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reasonsforhope · 1 day

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Federal regulators on Tuesday [April 23, 2024] enacted a nationwide ban on new noncompete agreements, which keep millions of Americans — from minimum-wage earners to CEOs — from switching jobs within their industries.

The Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday afternoon voted 3-to-2 to approve the new rule, which will ban noncompetes for all workers when the regulations take effect in 120 days [So, the ban starts in early September, 2024!]. For senior executives, existing noncompetes can remain in force. For all other employees, existing noncompetes are not enforceable.

[That's right: if you're currently under a noncompete agreement, it's completely invalid as of September 2024! You're free!!]

The antitrust and consumer protection agency heard from thousands of people who said they had been harmed by noncompetes, illustrating how the agreements are "robbing people of their economic liberty," FTC Chair Lina Khan said.

The FTC commissioners voted along party lines, with its two Republicans arguing the agency lacked the jurisdiction to enact the rule and that such moves should be made in Congress...

Why it matters

The new rule could impact tens of millions of workers, said Heidi Shierholz, a labor economist and president of the Economic Policy Institute, a left-leaning think tank.

"For nonunion workers, the only leverage they have is their ability to quit their job," Shierholz told CBS MoneyWatch. "Noncompetes don't just stop you from taking a job — they stop you from starting your own business."

Since proposing the new rule, the FTC has received more than 26,000 public comments on the regulations. The final rule adopted "would generally prevent most employers from using noncompete clauses," the FTC said in a statement.

The agency's action comes more than two years after President Biden directed the agency to "curtail the unfair use" of noncompetes, under which employees effectively sign away future work opportunities in their industry as a condition of keeping their current job. The president's executive order urged the FTC to target such labor restrictions and others that improperly constrain employees from seeking work.

"The freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy," Khan said in a statement making the case for axing noncompetes. "Noncompetes block workers from freely switching jobs, depriving them of higher wages and better working conditions, and depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand."

Real-life consequences

In laying out its rationale for banishing noncompetes from the labor landscape, the FTC offered real-life examples of how the agreements can hurt workers.

In one case, a single father earned about $11 an hour as a security guard for a Florida firm, but resigned a few weeks after taking the job when his child care fell through. Months later, he took a job as a security guard at a bank, making nearly $15 an hour. But the bank terminated his employment after receiving a letter from the man's prior employer stating he had signed a two-year noncompete.

In another example, a factory manager at a textile company saw his paycheck dry up after the 2008 financial crisis. A rival textile company offered him a better job and a big raise, but his noncompete blocked him from taking it, according to the FTC. A subsequent legal battle took three years, wiping out his savings.

-via CBS Moneywatch, April 24, 2024

Note:

A lot of people think that noncompete agreements are only a white-collar issue, but they absolutely affect blue-collar workers too, as you can see from the security guard anecdote.

In fact, one in six food and service workers are bound by noncompete agreements. That's right - one in six food workers can't leave Burger King to work for Wendy's [hypothetical example], in the name of "trade secrets." (x, x, x)

Noncompete agreements also restrict workers in industries from tech and video games to neighborhood yoga studios. "The White House estimates that tens of millions of workers are subject to noncompete agreements, even in states like California where they're banned." (x, x, x)

The FTC estimates that the ban will lead to "the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade." (x)

Clearer explanation of noncompete agreements below the cut.

Noncompete agreements can restrict workers from leaving for a better job or starting their own business.

Noncompetes often effectively coerce workers into staying in jobs they want to leave, and even force them to leave a profession or relocate.

Noncompetes can prevent workers from accepting higher-paying jobs, and even curtail the pay of workers not subject to them directly.

Of the more than 26,000 comments received by the FTC, more than 25,000 supported banning noncompetes.

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faetreides · 1 day

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🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

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Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

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You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

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You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.

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satorusugurugurl · 3 days

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My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 2,055

Warning: Fluffy fluff! Happy endings 🥹💚

A/N: And with that, My Wedding Date is an Escort is complete! I am open to writing one shots for our fluffy couple if y’all have any requests! God this has been a journey thank you all so much for the love and support!! I hope you continue to enjoy my other series as well! 💚💚💚

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Epilogue:

Two Years Later.

Gojo stirred in bed, reaching for your side and finding it cold like every other morning. He knew where you were from the smell of cinnamon rolls baking downstairs. He fucking loved cinnamon rolls. Satoru walked out into your living room with a stretch and a yawn before strutting towards the stairs that led down to the bakery.

You stood there talking to one of your customers, handing them a bright pink box tied with a white ribbon. He stood at the top of the stairs, just watching you for the longest of times. You moved elegantly over the floor to the display case packaging and different pastries for your customers. Before heading into the back, one of your workers took over for you.

Seizing the opportunity, Satoru followed you through the metal swinging door into the back. You stood there, checking the contents inside the oven. When you had your back turned, he snuck up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The sudden contact had you jumping at first before you turned to look over your shoulder up at him.

“Good morning,” he said in a gruff voice.

“Mornin’ Toru.” Soft lips pressed lovingly against his cheek. “I made you an omelet. It’s in the microwave.”

“Fuuuck,” he happily sighed, “I love you so damn much.”

Turning to face him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your lips. “Mmm, I love you too, Toru.” Satoru kissed you back eagerly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling your flesh against him. “Ah, Toru~!” Giggles were music to his ears; he growled, wanting to do nothing more than toss your pastries to the ground and take you into the kitchen. “Satoru~ haaah,” You gasped as his lips hurriedly trailed down your neck. “We can't.”

“Yes, we can~” he growled hungrily, “come on, I'll be fast.”

For a second, Satoru could see your eyes searching for a place where you two could have a quickie. Just as you were pulling him to the very back, where the cooling racks would conceal you, the door to the front swung open, and Suguru walked in, duffle bag over his shoulder, backpack on his back. The three of you froze as Suguru glanced between you two, his face twisting into a look of disgust.

“Please tell me,” Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. “you both weren't about to fuck back here.”

“W-What! N-No!” of course, you would be the first to deny his accusation, quickly shaking your head.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, pouted, throwing his head back in dismay. “Such a cock block Suguru!” Both of his best friends turned to stare at him. The silence was palpable until Suguru groaned, his eyes landing on you, giving you the most disappointing look he could muster.

“Really?”

“S-Suguru, I can explain.”

“I should report your ass to the health department.” He teased, striding forward and smacking Satoru upside the head. “Stop corrupting my best friend, you horny blue-eyed freak.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, placing his hand over his chest. Faux hurt, painting his face as he furrowed his brows together. A look that didn’t stop Suguru from snatching a strawberry off the counter and popping it in his mouth. Not that it phased you as you walked back to the oven, pulling out a tray.

“I thought I was your best friend?!”

“Nah, I like your girlfriend more.” Suguru tossed a strawberry at you. “Even if she's a little freak, too.”

You placed the cookie tray on the counter, tossing an oven mitt back at Suguru. “Hey, I was minding my own business! Satoru’s the one that woke up and chose to be horny.” Satoru slowly smirked, nodding his head.

“Can't help it; seeing the cute pastry chef working in my bakery just does things for me.” Both you and Suguru turned to stare at him. “Wanted to bring you back here and give you an in-depth evaluation.”

“Gross.” Suguru chucked a strawberry at Satoru’s face.

“I didn't know you were my ‘boss’ last time I checked; You lived with me.” You put both hands on your hips, smirking as Satoru blinked.

“Live with you?” Satoru gaped, eyes turning towards a smirking Suguru. “Did I, or did I not invest in her shop?”

“Technically, he did.”

Satoru strode forward, cupping your cheek. “He just wants me for my pastries.” You teased, standing on your tiptoes and kissing him.

“That and your body.” he teased, kissing you back, growling against your lips.

“Oh my god, please stop. We have a train to catch.” Suguru grumbled, rolling his eyes at the groan from his best friend.

“Suguru’s right, baby; hurry and eat.”

Satoru grabbed the omelet from the microwave, pausing to look down at you. “Say~ you busy on Saturday?”

There’s a certain sparkle in your eyes, one that has Satoru head over heels. You tilt your head to the side, glancing up at the ceiling and thinking. “Hmm, I have a wedding to go to.” Satoru’s chest swells with excitement as he eats some of his food.

“Oh really?”

“Mhmm~!”

“Need a date?”

“Oh yeah, I totally need one.”

The adoration and love in your eyes mirrored his own. “Great, sounds like we got a plan.” He lovingly kissed you on the forehead. “Three days, sweetheart! Three days!” Satoru ran up the stairs, humming happily; three days to him would feel like three decades. Saturday, needed to hurry up and get here already!

Luckily for Satoru, three days flew by. His stomach fluttered as Suguru smoothed out his suit jacket. Suguru’s eyes focused on his best friend's neck, where he could see his racing pulse.

“You remember what you told me when you got back from Kyoto two years ago?”

“Uh, thanks for telling me I was a fucking idiot?” Satoru said before taking a deep breath.

