You’re much nicer when you feel guilty,” you muse with a smile.

“You’re just as annoying,” he counters with a matching smile that lets you know he’s joking. Mostly.

“And to think, I was going to tell the jury that you were nice to me!”

“You don’t have to testify,” Tim reminds you. “You were estranged, you didn’t know.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough to believe it. It sucks, but it’s the least I can do. Family or not, justice needs to be served. Dozens of families have been changed forever because of one decision.”

“Well…” Tim looks around before he decides, “Never mind.”

“Well, what?” you press. “You already arrested me for fourteen murders, this isn’t the time to get nervous to talk to me.”

Tim’s eyes widen in surprise, and he says, “You don’t have to say yes.”

“I don’t know what I’m answering, though.”

“Will you go out with me?” he asks quickly.

You hesitate to answer, and Tim immediately begins backpedaling. You place your hand on his arm and shut him up immediately.

“I wasn’t going to say no, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. I thought I’d have to do it, and then get rejected,” you explain. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as I was when I arrested you.”

“That is not funny!” you exclaim with a laugh.

“Look, we got off to a really bad start-“

“The worst.”

“Sure, the worst start, but… you’re kind of great.”

“Kind of? I am amazing, and yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tim nods, smiling as he offers his phone to give him your number.

“Promise not to arrest me again?” you request.

“Or?”

“I’m not going to threaten you, a few hours in a smelly cell was more than enough.”

“I’ll try to make it up to you.”

You smile and take several backward steps, then call, “First I’m arrested, then I’m annoying, and you’re expecting to make that up with one singular date night?”

“It’s a start.”

[menteycorazoncito]

𝐇á𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐏𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐳á𝐥𝐞𝐳

ᥫ᭡: pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x reader

ᥫ᭡: warnings: angst to fluff, breakup, lmk if forgot smth

ᥫ᭡: a/n: I was listening to Tayc while writing and the idea to combine some lyrics in the fic came to me. Criticism and feedback are always welcome. Enjoy :)

navigation | request guidelines

It has been a few weeks since you had last seen Pedri, a few weeks since you have heard his voice, felt his warmth or laughed about his foolish jokes and humorous banter. It all used to seem insignificant, yet now, it was all you could think about. Still holding onto the faint memories for dear life.

Things had changed between you two. It was nothing dramatic. No big fight or disagreement, just a dull emptiness that replaced the connection you once had. You got too caught up in your own life and insecurities to even notice. So close, yet so out of reach.

Pedri laid wide awake in his bed, staring out the window at the beautiful Barcelona skyline, wondering when he got to the state he was in right now. Long sleepless hours, filled with thoughts and regrets that drove him crazy. He didn’t exactly know what he had done wrong. But there must have been an explanation as to why you left.

His phone on the bedside table mocked him with its silence. He grabbed it and for the umpteenth time that night his finger hovered over your contact, before setting it back down and sighing into the darkness of his empty bedroom. 

He missed you. The way your perfume lingered in his flat, even after you left reminded him of you, and it was killing him slowly inside. 

Pedri couldn’t get himself to call you; not in the state he was in. He desperately needed to see you.

You were sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, reading your book. Yet, you found yourself rereading the same page multiple times, unable to focus on the words. Your thoughts drifted to a certain Spanish brunette.

You jumped at the sound of doorbell ring. Who could it be at this hour? You asked yourself in denial because deep inside you knew who it might have been. 

“Pedro.” you said, his name stuck in your throat, as you opened the door.

He stood in the hallway of the building blankly staring at you, looking worse than ever. The shadows under his eyes more prominent than they already were, his hoodie wrinkled, and his hair messy. His posture reminded you of a lost puppy. It looked like he had cried, eyes red and puffy. Did he really let himself go like that? 

He stared as if you would disappear if even moved his eyes ever so little. You on the other hand tried to keep composure after seeing him.

“Can I come in?” he finally spoke.

“Why are you here?” you asked, desperate to know the reason for his visit at this hour. 

“We need to talk…” he said, his voice barely audible. “I deserve an explanation.”

Against your better judgement you opened the front door wider to let him into your flat. You stepped aside as he shuffled inside and sat on the sofa of your living room. 

You trailed behind him and for a moment there you didn’t believe the sight in front of you: Pedri, the man you love(d) sat in front of you in utter silence. His big doe eyes glazed with tears, reflecting a sadness that mirrored your own.