Suguru laughed, shaking his head. “You said that which you're still welcome for.” The dark-haired man straightened his back before patting his best friend on the shoulder. “You told me you found the one. Then proceeded to ask me to be a witness at your wedding.” Blue eyes followed Suguru; he looked at himself in the mirror, fixing his jacket. “I honestly thought you were out of your mind back then.” Satoru was a second away from recording back with a snarky remark. “But, I’m happy to admit I was wrong, and you were right. She is the one meant for you.” without another word, Suguru pulled his best friend into a tight embrace.

“Suguru—”

“I’m happy for both of you.” Silence spreads between the two. “But if you hurt her, I will kill you myself.”

A knock at the door sent the two men flying back from each other. “Satoru.” Your mother peeked her head inside. “It’s time.” she has tears in her eyes as Satoru takes a final deep breath.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding date to get to!”

Two years ago, he received a call from a girl desperate for a wedding date. The same girl had proceeded to steal his heart over the course of a week. In two years, the two of you had moved in together, shared meals with one another, and planned a future together. A future that had come true thus far.

You owned your bakery, and Satoru helped manage it with you, being your number one customer and investor. The two of you happily lived in the loft above the shop, furnished to make it your home. Everything you both wanted had come true. Today, you both will finalize the plans that you had made two years prior.

Satoru stood in the gardens of your family's inn, decorated with vibrant flowers. He watched as your closest friends walked down the aisle one after another in pairs, but he honestly didn't care about them. All that mattered to him was seeing you.

His wish was granted as the official told the guest in front of him to stand. His eyes met yours down the aisle, his breath catching in his throat at your breathtaking appearance. Your wedding gown was elegant and suited you perfectly. Showing off your figure, he loved it so remarkably much. Your face was visible behind the veil, and your eyes never left his as your father led you down the aisle toward him.

Satoru felt his eyes burning as tears streamed down his cheeks. How was it possible for you to look even more stunning than you already did? You are like a goddess compared to him.

Suguru gently pats his shoulder, grinning as his best friend wipes uselessly at his eyes. He finally regained some form of composure once you’re standing before him, taking his hand in your own. His heart is thundering as he pulls you in and turns to the official with the biggest smile. He had told your mother two years ago that the next wedding they hosted at the inn would be yours.

And he had been faithful to his words.

The ceremony was sweet and quick; you exchanged your vows and beamed at the official. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride!” Satoru threw your veil back, cupped your face, and kissed you as if the word was ending.

The crowd cheered and clapped as you both held hands, running up the aisle and back into the gardens. The second you were away from peering eyes, Satoru kissed you again, and again, and again until pulling away with a happy sigh. You felt lighter than air as his cerulean eyes roamed over your face.

“I think that was the best wedding date I’ve ever been on.” You proudly announced as he intertwined your fingers.

“Is that so, Mr. Gojo?” Your husband perks up, eyes darting down at you with sparkles in them.

“Why yes, Mrs. Gojo, it was.” You giggle at the use of your new last name. “Ooh, someone likes that new name~!!”

You shake your head, grinning softly. “No, I don't like it.” For a moment, you think Satoru is about to die of shock. “I love it!”

Satoru breathed a sigh of relief before cupping your face in his hands and kissing you as passionately as he could. With wide eyes, you moan into the kiss as he pushes the toy back against the wall of the inn. One hand grabs your hip, and the other remains on your face. You melt against him as he pulls back, your hot, desperate breath mingling together before he squeezes your hip, meeting your lips again, this time with a gentler kiss.

“And I love you. I hope you got enough sleep in the last two years, because I plan on showing you how much I love you on our honeymoon.”

“Oh my god, Toru~!” A squeal of pure joy rocks through you as he lifts you up carrying you across the gardens towards the photographers.

“Hey~ save that for the honeymoon suite baby~!” Your giggled as you both took the steps towards you very long and happy marriage. A marriage that all started with a wedding date.

Tag List:

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify @majanggeum @solarrexplosion @tbzzluvr @username23345 @demonboyssss @sakui1 @strychnynegirl

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

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swiftmitsu · 22 hours

Text

hello!! hi guys, this is important

(and no i’m not a proshipper. that’s all im going to say.)

please don’t ever fucking dox ANYONE.

you don’t like a certain person’s content?

just block and forget.

you don’t like a certain person?

just block and forget.

there is no reason you should be actively exposing the location of people that you don’t like.

absolutely nothing GOOD has ever come from doxing anyone.

you have no idea how dangerous things like this can be.

the internet is permanent.

whatever you put up on the internet will BE PERMANENT.

be careful what you do on the internet. please.

look, i get that many people don’t like the works of proshippers.

and that’s FINE. you can have your opinion.

there is SO MANY OTHER THINGS ON THE INTERNET THAT SO MANY PEOPLE DISLIKE/HATE THAT ISNT PROSHIP. and it’ll stay like that for a long time!!!

you can’t really do anything about it.!!

so don’t TARGET AND DOX THEM. OR ANYONE ELSE FOR THE MATTER.

just fucking ignore them. BLOCK them if you don’t want to see their content.

you’re not gonna be some sort of ‘hero’ for getting rid of someone you dislike.

you are putting so many people in danger.

please. just be nice. it really isn’t that hard.

i love you all, please stay safe and be nice to each other. we need more kindness in this world. 💛💛

edit: if you want to assume things about me. don’t. talk to me privately first. don’t spread rumours please.💛

#important #mitsu babbling #don’t even know how to tag this #i just woke up. sorry if this doesn’t make sense #please #don’t drag me into this. this is all i have to say about the whole situation.#don’t assume anything about me because of this.#just grow up and be mature please #whatever you’re going through #it doesn’t excuse doxing ANYONE.

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pucksandpower · 8 hours

Text

Achilles Come Down

Charles Leclerc x soft dom!Reader

Summary: sometimes you have to take control to get Charles out of his own head

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request with some little hints here and there that the reader is Charles’ race engineer (inspired by him getting a new race engineer all of a sudden in real life)

The garage is eerily quiet as you make your way towards Charles’ driver’s room, the usual buzz of activity muted in the wake of his DNF. His familiar red race suit is marred by streaks of oil and rubber, a physical reminder of the mechanical failure that ended his race prematurely.

Charles stalks ahead of you, his body taut with frustration. You can practically see the negative thoughts racing through his mind, the self-recrimination and second-guessing he’s so prone to despite the circumstances being completely out of his control.

“Charles, wait up,” you call out, struggling to match his clipped pace. He pauses with his hand on the door handle, jaw clenched.

“What is there to say, Y/N? My race is over before it could even properly begin.” The defeat in his voice cuts you deeply.

“This wasn’t your fault,” you insist, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “A rear brake malfunction is out of your hands.”

He shrugs you off, throat bobbing with repressed emotion. “I’m the one behind the wheel. I should have sensed something was wrong, made adjustments ...”

“You can’t control every little thing on that car, no matter how talented you are,” you interrupt firmly. “Sometimes factors outside your control are going to screw things up. Dwelling on it won’t change that.”

Charles lets out a harsh exhale, raking frustrated fingers through his sweat-dampened curls. “Easy for you to say. It’s not your championship hopes slipping away with every botched race.”

You resist the urge to snap back, knowing his irritability stems from disappointment rather than any real malice towards you. Taking a calming breath, you change tacks.

“Okay, let’s go inside and get you out of that suit at least,” you suggest in a gentler tone. “We can debrief the data after you’ve had a chance to reset.”

Charles hesitates, chewing on his full lower lip in an unconscious gesture of indecision. You frame his face with your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Trust me, baby. Let me take care of you for once.”

The rigidity finally seeps from his stance as he gives a jerky nod of acquiescence. You push open the door and usher him inside, the familiar smells of his favorite Dior cologne and heat-weathered leather enveloping you both.

Once the door clicks shut, blocking out the distractions of the paddock, you move in close to begin unzipping Charles’ kinetic race suit. He stands stiffly as you peel away each layer until he’s stripped down to just his snug fireproof undershirt and shorts.

Running soothing hands over his tense shoulders and neck, you knead at the knots of muscles corded there. A low exhale shudders from Charles’ lips as some of the pent-up stress bleeds out of his frame.

“That’s it, let it all go,” you murmur. “Your only job now is to relax and let me take over for once.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, the barest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You circle around to face him again, hands roaming over the lean muscles of his chest and abs through the thin fabric. Leaning in, you capture his lips in a deep, probing kiss, slanting your mouth over his again and again until his tension fully dissolves and he melts into your touch.

“Better?” You ask with a quirked brow as you finally pull back, taking in his dazed expression.

“Getting there,” Charles replies, pupils already blown wide with arousal. He surges forward to recapture your lips hungrily.

You allow him to control the heated kiss for a few indulgent moments before taking charge once more, pushing firmly against his chest until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the sleek, ultra-modern sofa. He flops back with a breathless chuckle as you crawl over him, straddling his waist and rocking your hips against his in a pointed grind.