The room was silent, broken by the sound of Barcelona’s traffic outside. Both of you did not know what to say or do. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, as you wondered how it has gotten this bad.

“What happened to us…” he finally asked.

You were silent, the words got caught in your throat. Truth is, you had imagined this moment endless times. Each scenario playing differently in your mind. Yet nothing could have ever prepared you for this encounter. 

“I though we were doing fine. All of a sudden it’s like we don't know each other. You gave up on us at the first hardship of our relationship. It’s like you never even fought for us, at least not like I did.” he said, his voice cracking. 

Utter silence. His words hung heavily in the air. Still you remained silent.

“Talk to me…” he urged. “Talk to me, even if it’s to insult me. Tell me that you hate me, just don’t ignore me”

Tears filled your eyes as you realised how much you actually hurt him. “I didn’t fight for you because I thought you’d be better off without me, Pedro” 

He flinched at the use of his full name, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

“You think I would be better off without you?” he scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You are everything I have ever wanted. Do you know how much it killed me to hear nothing from you? I analysed every single move I have ever made in our relationship to see if I ever wronged you. It killed me to see the person I love slip away from me day by day. I did everything I could to at try and make you stay but I wake up one day, your things are gone, and I am blocked everywhere.” His sadness quickly turned into frustration. 

You blinked emptily at him. His words hit you like a tidal wave and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to crack.

“I- I thought I was protecting you. All the pressure, the media, the traveling. You were away half the time, and I didn't know how to deal with it. It was never my intention to hurt you. I thought letting you go would be what’s best of us, before any of us get attached. No matter how much it hurt me. I was so selfish that I ended up hurting you too in the process. Plus, it was too late when I came back to my senses. The damage was already done, and I don’t know how to fix it,” You confessed, your voice quiet and high pitched. Pedri wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t sitting so close to each other.

“So that’s it? After everything, you’re just giving up” He was growing more frustrated by the minute

“I never felt enough for you. You are this amazing footballer that all girls dream of, and I am- I am just… me. Plain me.”

The walls you had built came down, showing how fragile you were in reality. Ashamed of your vulnerability, you looked away, finding a sudden interest in the bookshelf of your living room as the realisation hit you like a thousand bricks.

You had ruined everything. You lost everything to your own insecurities. 

“Mira cariño, I didn’t come to fight,”  he reassured you softly, his gaze softened at the sight of the tears glistening in your eyes. “You were enough. You always were. I came here because I really miss you. This emptiness is killing me.” 

He scooted closer to you, taking your hand in his, looking at you with a look of sympathy. The same look he had always given you when you were upset. As you allowed the tears to finally fall, he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“I miss you too.” your voice cracked in between the sobs. “I miss us.”

He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in his eyes that make you fall in love over again. 

“We can fix this, mi amor, you just need to want it too.” he reassured you, getting his own hopes up.

You nodded, not knowing what else to do. As he pulled you into a hug you began to sob even more (if that was even possible). How missed him. The scent of his woody cologne filling you with nostalgia of what you had, the way his arms wrapped around you, the way he made everything into a joke. You put your head on his chest as he put his chin on your head whispering sweet nothing to you. The sound of his heartbeat calmed your sobs a bit and for the first time in weeks you felt a little bit of relief.

“I want you back,” you admitted through tears. “No matter how much I tried to move on and live without you, but I found myself hanging onto every single things that reminds me of you. I can’t sleep without you here, the bed feels too big and the flat feels quiet. I can’t live without you, Pedrito.” 

The two of you spent what was left of the evening, silently in each others arms. Pedri occasionally pressed kisses to your head and hands like he always used to do. And for the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of peace and a flicker of hope warmed your cold heart. 

“Estoy aquí para ti, siempre” he whispered reassuringly in your hair before you two drifted into a deep sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this time you would get it right.

[quordleona03]

Read the New York Times article (it's available via a subscriber link from Blake Lively's Wikipedia page). What struck me was that one thing Justin Baldoni feared was losing his reputation as a #MeToo ally.