“Just relax and let me handle this,” you rasp against the hinge of his jaw, relishing the full-body shudder that wracks his frame.

Your hands deftly slip beneath the hem of his undershirt, pushing it up and over his head to expose his toned upper body before latching your lips to the hollow of his throat. Charles tips his head back in blissful surrender as you lavish hot, openmouthed kisses along the thunderous pulse point and down the sculpted grooves of his chest.

His hands struggle to find purchase as your mouth trails lower still, tracing nonsensical patterns through the trial of hair. Every swirl of your tongue is deliberate, thorough, a reminder to him to stay grounded in the present moment, focused solely on the exquisite sensations you’re lavishing upon his body.

You pause with your face hovering inches above the waistband of his shorts, reveling in the pure want burning in Charles’ lust-darkened gaze as he watches you through his veil of tousled chestnut curls. Hooking your fingers into the stretchy material, you ease it down, never breaking that heated eye contact.

Charles is already achingly hard, hips twitching upwards in search of some kind of delicious friction. You blow a teasing stream of air over his length, relishing the way he squirms and lets out a guttural moan. Only then do you take him fully into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the velvety crown before sinking down in one smooth glide.

“F-Fuck ...” Charles’ head thrashes against the armrest as his hands scrabble uselessly at the supple leather, trying and failing to find purchase. You hum in satisfaction around your mouthful, the vibrations jolting through him with dizzying intensity.

Knowing he’s dangerously close already, you ease off with one last lingering lick. Charles whines in protest, hips canting upwards to chase that incredible heat and suction. But rather than continuing with your talented mouth, you throw one lean leg over his body to straddle his hips once more.

Charles swallows hard as you reach behind to unclasp your lacy bra, shrugging it off your shoulders and allowing it to puddle onto the floor. He tracks the motion with rapt attention, fingers twitching with the overwhelming need to touch.

Before he can make a move, you halt him with a stern look and guiding hand wrapped around his wrist. “Nuh-uh, I’m in charge here, remember?”

Charles makes a thin, desperate sound but complies, allowing you to pin both wrists above his head. His chest heaves with each shuddering inhale as he watches you shimmy out of your skin tight jeans with your core hovering just above his straining length.

Then, maintaining that heated eye contact, you sink down unbearably slowly until he’s sheathed fully inside you. Charles’ mouth drops open in a low keen as you begin to move in an unhurried grind, savoring each delicious inch.

“You feel that?” You rasp, leaning down to capture his plush bottom lip between your teeth. “You’re not alone in this, baby. I’ve got you.”

Charles nods frantically, hips jerking upwards in a broken rhythm to chase that incredible friction. You release his wrists in favor of framing his face, anchoring him to this intense connection amid the swirling sensations.

“Don’t think about the race or the championship,” you order in a low murmur. “There’s only you and me, here and now. Got it?”

“Yes ...” Charles moans in affirmation as your pace picks up the tiniest bit, guiding him closer and closer to that blissful edge.

Perspiration sheens over both your bodies, slick skin sliding together in an intoxicating glide. His hands roam hungrily over every inch of you, mapping each sculpted curve and plane like a long-cherished map. You snake one hand between your joined bodies to stroke him in counterpoint to your rolling undulations, determined to shatter him into a million ecstatic pieces.

Charles’ breath grows increasingly ragged, each strangled cry of pleasure driving you higher towards your own shattering peak. “Look at me,” you demand, cupping his stubbled jaw. His glassy emerald eyes lock onto yours obediently. “I’m all that matters right now.”

He shudders beneath you, mouth dropping open in a choked groan as his orgasm slams into him with full force. You bear down harder, chasing your own release to the soundtrack of his gasping whimpers. White-hot pleasure detonates through your nerve endings, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.

Collapsing bonelessly atop him, you nuzzle against the slick hollow of his throat, placing a tender kiss over his pulse as you both struggle to catch your breath. Charles’ arms envelop you, his frame still quivering with aftershocks.

“Better?” You murmur against his salted skin, unable to resist a teasing smirk.

A breathless laugh huffs from his lips. “So much better. I ...” He pauses, seeming to search for the right words. “Thank you, mon ange. For not letting me spiral.”

“Always,” you vow simply, tilting your head to capture his lips in a deep, searing kiss. When you finally break apart, his eyes are warm and clear, no longer clouded by that self-destructive darkness.

A tender smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you brush back the damp chestnut curls from his forehead. In this quiet moment, with his body and soul laid bare before you, you know the roles have switched once more. He’s gone from race driver to simply Charles — your Charles — and you’ll protect that brilliant light within him with everything you have.

“We can debrief the data later,” he murmurs, mirroring your earlier words with a contented grin. “For now, I just want to stay right here with you.”

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burnthoneydrops · 2 days

Text

Language of Flowers (b.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: classism, use of "miss" and "y/n", stubborn mc

a/n: class differences in historical fiction have my heart and what better man to write them for than benedict! hope you enjoy and requests are open!

For all your years helping run your family’s flower shop, you could not remember a day as memorable as this. You were in the back of the shop, cutting stems and bunching bundles of similar flowers together when you heard your little sister gasp from her spot in the doorway. Though gentlemen callers were not entirely uncommon, as flowers were a typical house gift when men went to call on their chosen lady, this one seemed to have caught her by surprise.

“Who’s there Abigail?” you asked without turning around. “Abigail?” you asked again when she did not respond. It only took one look at the familiar chestnut head of hair to understand why your sister had gone as silent as Mayfair during the ton’s visits to the country. There stood a Bridgerton. Abigail had been obsessed with them ever since she got one of the printer apprentices to give her a copy of the gossip column the ton had been infatuated with. Anything that was ever written about them, Abigail had saved and regaled you when you were both in bed after a day’s work.

“Y/N! I believe your expertise might be required,” your father called from the front of the shop, where he stood with parchment and a pencil, jotting down people’s requests.

Abigail had not moved from her spot in the doorway, effectively blocking you out. “Abigail, I need to get through,” you waved a hand in front of her face but she did not move. She was utterly and entirely captivated, so you resorted to picking her up by her waist and moving her to the side. The perks of her being your little sister meant that moving her came easier to you than moving you did to her.

“I was summoned?” You looked at your father who nodded at the man standing in front of him. “Yes sir, how can I help you today?”

“I am here to buy flowers for a lady-”

“What a novelty,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the sheet your father had been working on moments before.

“Pardon?” The man asked, clearly not expecting to be cut off in such a manner.

“Apologies, good sir, you were saying?”

“I am buying flowers for a lady. You see, my brother has crossed his wife and wants to apologise, but has no time for such an errand so he has sent me-” “He has truly no space to make time for apologising to his wife?” You interrupted again.

“Do you interrupt every customer in this manner?”

“Only the ones with ridiculous stories,” you countered.

“I can assure you, despite how ridiculous it might sound, I speak nothing but the truth,” he looked at you, hoping you would change your mind. When you said nothing, he continued, “Now, I mentioned to your father earlier that I would like to gather flowers that mean an apology or makes it clear that the sender knows they have done some wrong-” “Ah, so you are keen on the language of flowers? I take it this has happened before then?” You interrupted yet again, raising a brow.

“Apologies for my sister, my lord, she has been working long hours lately,” your older sister Jeanine stepped in. She gave you a harsh look as she finished her sentence, nonverbally telling you to scoot out of the way. You huffed and pushed the sheet of paper with the man’s order on it towards her before making your way to the back of the shop to finish the arrangements from before.

It took Abigail no time at all to meet you back there, desperate to know how your interaction went. When you disappointed her with the fact that you had absolutely no thrilling news to report back, she smacked your arm and grabbed some flowers from the vases in the corner, complaining that you should have done a better job.

“Well perhaps if he was not exactly like all other men who enter this shop then I would have something interesting to share with you,” you responded, grabbing some baby’s breath to add in.

Jeanine came to greet you both with the sheet of parchment in hand, “something with an apology and sorrow but also suggesting forgiveness,” she muttered, looking at the selection in front of her.

“White roses, forget-me-nots, and pink tulips,” you commented without looking at her.

“If only you could do your job that easily in front of the customers”.

“If the customers were not all so alike and insufferable perhaps I could”.

“That poor Bridgerton did nothing to you and you know it,” Jeanine tried.

“He irked me, is that not enough?”

“Not when we are trying to keep a business afloat, no,” Jeanine replied as she stepped back onto the main floor to have Mr. Bridgerton pick the colour of ribbon with which the bouquet would be tied together. “Now there you are Mr. Bridgerton, and if I could grab a first name to keep our records in order and for possible future transactions?” Jeanine asked as she handed over the bouquet.

“Do I truly look so similar to my brothers that you cannot tell us apart?” Mr. Bridgerton jested, at least you hoped he was jesting.

“It is that arrogance that irritates me to be sure,” you muttered to Abigail.

“It is merely a formality my lord,” Jeanine laughed lightly as she looked at him expectantly.