This is not the first time that I've read about a man who publicly supported #MeToo and talked a good game, who in his ordinary working or personal life, turns out to be just another greedy piece of crap who sees no reason why what he wants shouldn't take priority over any silly little feelings a woman might happen to have. Justin Baldoni had even been awarded a women's solidarity honour by "Vital Voices" - an honour which has now been rescinded. Obviously the answer to why men behave that way is always "patriarchy", but I do wonder exactly what was going through their heads - did they see the double standard between the behaviour they advocated as allies and how they actually behaved towards women whom they felt to be available to them: Blake Lively is an A-List star, more famous than Justin Baldoni - yet Baldoni felt free to ask how much she weighed, bore her about his porn addiction, describe his genitals to her, and enter her dressing room to observe her when she was breastfeeding, despite having been clearly told to stay out or to look away. Because he's a man, and she's a woman, and evidently in Baldoni's mind, this is just what men do to women, because no woman will get away with complaining about it. So - what did he think #MeToo was about?

So, a fascinating thing here too that no one’s talking about is like. I’ve read that Baldoni paid $175k for 3 months for the Blake Lively smear campaign, and like, I know to us plebs that sounds like a lot of money, but for the record, completely destroying a beloved A-list woman’s entire image based, on pretty much nothing, costs as much as a mid level artist renting a tour bus for that much time.

For a woman’s whole career that is cheap. It is cheap and it is easy.

If that doesn’t make you question every media narrative you read for the rest of your life, idk what to tell you

[httpvomitello]

Cold Heart *⁠.⁠✧ (part 2)

cregan stark x targ!reader

WARNING: angst, not a happy ending (?)

(part 1)

The days following your outburst in the Great Hall passed in a haze. You avoided Cregan as much as possible, and he seemed content to let the silence stretch between you. The icy walls of Winterfell felt more like a prison than ever before.

Rickon, sensing the tension but not understanding its source, clung to you with a desperation that only deepened your heartbreak. He asked you once, in his small, hesitant voice, if you were angry with his father.

“No, sweetling,” you whispered, stroking his dark hair. “I’m just… tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you—not from the duties of being Lady of Winterfell, but from the constant ache of loving a man who would never love you back.

One evening, unable to bear the silence any longer, you sat at your writing desk and penned a letter to your mother.

Mother,

I have done all that was asked of me. I have been patient. I have been kind. But I cannot thaw the North, and I cannot make a man love me who does not wish to. My heart feels as if it has been crushed beneath the weight of a thousand winters. I wonder if this alliance was worth the cost.

You stared at the words for a long time, your quill hovering above the parchment.

Do you even know what you have done to me?

Your hand trembled as you added the final line. You folded the letter carefully, but you could not bring yourself to summon the raven. What good would it do? Rhaenyra would only remind you of your duty, of the importance of the alliance, of the greater good.

The letter remained tucked away in the desk, a secret burden you carried alone.

The tension between you and Cregan finally came to a head late one night. The storm outside was fierce, the winds howling like wolves at the gates. You had been restless, pacing your chambers, when the door opened, and Cregan stepped inside.

He looked as tired as you felt, his shoulders heavy with some unseen weight. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“What do you want, Cregan?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended.

“I came to speak,” he said, his tone measured.

“You’ve had months to speak,” you replied, turning away from him. “And yet you’ve said nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never know what to say. You never know how to feel. You don’t even know how to look at me without seeing her shadow.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of anger in his eyes.

“Do not speak of things you don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Don’t I?” you shot back, turning to face him fully. “I understand better than you think. I understand what it means to love someone so deeply it consumes you. But you—” Your voice broke, and you forced yourself to continue. “You’ve never given me the chance to show you what we could be. You won’t even try.”

Cregan took a step forward, his expression stormy. “And what would you have me do? Forget her? Pretend she never existed?”

“I would have you see me!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I am not her, Cregan, and I never will be. But I am here. I have been here, trying, every single day, and you—”

Your voice faltered as he closed the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might reach for you, might finally break through the walls he had built.

But he didn’t.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The finality in his words shattered something inside you. You stepped back, your breath hitching as you tried to compose yourself.

“Then why did you marry me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because I had to,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty that hurt more than any lie could have. “Because the North needed it. Because Rickon needed it. But I never wanted this, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. “But you have,” you said quietly. “You’ve hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence of your chambers.

The days that followed were colder than ever, though the snow had stopped falling. You threw yourself into your duties, avoiding Cregan whenever possible. Rickon became your solace, his innocent laughter the only thing that kept you from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume you.

But even he could not erase the emptiness in your heart.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you found yourself standing before the godswood. The heart tree loomed above you, its ancient branches creaking in the wind. You knelt before it, tears streaming down your face as you whispered a prayer to gods you didn’t fully believe in.

“Give me the strength to bear this,” you pleaded. “Or give me the freedom to leave.”