“Benedict then, Benedict Bridgerton,” he placed the pound notes on the counter and picked up the bouquet, wishing Jeanine a pleasant day before scurrying away.

So the annoyance finally had a name.

A few days had passed, and it felt like you had pushed the interaction successfully out of your mind, when the universe decided to spite you once again. You had already been at the front of the shop this morning, but you wished to do nothing other than sink to the floor or send one of your sisters in your place.

“So we meet again,” Benedict announced, overly joyful.

“Well you did just walk into the shop my family happens to own-”

“I was hoping to make your acquaintance once again-” “At least one of us seems happy about it,” you conversed over each other, making it appear as if the dialogue had no point of breath.

“I firstly wished to inform you that the flowers worked wonders and greatly aided my brother in his apology-” “Wonderful, now if that is all there is quite the queue forming behind you-”

“And that I have a plan to get you to change your mind,” Benedict finished his thought and it struck you silent. You must have done two or three big, slow blinks before what he said fully sank in, leaving you only more confused. “I must say, it is much easier to think when you are not constantly fighting back at me,” he smiled and you wanted to reach over the counter and smack that smile clean off his face.

“Change my mind? On the flowers? I thought you said they were a great success?”

“Oh no, not about the flowers,” he waved his finger back and forth in front of you, “about me”.

“About you?” You questioned with raised brows, a scoff of disbelief escaping past your lips.

“Yes. I noticed the other day we left off on quite the wrong foot and I would like to change your mind”.

“And why do you think that is Mr. Bridgerton?” you bent your elbows a little and leaned closer into him from your spot over the counter.

“Well I was not entirely sure, but I figured if I could get 10 minutes alone with you, your opinion of me would be much improved”.

“Has anyone ever told you they do not like you Mr. Bridgerton? Has anyone, especially someone below your status, been honest enough with you to display how they truly feel about you? You might consider that notion and find the root of our problem there. I know you do not care much for your high society Mr. Bridgerton,” you noticed his ears prick up, so to quickly shut him down, “and do not think too deeply about my knowing of you for Lady Whistledown has printed much more than I cared to know, but as soon as someone is off with you, you suddenly become interested. Your ego is much too inflated to reason with the fact that some people just might not like you, present company included, and you cannot stand it”.

Now it was Benedict’s turn to blink slowly, as your speech had halted all his energy to a standstill. “Good day, Mr. Bridgerton,” you shooed him out of the shop with your hand, waving forward the next customer who had been waiting very awkwardly a few paces behind this encounter. You sighed deeply, mentally resetting yourself back to your more demure customer service appearance.

Mr. Bridgerton had not been back for at least two weeks, not that you were counting of course, and though you claimed you were not thinking about him, you hated to admit how much that man had taken of your mental space. It did not help that Abigail was insistent that you two were fated to meet again somehow, even though you had explicitly told her you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Jeanine was upset that you had lost a valuable customer, but the money that he could have possibly brought in was the last thing on your mind. The season was usually a high reward time for your family’s shop anyway, you were sure one lord would not be such a loss.

On an afternoon that felt uncomfortably reminiscent of your first meeting, the bell above the front door rang as you were arranging a bouquet in the back. Abigail gasped from her spot in the doorway, and you did not even want to turn around and guess what caught her breath this time. “Oh my god,” Jeanine muttered, joining Abigail in the doorway as a pair of frantic feet made their way to your father at the counter. “Good afternoon, I should like to ask for a moment alone with Miss Y/N”.

You nearly dropped the flowers in your hands and stood staring at the wall while the heads of both your sisters whipped around to look at you, mouths dropped and eyes wide. Your father did not really know how to comprehend the situation, to be honest none of you did, but one nod from him and Abigail was grabbing the flowers out of your hands while Jeanine pushed you forward through the entryway. Your feet were cement, standing in front of the man that definitely had not been occupying your mind for days on end, his arms stuffed with different boxes and trinkets.

As if taking advantage of the silence, Benedict started, “I come bearing gifts. It occurred to me that I had no idea what your preferences were and with the safe answer of flowers obviously gone I got,” he dropped some of the goods on the counter, “these”. There were chocolates and pieces of jewellery and perfumes and accessories. You stared in awe at the collection before you, admiring the beauty of them all before you snapped back into reality. Benedict Bridgerton had come to spoil you in an attempt to win you over and you could not stand for it.

“If you think gifts are going to magically change my mind then you are-”

“Oh they are not for you. Well not exclusively anyway, I believed some of them to be for your family”.

It took your sisters absolutely no time at all to rush over to the counter, rummaging through all the items present and claiming their picks before your mother and father came to join you on either side. With a quick scolding from your mother and a muttered thank you to Benedict, your sisters were off, resuming their position in the doorway. “I hope I am not interrupting any major, I just wished to spend the afternoon with your daughter,” Benedict glanced between your parents, silently asking for permission.

“Well I do not see why not,” your mother replied, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Mother!” You hissed, surprised she would respond in the affirmative so quickly.

“What? It is not like you get out of here much anyway!” Your father piped up, making you tilt your chin down in embarrassment and kick his shin under the counter. Benedict stifled a laugh, and you could sense his eyes on you as you kept your head down. “The pleasure is all yours,” your father looked at Benedict as he and your mother stepped back, laughing between themselves.

“I figured a walk would do us both some good,” Benedict put his hands behind his back as you looked up at him, suddenly very aware of how much he towered over you.

“What makes you think I have the time to just step out and walk around with you? In case you were not aware, I am currently working-”

“Oh for god’s sake! Just go!” Jeanine yelled from the back, her and Abigail having given the two of you some privacy. You huffed, crossing your arms in front of you and mentally squaring up Benedict before rolling your eyes. “I suppose one afternoon wouldn’t hurt, but if you try anything I swear-” His hands shot up in defence, “You have my word, nothing nefarious will take place. I simply want to walk”.

“A walk it is then,” you nodded, making your way around the counter and into the main section of the shop.

“I promise, you will not regret this,” Benedict commented, clearly happy with himself as he opened the door for you to walk through.

“Let’s not go making promises we’re not certain we can keep”.

“I feel pretty certain about this one”.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction

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tempted-byhyuka · 2 days

Text

| enhypen when… |

they want you back

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

inc: requested, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluffy endings, some nonidol!au, situationship (riki), food (heeseung), getting drunk (sunghoon), long distance (jungwon)

ೃ⁀➷ lee heeseung

ੈ♡˳ you didn’t expect heeseung to break up with you so suddenly, especially just a week before what would be your 3rd anniversary. he insisted it was for your sake, that he didn’t know if he could ever make you happy with the way his schedule was working out, that he wanted you to find someone better than him…

ੈ♡˳ he just so happened to dump you right before a tour, so trying to work things out was out of the question. this meant that he had left you to deal with your emotions with nothing but a bowl of ice cream and whatever tv show could get your mind off of the breakup. and to say it worked would be a lie.

ੈ♡˳ you spent months on end in a slump, and it wasn’t exactly like you could just open your phone to get away from reality when every other post you scrolled past had that handsome prick dancing in your feed. it felt like the universe was mocking you. you swore you hadn’t smiled since the day he dumped you…

ੈ♡˳ when that fateful phone call came, you were so glad you didn’t ever block the number. heeseung sounded regretful, asking to meet you in person for a conversation. as he finally saw you for the first time since the breakup, it was clear that he realized what he had done to you, dumping you the way he did.

ੈ♡˳ “listen, i’m sorry… breaking up was a bad idea and i should have talked to you before making such a big decision… i still love you, baby, and i want you in my life.. will you please come back?” he asks, holding out his hand. you reach out your hand to intertwine both of your fingers, your lips curling into a smile as you tearfully nod your head ‘yes’.

ೃ⁀➷ park jongseong

ੈ♡˳ it wasn’t like it was a decision you wanted to make, but jay clearly had other priorities that outweighed you. he tried to talk you out of it at first, but after hearing your feelings and thoughts, it looked like he realized just how much this must have been effecting you, and let you go.

ੈ♡˳ nearly 3 years after you two called it quits, you saw jay’s ever so recognizable face literally everywhere. but you didn’t feel upset, not at all.. it seemed that those years of training and practice finally paid off, and you were happy. maybe that break up was the right decision for him, he got what he wanted.

ੈ♡˳ you were standing in line at a cafe, stepping away from the counter to find a table when you crashed into another person. immediately you begin to apologize at the same time, but you recognize that voice anywhere. behind the cap and mask, you make eye contact with the same eyes you hadn’t seen in 3 years, “jay..?”

ੈ♡˳ of course, you end up at the same table, jay insisted he had time to spare and wanted to talk to you. his face has matured, but that’s the still the same jay who you used to see nearly every single day. after some catching up on both ends, jay clearly has something on his mind that you press him into expressing.