The gods, as always, were silent.

[luvbugs-blog]

mistletoe - i. midoriya

summary: just you and your childhood best friend decorating the dorm for Christmas when you stumble across a little surprise. 

warnings: nothing!

author’s note: please please send me your thoughts!! i would love suggestions on what to write next!

this draft is literally from 2022. and i haven’t written in MONTHS, so this was a very rough, very quick lil piece. enjoy!

--------------------------------------

gently swaying to the christmas music in the background, you knelt to grab another ornament, grabbing a small All Might figure with a santa hat on. you smile at the ornament before placing him adjacent to the ornament that you bought for the tree. 

“y/n”. 

you gasp and jump slightly, hand on your chest. 

“jesus, izuku, you could’ve warned me at least.”

“sorry,” your childhood friend says with a small smirk, not looking sorry at all. “heroes should be aware of their surroundings at all times, you know.”

“well, excuuuse me for not expecting someone to attack me while decorating,” you scoff, turning back to the tree. 

“just saying,” he says, before helping you finish decorating.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

when you both agreed the tree was up to standards, you packed up the rest of the decorations and started to the storage closet. however, you seemed to take a bit too much, as the bottom box started to slip out of your grasp. 

“what’s the holdup?” 

“damn, izu, give me a second.” you get to a doorway and lean the boxes on the wall to adjust. once you felt properly secure, you turn around, ready to give a snippy response but hesitate when you see izuku’s face. 

“what’s up with your face?” he blushes deeper, avoiding eye contact by looking above you. “izuku.”

you huff, turning back around, when you see what he got all flustered at. above you is a mistletoe. you flush, fully intending to ignore it as you begin to walk forward. but a hand grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. 

“what?”

izuku flushes even more. “you know, I think we’re supposed to kiss under this.”

“what?!”

“it’s tradition!”

“it’s a stupid tradition,” you stutter, avidly avoiding eye contact. you try to turn back around when a hand grabs your face and pulls you in.

izuku lets out a soft breath when your lips softly touch. after a second or two, he tried to pull back, but not before you grabbed onto his shoulder to pull him back in. your second kiss was much harder than the first, so much so that you almost forget you are holding the boxes. 

you pull back quickly to catch them as they begin to fall, still stunned at what had happened. once you got the boxes situated once again, you looked up at izuku, who was looking at you with a very proud grin.

“a stupid tradition, huh?”

“oh shut up,” you mutter, walking a little faster to finally put the boxes away. you had crushed on this boy for years, and all it took was a stupid little plant to move things along. 

.......................................................................

i loooooove reading about confident but uber dorky midoriya. so here he is, the king of the sassy man apocalypse. let me know if you want any more christmas fics with other characters:)

[thezombieprostitute]

Tricked

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: i didn't fall on the ice, it was a trick

Jack's eyes scanned the crowd, looking for his target. He's got a lot of options to choose from but he's only gonna get one shot so he's gotta pick carefully. Grumpy gus, no. Karen haircut, definitely not. Parents with three kids, not likely. Bimbo, maybe; wait, she's meeting himbo so definitely not.

Aha! He sees a prime target. Woman on her own, trying to act disinterested in the crowds, but has all the subtle signals of someone who actually cares. Jack scans the ground around her and happily finds some nearby ice. He's got this.

Walking carefully while acting casual, he walks past the target and purposefully slips on the ice. It's not as slick as he'd like, but he knows how to play it up and knows how to fall to take the least damage but still look hurt. Just as he expected, she's immediately on him.

"Oh my god, are you okay? Do you need some help?"

"I think...my ankle," he adds an extra hiss in voice as he points to his foot.

When she turns her back to examine it, Jack deftly takes her wallet. He's not proud of himself, but a man's gotta eat and he's between jobs.

"Is it okay if I touch your ankle?" she looks back at him, eyes wide with worry. He's almost feeling bad about the deception.

"Yeah, go ahead."

She gently places her hand on it and he gives some performative winces.

"I don't think it's sprained or anything," she tells him. "I think you might just need to sit for a bit. Can I help you to a bench?"

"Sure, thanks."

He plays it up a smidge and makes sure to not put any weight on his "hurt" ankle as she walks him over to a bench.

"Do you need me to call someone?"

"Nah," he assures. "It's like you said, I probably just need to let it rest. I'll be okay. If not, I've got my phone here."

"Okay," she nods. Checking her phone she says, "I have to get going. Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Yeah, I"m sure," he tells her. "Thanks for helping me out."

"Not a problem. Stay safe!"

Once she's out of sight Jack takes out the wallet he lifted from her. It's empty save for a little note that says, "decoy wallet, dumb ass." He smirks at that. Then he has a thought and checks his own pocket. His jaw drops, his wallet is gone! She must've stolen it while she was helping him to the bench!

"Well played, madam," he chuckles. "Well played."

You pull out the wallet you stole from the guy who "fell". Seriously he was such an over-actor. You can't believe anyone would fall for that. "Jack O'Malley," you read from his ID. "I wonder what all I can get from you.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[serge-starr]

If you hate Donald Trump and Elon Musk like I do, I need your advice, please read this

Red text - Why I hate them

Blue text - My problem

Green text - Why it's a problem/why I need advice

Genuinely, do I even really have to explain why I hate Trump? Is it not ovious enough? He is one of the most evil people ever known and there is NO SUCH THING as a "good trump supporter". THEY'RE ALL BAD. He is openly a misogynist and talks about women so poorly. He talks about them like they're s-x objects and says that women deserve punishment if they get abortions. He's been accused of SA by DOZENS, literally DOZENS of women. He even sexualises his own daughter and says that he would date her if they weren't related. Furthermore, he's cheated on all of his wives.

And what else? He is racist. Straight up, he is literally just racist. AND transphobic. He also openly admires dictators and said that he wants to become one himself. He said that he wants an army just like (Germany mustache guy)'s. He has a friend called Nicholas Fuentes who also has openly said that he admires (Germany mustache guy), is a Holocaust denier and said, I quote, "your body, my choice" and "there will never be a female president". Trump has unfair tax policies that only benefit rich people and fuck over the middle and lower class. I struggle to explain this and why it upsets me to my parents because my parents don't care about politics or understand me as a person. Even if they did they wouldn't have the same views as me. They're conservative and I'm alternative.

So my problem is that my Mother says that all politicians are narcissists. I tried to reason with her and explain that politicians might just be people who stand for something and want to make change. She said that all politicians are power hungry and all they want is money and fame. I told her that I was passionate about politics and I cared about it a lot. She said that I shouldn't care about politics. I tested her standards and told her "what if I want to work in politics? Does that make ME a narcissist? Or does it not apply to me because I'm your child?" My Mum said that I would never make it as a politician because I'm too soft.

My Dad on the other hand, has bought a tesla, for multiple reasons. Firstly because they're good for the environment, and also because he liked the car's design/functions and he liked that he didn't have to pay for gas. I have begged my parents multiple times to not take me anywhere in that car (we have other cars). My Dad asked me to explain why and I told him that it went against my beliefs to go in the car. The company of tesla is partially owned by Elon Musk who is the richest man in the world and oh my God he is an ASSHOLE. He has so much fucking money that he doesn't even need and once he literally prevented money from being donated to a charity for children's cancer. He is the definition of a priviledged asshole. And of course he's a fucking Trump supporter. My parents believe that I'm being unreasonable but I don't think they understand how much it truly upsets me. At this point, it's not even political opinions, it's a political fact. I don't support Donald or Elon, I never have, and I never will. It is not justifiable to support them.

I need your advice because my Mum has continuously forced me to get in that car and take me places with it, like school, my art club, to town or literally just anywhere. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of people seeing me get out of it at school. It's embarassing. My parents don't understand. My Dad said that if I don't want to get in the tesla then I can just stop going to art club and other places. He asked me to explain why I hated the tesla and I told him it was difficult to explain.

What if people at my school think I'm a trump supporter? Look, I'm always one who doesn't care what other people think, but that's only if I'M BEING AUTHENTIC AND MY TRUE SELF. That tesla is not me, it's not my thing and it never will be. I hate going in that car. I hate its size, I hate its design, I hate its company, I hate everything about it. I'm sick of worrying that my friends and classmates think I'm a priviledged asshole. I wish my parents had a sense of reality and would just understand this.

Please, if you have any kind of solution, tell me. And don't say something like "Oh just try explaining to your parents how you feel and why you're uncomfortbale". DUDE I'VE TRIED THAT 9892423 TIMESSS. THEY WON'T LISTEN. THEY DON'T GET IT.

Who can I call? Who can I reach out to? Who can I ask for help? WTF DO I DO???!?!

That's all! Thanks for reading