ੈ♡˳ “i have never stopped thinking about you, never… i did this all for you. i was so scared that i would never see you again, y/n… i don’t ever want to not see you again, you know?” he begins to ramble. “jay, are you sure we can…” you begin to ask, but he nods before you finish. “they lifted the ban… please, come back to me…?”

ೃ⁀➷ sim jaeyun

ੈ♡˳ it broke jake’s damn heart to break up with you, but he just couldn’t risk it… he didn’t blame you for your less than amicable reaction to the break up, but he still insisted that this decision wasn’t out of malice. words were said that you both regret, but in the end, jake always deeply regretted letting you walk out.

ੈ♡˳ his world literally became dull, his only light left in his life was of course his precious puppy, but not even performing was making him as happy as it did before. it was noticeable to literally everyone, to the point that his managers were telling him to either shape up or go into hiatus, and at this point, what did he have to lose?

ੈ♡˳ he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at your contact like it would make you materialize out of thin air if he stared hard enough. finally, he gathered his courage and clicked the call button, holding the phone to his ear. to his shock, you picked up after the second ring, “jake…?” and your voice is like honey in his ears.

ੈ♡˳ “oh, y/n… i… i don’t know where to start.” he admits with a nervous laugh and he drags his hand down his face. “let’s start with why you called.” you say in the voice that always walked him through any problem. “i… miss you,” he starts and clears his throat, “i shouldn’t have ever broken it off.”

ੈ♡˳ “you’re right…” you say, jake can hear that damn smile. “can you please come over…? i’d be a shitty boyfriend if i asked you to come back over the phone.” he says, slipping out the word before he even fully realized what he was saying. he hears your giggle, and it feels like the color comes back to his vision, “i’ll be over in ten.”

ೃ⁀➷ park sunghoon

ੈ♡˳ you didn’t know what switch had flipped in sunghoon to make him change so suddenly, but all you knew was that this wasn’t the boy you fell in love with. when you told him you were leaving him, it was like he didn’t care, he just scoffed and waved you off, “fine, leave then, you weren’t ever gonna stay.”

ੈ♡˳ safe to say it was a bit of a messy break up, you are sure he still has some of your clothing that you hadn’t dared to ask for back. whatever had come over sunghoon, it wasn’t worth pestering him over a couple of t-shirts. you weren’t scared, just frustrated, you wanted to know why he had such a drastic change.

ੈ♡˳ seeing him around campus felt like you were walking on eggshells, whichever new girl was trying to persue him constantly gave you stink eyes like they were trying to impress him (which only made you more confused because he certainly didn’t want them), and you started to wonder if there was something more…

ੈ♡˳ that is until sunghoon calls you at 1 in the morning of all hours, waking you from a deep slumber. you picked up the phone out of pure curiosity, hearing obvious faint party chatter, “sunghoon?” you ask, hearing a mumble on the other end and a shaky deep breathe, “y/n.. i’m sorry… i love you, babe…”

ੈ♡˳ “sunghoon, you’re drunk.” you stated the obvious, but he kept talking. “i know, fuck i know.. i’m being a damn idiot, baby please listen… i love you and i never stopped. please babe…” he muttered, slurring his speech. how can you tell if this is sincere…? you sigh and rub your temples, “call me when you’re sober, sunghoon.”

ೃ⁀➷ kim seonwoo

ੈ♡˳ with sunoo, the break up was out of left field, you swore you both were on a great path, you barely fought and not a thing was causing problems in your relationship, or so you thought. sunoo swore it was just so he could keep you out of the trouble that is life in the public eye… but you could see in his eyes it was more.

ੈ♡˳ it was so much worse not having closure, for all you knew, sunoo just decided to dump you and lie about it while holding back his own tears. all of it was enough to make you wonder if someone made him do this.. his company, his management? but even in that case… your love wasn’t grounds to ruin his career.

ੈ♡˳ you supported him from a distance, as painful as it was seeing your now ex constantly on a big screen, knowing that you could help him in some way was enough to bring you comfort. for all that your friends knew, you were just a very loud and proud sunoo bias. to be honest, you were, just not for any old reason.

ੈ♡˳ you almost dropped your phone when you turned a corner only to run into someone, who quickly grabbed your shoulders to steady you. “are you alright ma’am-?” he asks, and as soon as you looked up, you were face to face with sunoo’s equally shocked expression. “y/n…? holy shit.. i-i…” he looks on the verge of tears already.

ੈ♡˳ before you even say a word, you bury your face back into his chest, embracing him regardless of who saw or tried to snap a photo. much to your relief, you feel him hug you back, burying his face in your hair. “oh my god, i.. y/n, i can explain myself, will you let me?” he is frantic, but with a smile, you shush him and nod your head. “yes sunoo, let’s go somewhere quiet.”

ೃ⁀➷ yang jungwon

ੈ♡˳ jungwon is a smart guy, you’ve known that ever since you met him. that being said, you would never want to stand in the way between him and his education. that’s why when he was offered an abroad study opportunity, you swallowed your feelings and told him to go. it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.

ੈ♡˳ the goodbye was full of tears that even his parents couldn’t hide. he swore that he wasn’t ever going to forget about you, he would never replace you, despite how much you wanted him to move on with his life. little did you know how much you meant to him, and how those years of studying didn’t feel so worth it.

ੈ♡˳ for years it was just him, he barely made friends and whenever he called it parents, it was obvious he was not happy. they urged him to message you, even they could see just how happy you made their son if it was to the point he couldn’t focus. jungwon finally caved one evening, sending you a message and breaking that one promise.

ੈ♡˳ ‘i know you told me not to message you, but god y/n i can’t do this anymore, i miss you too damn much. it hurts going every day without you, i don’t want to keep living this way. i know you didn’t want long distance, but i can’t do this without you. please will you consider? i love you.’ he sends, setting his phone down and groaning.

ੈ♡˳ it’s a long and painful silence before he finally heard his phone buzz, snatching it up and reading the response from you. ‘jungwon, i thought you would never ask… i love you too baby, ill wait 2 more years for you.’ and with that text you sent a photo of yourself. with that one message, he felt like everything would be okay…

ೃ⁀➷ nishimura riki

ੈ♡˳ the best way to describe your and riki’s relationship would be something akin to a ‘situationship’. you both did couple activities that normal couples would do, going out on fun dates and sharing a few kisses; but at the same time, he never outright called you his girlfriend, or him your boyfriend.

ੈ♡˳ it wasn’t any surprise to anyone you both knew that the relationship was in a constant state of turmoil, with you both constantly calling it quits only to hit eachother up like nothing happened the next week or so. safe to say it was getting toxic fast, and even if you didn’t know how riki himself felt, you felt terrible.

ੈ♡˳ so you broke it off, telling him that this arrangement was permanent and final, and that little punk had the audacity to laugh and say, “you’ll come back, you always do.” to your teary face as you stormed out of his dorm. but you were determined to stay gone, and for weeks, you were… the longest you had been.

ੈ♡˳ you didn’t entertain a single text or dm, you avoided him like the plague and deleted every photo of him on your phone, but you still felt like complete garbage… riki made you happy even when you felt so disposable to him. in the midst of one of your depressive bed rotting episodes, you heard a knock.

ੈ♡˳ needless to say you didn’t expect mr. nishimura himself standing there with a reasonable sized bouquet of your favorite followers, and for once in his life, he looked sad… “i realized i’ve been treating you like shit lately… i’m sorry, i want to be serious with you y/n.” he says, and he felt an immense joy as you leapt into his arms.

bang bang bang i’m so back baby, requested by anon, i hope you like it! 😚😚 not yet proofread whoops

#enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #heeseung imagines #jay park imagines #jake sim imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunoo imagines #jungwon imagines #ni ki imagines

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dr-felitas · 3 days

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cellphone love story — osamu dazai

*+ﾟsynopsis: recently, someone's been spam calling you to the point that you’re fed and pick up the phone, only to be greeted with someone by the name dazai who has been continuously trying to reach his dead friend. the calls however don't end here, rather, your (call) history with dazai starts to extend - slowly but surely forming a bond over time; the phone.

pairing: dazai x reader (gn) |wordcount: 2.5k (this was my personal hell) | content & warnings: fluff, mentions of odasaku and very very very small mention of chuuya, more than friends less than lovers at the end (can also be interpreted as lovers, but that's just what i had in mind yall), brief mentions of drinking, light angst if you squint, not proofread its 5 am yall…. ; oneshot

a/n: sorry that i havent posted anything in the past few days (eight days to be exact i think..) i hope this will somehow make it up :,)

you can't keep count anymore.

this is the third - no, maybe fourth time today the unknown number has called you. at some point they have to realize that they’ve gotten the wrong number, right?

it all started about one and a half weeks ago when you changed your phone number and received a new one. ever since that day someone has been continuously trying to call you. unfamiliar digits lit up on your screen as you were out with your friend, you ignored them, after all who were you to accept a call from an unknown number?

but, over the course of the evening the calls didn't stop, eerie and annoying ringtone constantly piercing through your ears until the calls took a halt at midnight. relief washing over you.

to your mishap the calls didn't stop there. sometimes they’d wake you up from a peaceful slumber, groggily pinching and rubbing your eyes before swiping the call away. other times your phone would ring at a work meeting where you had to awkwardly excuse yourself and turn off your phone.

admittedly, you're at fault for not blocking the number. all of your friends suggested that you should, reasoning it with the fact that the caller probably has some dirty schemes and motives and that you should just try and not get in touch with weird people like them.

which brings you to your current predicament, sitting on the couch with your favorite show playing in the background as you text a friend, until a certain but familiar series of digits show up on your phone screen. do they never know when to stop?

your fingers hover over the decline button and then over to the accept button, debating and contemplating if you should decline the call but you don’t. the pads of your fingers press down on the accept button and you wait.

you’re greeted with silence, what the hell? your patience runs thin, streaming like arid sand grains through an hourglass until they meet the bottom and gather there together with the others. it's been like thirty seconds into the call now, at this point they should've probably said something, at least a quiet hello. an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and you begin “seriously? you’ve been calling me for the past week now and suddenly i pick up your calls you don’t say shit?” you complain.

“goodbye odasaku.” a sigh leaves the strangers mouth, a man you notice. “i suppose this is my sign to stop grieving and mourning over you.” his voice slightly quivers and the male chuckles sorrowfully. you can’t distinguish if it’s melancholy or relief that lace the bitter words.

you’re left with confusion, so many unanswered questions lie at the tip of your tongue but you don’t dare to utter a word. “apologies.” he speaks up once again, this time with a steadier voice. “you’re probably confused, my name is osamu dazai.” he politely introduces himself. even though you’re unable to see him and can’t see him nor his expression, your intuition tells you that he’s slightly grinning, that a ghost of a smile graces his lips, although a rather sad one.

“this phone number belonged to an old friend of mine.” dazai respires. a shaky “odasaku?” you whisper and let out a breath you yourself didn’t know you held in. “yeah, sakunosuke oda.” he hummed smilingly. “he’s gone.” dead, dazai wants to add but he refrains.

“his voicemail always played when i dialed his number and called.” he whispered. “it was pleasant to hear his voice, knowing that there are still fragments of odasaku out there. he understood me like no other, i miss him.” dazai meekly confessed in a hushed tone. “but those days are over, i suppose it’s for the better.” the male on the other line sighed.

an umpteen amount of words prickle on your tongue, they itch to be released and said, you wanted to say something - anything. but before you’re able to properly gather your words and form a sentence, dazai cuts you off.

“please excuse my intrusions in the past week. have a good rest.” a shrilling sound echoing through your living room symbolizes the end of the call and you’re left dumbfounded.

strident noises awake you from your sleep. you toss and turn in your sheets as you mindlessly try to find your phone, rolling over to lay on your side as you find it and tightly clutching it, gripping your phone as you’re greeted with a bright screen and a row of digits. dazais number, you realize.

no, you didn't save his number nor did you memorize in which order the digits were aligned but his phone number's unfamiliar digits have become quite familiar now. you check the time: 0.52 a.m. what was dazai doing at such time and why was he calling you out of all people? especially after he hung up on you a month ago.

“hello?” you groggily yawn. “ah.” a female voice on the other line yelps, she sounds relieved. “are you odasaku by any chance? could you pick up mr. dazai please?” the woman asks in a demure manner. “what’s the situation?” you rub your eyes, trying to stay awake. “well, mr. dazai is intoxicated - he’s drunk and is currently slumped over the counter.” she whispers into the phone.

“if that doesn’t bother you of course, i can also call someone else!” she hurriedly says. you're slipping out of your sheets to get out of your bed and move towards your hallway, loosely throwing over a thin jacket and checking its pocket if your car keys are in there. “it’s fine, can you tell me the location?” you tiredly ask. “yes of course. it’s bar lupin.” she replies. you check your phone and step outside your door moving towards your car “got it, i’ll be there in 20 minutes or so.” with that you end the call, get inside your car and put your hands on the steering wheel.

carefully you take a step inside the narrow bar, taking off your hood and immediately spotting dazai whose head was currently laying on the surface of the front bar. he was poking at his glass of whiskey, the ball of ice being almost fully melted. “dazai.” you call out. he turns around, hazel eyes meeting yours.

only then can you admire dazai for the first time. his dark brown is tousled and unkempt but it continues to gleam in the orange light. his arms are wrapped in bandages and there's a long beige, almost khaki, coat draped over his body. you can’t help but think that he’s kind of pretty.

“what are you doing here?” dazai asks in a fatigued tone. you show him your car keys and wag them in the air “here to pick you up.” you reply nonchalantly. “why?” his question is barely above a whisper.

why are you helping him? he doesn’t understand - he wishes to understand. the first impression you’ve received from dazai was when he was calling you non stop and now your second impression is him slumped over bar lupins front bar. dazai can’t tell if you’re just naive or really trying to be helpful out of politeness or rather out of kindness.

a certain kindness he’s only ever received from odasaku. helping someone like him out of kindness with no hidden intentions, offering a helping hand, smiling with utmost fondness.

“as if im leaving a somewhat nice drunkard alone. i’m not inhumane.” even though your answers are full of nonchalance, dazai can make out a certain sincerity that lies in your words.

his eyes can only follow as you tilt your head towards the door. “let's get you back home.” you gently smile.

dazai wakes up to the sound of birds chirping and sizzling oil. he’s warm, a soft blanket covering his body only then dazai realizes that this isn’t his bed, that he’s not lying in his futon. he looks around before his gaze lands on the bedside table which had a glass of water atop it, marked with a little sticky note that said “drink this, you’ll feel much better and come find me in the kitchen :)”

he can’t recall everything that happened yesterday, it all went past him like a blur the only thing he remembered was that you came to pick him up. dazai grabbed the glass and gulped it down in one go, some of its content seeping down his chin and wiping it away with his sleeve before sliding out of the bed with the glass in his hand to return it to you.

finding your kitchen wasn’t hard, it was located right next to the dining room where a variety of dishes were placed on the dining table. dazai enters the kitchen, without you noticing and sees you whisking up two eggs with a pair of chopsticks before speaking up “here.” dazai coughs and places the glass on the counter near the sink to express his gratitude.

“oh, it’s no problem.” you shoot him a small smile. your hand reaches over to the salt and pepper to season the eggs with before carefully putting the egg mixture into the hot greased pan. admittedly dazai feels a bit out of place - useless (when was he ever not) so he offers to wash your dishes which you happily agreed to.

besides the sound of sizzling fat and water running down the faucet, it's quiet in your kitchen. “how’d she know whom to call?” you’re the first to speak up, eyes still concentrated on frying the eggs as you hum a small melody.

“the bartendress?” dazai asks in response.

“yeah.”

“well, odasaku’s number, which is your number now, is one of my emergency contacts, i suppose she just called you first.” dazai shrugs his shoulders, his hands still focused on rubbing away the dirty spots on your plates.

“i see.”

“if the old man, my favourite bartender by the way." dazai winks. "if he would’ve been here he would’ve called mackerel.” dazai lets out a small laugh, probably the most sincere laugh he let out in the past few weeks.

“mackerel?” you ask, soft voice laced with confusion.

“an old friend of mine.” dazai smiles sadly. “odasaku and him are both my emergency contacts.” he chuckles.

dazai doesn’t talk about the topic much further and neither do you, assuming it’s a sensitive topic for him. “i’m done, how about you?” you look over to dazai who’s currently washing his hands off with lavender soap. “mhm, me too.” he hums in agreement at which you can smile at.

dazais eyes trail after you as you leave the kitchen and move to the dining room, setting down all the plates and pouring two glasses of water. “sit down and eat up.” your eyes sway from his eyes over to the chairs. only then does dazai notice that his beige coat is neatly folded on one of your dining chairs. it makes his heart jump lightly.

he sits down and takes a sip out of his glass, waiting until you start to eat first before he gets to. he smiles contently as you happily chew on your food. “does it taste good?” he cringes at himself when he realizes just how awkward that question is, he feels like a teenager again that was always wary of what people thought of him.

“it tastes amazing! wanna try?” you slide the plate over to dazai, offering him to take a piece. “sure.” he agrees before taking a small bite. you weren’t lying when you said that it tasted amazing. “you're right, it tastes so good.” dazai says ecstatically. “told you so! my cooking is not to be underestimated.” you laugh and dazai can’t help but laugh too which makes him cough uncontrollably, putting a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spit out anything on your table cloth but continuing to laugh.

“oh god dazai, are you okay?” you rush over to his aid and put your hand over his back to slide over it, hoping that it’ll somehow soothe his coughing. dazai manages to muffle out a “i’m fine, really.” between his coughs and laughs which you can only sigh at but can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face and plasters itself on your lips.

calls with dazai have become more frequent now, although he sometimes still remains a mystery to you, it feels like he’s grown quite comfortable around you.

he told you more about himself (vice versa), talks about his work at the armed detective agency and sends you recipes the both of you could recreate. not only calls with him became more frequent but also visits.

at least four out of seven times a week dazai rushes to your place after work (you should probably call it your shared home now due to dazai leaving his stuff at your place like scattered objects on the floor).

for example, today: dazai walks into your kitchen like he owns the place. he sets down his belongings onto your couch before stepping towards the kitchen where he already finds you chopping the vegetables for the curry.

he notices that you’re on the verge of tearing up as you continuously chop the onions into small bits and grabs a tissue before sneaking up behind you and scaring you. “boo.” his mouth forms a little “o” and you slightly jump before setting the knife down and putting your hand over your heart. “you scared me!” you complain even though dazai can see the playful glint in your eyes.

“sorry, sorry.” he laughs before wiping away the small droplets of tears that managed to escape your eyes.

his calloused hands brush over your soft skin, it’s intimate - romantic even. you softly sigh against the tissue, the object that separates the two of you. the action makes your face lightly heat up and you’re sure that dazai noticed it too from the way he’s smirking.

“aw, was i able to fluster you?” he coos at you smilingly, which in response you can only huff at, eyeing him with a look that says “you already know the answer.” before turning around to continue where you left off.

in the meantime dazai pulls out another cutting board and starts to chop the carrots. it’s quiet, it’s always quiet when the two of you cook together, but neither you nor dazai mind. the smell of aromatics that nip and continue to linger in the air and the sound of your jazz playlist which sometimes gets outplayed by the sounds of cutting or frying food, are more than enough. it’s just like the first time the two of you shared this space together, a certain nostalgia suddenly washing over him.

“thank you” he whispers, barely loud enough to not get overplayed by the music playing in the background.

“for what?” you ask, longing for an answer.

for the times you’ve picked me up at bar lupin, for the times you’ve cooked me warm meals, for the times when you took care of me.

“for everything.”

this is dedicated to my odasaku person @azullumi (don't die pls i need u and ur fics HHDDISISISIS). you've always told me that you liked odasaku a lot and that some day you also want to open up an orphanage which i find really endearing. what i mean by "you're my odasaku person" is not "wow we're literally so odasaku and dazai coded" but no rather it's because you also play such a major role in my life (not just cause of the age gap between oda and dazai and u and me..). you're always there when i need you, you're always there when i needed you and i hope that you'll always be there when i need you. but the same thing goes vice versa; goes for me. azul you're someone whom i've randomly met and if i never made that one comment or sent that one ask or if you never sent that one dm i would've never written this. you're someone who reassures me and soothes my worries with simple words, when i'm feeling down you're the person i turn to because you're the only person who really understands and somehow relates and thus i'm always able to trust and follow your judgement and advice. i never feel judged or belittled by you or treated as someone whose only an immature kid, no you treat me as a normal person, like a friend. which makes me feel seen - acknowledged even. to be loved is to be seen. i could go hours when it comes about talking to you and what impact you have on my life, but i suppose that's for another end note dsjsdsuusus. you're so dear to me. i love you a lot azul <3

#toorurs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #bsd fluff #bsd imagines #bungo stray dogs imagines #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai fluff #bsd dazai #bsd dazai osamu

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 12 hours

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Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect?

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact.

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness."

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form.

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.”

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him.

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises.

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure.

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving?

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt.

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters.

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within.

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much.

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs.

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.”

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.”

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--”

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?”

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.”

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.”

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes.

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.”

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier.

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.”

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously.

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?”

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall.

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims.

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.”

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood.

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs.

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!”

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents.

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice.

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?”

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.”

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you.

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?”

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked.

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!”

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!”

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger.

“I will fetch the wat--”

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt.

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove.

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?”

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle.

“You will need help,” she declares.

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin.

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it.

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless.

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle.

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil.

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.”

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.”

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.”

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else.

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat.

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub.

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?”

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself.

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.”

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go.

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.”

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment.

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...”

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing.

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.”

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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bogleech · 2 days

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Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.

#free palestine #gaza #idf #genocide #psa

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kryptonitejelly · 2 days

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flyboy!universe - but readable as a stand-alone. jake seresin x reader. the two times when jake sees you in a skintight dress (ft. college flyboy!jake) ngl, but two was entirely inspired by the skims dress.

one

college!flyboy era

Jake’s gaze has been trained on you the moment you stepped out of your room and into his line of sight.

“Too much?” You ask, hands smoothing down the fabric against your hips as you look up at him, waiting for his opinion. Jake sees the hint of insecurity flash through your eyes and it baffles him, because you look great.

“No,” Jake tries not to let his gaze run down the curves of your body, but he fails, miserably, “you look good.” Jake mentally kicks himself as the word ‘good’ tumbles from his mouth - the southward flow of blood through his body clearly limiting on his ability to speak, fucking hot, was more like it.

“Really?” You ask again while moving towards the wide full length mirror which leans in a corner of the living area of your apartment.

“Yes,” Jake pushes himself to a stand. He walks up behind you and you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Really,” you ask, your voice trailing off, more an open ended statement than a question which Jake punctuates by dropping his chin onto your shoulder. The thin straps of your dress allow you to feel his skin, warm against yours.

“Yeah,” he repeats again more firmly as you both lock gazes in the mirror, “and you smell good.”

You find a slight flush start to creep up the back of your neck as Jake turns his face; you can feel the tip of his nose against your skin, and his forehead and the softness of his hair brushing your cheek. You feel Jake’s gentle inhale as you see his eyes flutter close for a brief second.

“Are you sniffing me,” you blurt out, mildly flustered at the action and the clench it makes you feel in your lower belly, “that could be perceived as creepy”

“Me?” He mock gasps as he straightens to his full height, “how could you.”

You mourn the loss of Jake’s skin against yours, but not for long as he takes a small step forward, your back connecting with the front of his body. Jake can feel the curve of your ass against him and it takes all of him not to let out a desperate groan.

“Maybe I should change,” you say, your gaze tearing away from Jake’s reflection in the mirror to run over the dress hugging each inch of your body. You move to take a step forward only to have Jake reach out to stop you by tugging you back by your arm.

“You will do no such thing,” he says just as you stumble into him, meeting a hard wall of muscle. Jake holds you steady with a hand on your waist as your palms press against his chest for stability. It gives him the chance to observe you both in the mirror, you pressed up against him and he can’t help but think how good you both look together.

You open your mouth to protest just as the doorbell rings - you hear the calls of your friends outside, a sign that you’ve both let them wait below the apartment block for a tad too long.

“Promise you look good,” Jake says his fingers giving your waist a reassuring squeeze before he gently tugs you towards the door and out towards your friends and the night.

two

flyboy!era

Jake glances down at his phone, giving a light tap to the screen to check two things - the time, and if there were any messages from you.

“They’ll be here,” Bradley nudges Jake lightly on the shoulder.

“Not soon enough,” is what Jake grumbles to himself as he takes a swig of his beer. An early Saturday morning tee time with the gang for him, and a late night over at Penny’s house the night before for you meant that he hadn’t seen you proper, since the day before yesterday - Jake wasn’t counting your half awake goodbye yesterday morning as seeing you. He was, admittedly slightly on the crankier side today from not having spent time with you. After all, the point of you being here, in San Diego with him was so that he could see you daily before you both went back to normal life and him to facing the possibility of being shot across the world with little warning for potentially months at the drop of a hat.

“Didn’t peg you as needy,” Payback teases gently, but with no bite, from across the table.

Jake opens his mouth to retort when he sees you step into the bar, laughing shoulder to shoulder with Phoenix. It distracts him to say the least, as he places the beer bottle back on the table, his body twisting in the chair, neck craning so he can get the best view of you from his perch. Jake’s focus is your face, but he lets his gaze drift down your body, over the grey form fitting dress that hugs your curves like a second skin. The dress ends just around your ankles, but the thin material that accentuates your curves, Jake notes is making more than his head turn as you walk in.

Jake catches your eye and the way that your face lights up upon seeing him makes his heart swell. He doesn’t take his gaze off you and watches as you scrunch the side of your in one of your hands and pick your way across the crowd towards him. Jake can’t help but think back to that one time in college when he bad to practically drag you out of the house in a similar, albeit much shorter dress. He marvels at the differences the years have made to your confidence. You’ve always been beautiful to him, a sight for sore eyes, but that confidence now, well Jake thought it made you pretty fucking hot.

“Hi,” he has his feet on the ground and arms open the second before you reach him, so you oblige, stepping into his embrace.

“Hey,” you respond, arms going around Jake but the palm of your hand raised up in a wave at the gang behind you. You can’t see them past Jake’s shoulder, but you hear a chorus of greetings to you, and almost audible eye rolls at Jake.

“You look good,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, while letting one hand drop down to your rest on the curve of your ass, his gaze scanning across the bar. He sees the gaze of some patrons dart away, and meets some disappointed ones. Jake was fine for people to look, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stake his claim.

“You like?” You say as you pull away. It allows Jake the opportunity to take you in again, from the dip of the neckline which showed just enough cleavage, to the contours of the material which hugged your waist in while rounding your hips out.

“I can’t decide if you look better in the dress or without it,” he says, not soft enough and it earns him a series of loud groans from behind you coupled with crumpled up paper napkin or two chucked at his head. His words make you flush, while you let out a soft embarrassed groan of your own to which Jake squeezes your waist before ducking his head down, lips beside your ears, opting instead to say the comparably more chaste line to you only, “I love it.”

Your smile is all the reward Jake needs, but as you lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips in thanks, a hand on his bicep for support, Jake can’t help but think he is the luckiest man in the world.

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anodymalion · 2 days

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ok I am in fact using this as an excuse to make a long post about this thank you thank you asjksdjfaljdf

---

Interpreting Yuri as asexual is my very very favorite type of headcanon, which is one that 1. is compellingly coded in the source material (even if that wasn't the creator's intent), 2. is thematically relevant to what the piece of media is Trying To Do as a whole, and 3. just means a lot to me, personally, because I said so.

Coded in the source material

Yuri’s short program is “eros”, aka desire (you can interpret what “eros” means in various ways, but YOI itself explicitly refers to sexual love, at least in the English translations). Yuri struggles with this. Hard. He can’t come up with an answer when asked what eros means to him. His big revelatory moment about desire is that it’s how he feels about wanting to eat his favorite food (omg… boy). Even as the season goes on and the way he views the Eros program changes, the program doesn’t ever really embody the idea of eros as sexuality or romance (which was how the other characters expect him to interpret it) but rather as a desire to keep Victor in his life.

Like look. I’m obviously not going to say that the creator intended any kind of ace subtext to be there. I kind of doubt it was her intent. But goddamn is the subtext there.

2. Thematic relevance

The central theme throughout YOI is “love”, and especially loving people in a way that inspires you both to be your best selves: Yuri learning that the people in his life truly love and support him; Victor finding someone who makes him feel joy about skating again.

Like, Yuri’s whole skating theme for the Grand Prix is literally about him exploring what love looks like to him, even when it takes a form that other people don’t totally understand. Viewing all this through a lens of him being ace is really compelling. It adds depth to the idea of learning how to express the way you feel love even when it looks different than what other people expect. I think it’s a really delicious layer that adds even more nuance to what the show is getting at.

Besides, it’s an interesting way of viewing the criticism of the show that occurred for it not being 100% explicit about them being a couple (aka people getting mad because the kiss in ep 7 is blocked by Victor’s arm lmaooo). Like, ok, did you see the ending scene of ep 9? Did you see ep 10??? They definitely, definitely love each other, in whatever way that means for them. Their relationship takes a form that’s pretty different than the other way people in the show are going about romantic relationships, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real for them. That is very much in line with the main themes of the show.

3. Means a lot to me

In the final scene of the penultimate episode, Yuri tells Victor that they should end their coaching relationship after the Grand Prix ends. This is because he thinks he’s holding Victor back, that Victor would be happier being free to go back to skating on his own instead of being Yuri’s coach. When I watched this (and, I’ll be honest, this is completely me projecting here) I REALLY interpreted this as an ace thing. I think it’s pretty easy to internalize the idea when you’re asexual that you just won’t be… enough, for other people. In my case I ended up a strong impulse to self-sabotage relationships because I would rather be the one to end things than to let someone else tell me that who I am as a person is fundamentally lacking. Yuri destroying a connection he desperately wants because he thinks there’s something about him that is holding Victor back from a life he’d be truly happy with? Oh yeah. I can fucking relate to that.

Also: YOI came out in 2016, which was the absolute peak of hostility to ace people I was seeing on this site. It was bad here. At the same time Tumblr was going wild over this show. Everyone was watching it. Seeing a whole site of people absolutely adore a character I very deeply in my heart believed to be ace? Extremely vindicating.

---

In conclusion Yuri is asexual because it is fun and interesting that way, and also because of this:

#like it adds so much to the show if you view it through this lens! it's really good!#same reason for why I hc zuko as gay like ->#yeah ok you don't *have* to see it this way... but don't you want to live deliciously (in your media analysis)???#yoi #yuri on ice #thank u for giving me the excuse to finally post about this lol this has been building in my head for literally the last 8 years

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cinnibelle · 3 days

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I’m going to vent. Sit tight for an artist’s reflection on the acotar fandom!

I was going to use tumblr to strictly post art (at least on my end) and engage with the wonderful ppl here as well. Except what I’ve been seeing as of late is a lot of abuse (across platforms) and it’s very jarring. As an artist, I understand to make the most of your experience in a toxic fandom is to say nothing and do nothing that bothers those a bit **too** passionate about their opinions. I get it, I’m used to being content fodder from other fandoms. So I am not new to this.

But this fandom is *so* toxic that I immediately understood why artists choose to stay neutral or entirely avoid making art for this fandom at all. I have several art friends interested in the books but won’t touch the fandom with a ten foot pole from what they’ve seen. What I’ve personally witnessed the past few months is genuinely disgusting. The only reason I’m here after being FLAMED on twitter is because 1) I began posting BECAUSE people were so kind and encouraging and I don’t want to leave them and the possibility of befriending others 2) I was fully prepared to be dragged for the smallest offense.

I didn’t want to believe people would be downright atrocious to me for Elain, being starborn, holding the sword that reflects her (as I’ve stated when I paralleled quotes) but that’s what they were: awful. And what I got in turn was: why are you victimizing yourself this is what other artists deal with! Ok?? And!? Why is it appropriate AT ALL. Why is it fine for you to do that? I don’t care what anyone ships, why do you feel entitled to comment nastiness under someone’s art. To directly be in their mentions mocking the concept and the way it looks or how you hate the character. It brings me and others joy.. why are you being ruthless? For a fictional character??

It’s too much. And you know, this is my first fandom experience where the shipping is so extreme. I would’ve loved multi shipping as I’ve done it in other fandoms, I really don’t care for what sort of crack ships people make up (though I have my limitations, I think everyone does. “Notp”.) But you know what I DON’T DO as an adult? Ridicule artists for their work. They are providing content FOR FREE. And if they aren’t, they are gifting you with their expertise and talent. You are scaring people away.

I was afraid of joining and just stayed on the sidelines for months just enjoying arts in peace. I only gave in because I showed some friends some of my sketches and they ADORED it. And pleaded that I post. So I did, and I found many others really wanted me to continue posting. So I do. Were it not for the toxicity, I would’ve drawn all types of ships because I’m genuinely someone that does not care about the ship and if it’s canon or endgame or not, if I like the characters and the vibe- cool. Draw it. That’s the beauty of fanart.

But people are acting diabolically UNHINGED over it. And treating artists like they’re players and they’re revoking sponsorships. Fandom should not be a competition. That is exhaustive and tiring. I shouldn’t have to be fearful of the engagements on my posts. I don’t even have 500 followers yet on ANY of my platforms. And still, I am treated like filth. I need people to reflect on their behavior, recognize if they don’t like something ignore it or block it or what have you and be at peace. Stop giving into negativity and using artists as some pawn- they have feelings TOO! And you really turn them off to a character or a ship or a fandom in general with the way you act.

I have my comments off where I can keep them off because I simply don’t want 1) people arguing in my comments and 2) comments that are generally unhelpful or just shaming me for what I post. But twitter I really can’t help what happens. And tumblr too there’s some limits I can take and a filtering system I can take advantage of but even here people lack etiquette. I don’t understand where people get off acting like mean girls over things people made.

This is the most extreme, unhealthy fandom I have ever been in and I’m really not all shocked when I hear an artist quit and doesn’t want to partake. This is not a competition of who has it worse. Stop bullying artists because they don’t make content that pleases you. Just drop it. I can’t believe I am being called TOXIC for defending myself and my art. And I know who these people are, I know exactly the type of content they themselves post and it’s COMEDY to be telling ME I’m toxic for standing up for myself.

Most artists leave or go silent. That’s what you want, right? Or to antagonize them to the point they really lose patience with you. This is me losing patience: a call to being better. Be the change you seek. It’s funny I have people going at me and in their bio it says “ spread kindness not hate” Pardon??

Seriously, I would’ve liked to explore any theory and a variety of arts despite my preferences but the way people act with what I DO put out, I’m just sour. I don’t even want to expand beyond the two characters I really like because I have a headache already with the “you don’t really care about-“ takes that I’ve seen other artists get when they expand what they draw in this fandom.

It shouldn’t offend you that an artist has a preference and wants to share the things that they found intriguing or makes them happy. And if it does, cry about it in private at minimum. Stop dumping your grief onto the artists. That’s all. Maybe then you will see a resurgence of artists that do content for free (and frequently) or a return of artists who left.

#sorry I’m just shaken and tired #acotar #small artist #bookish

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