Paymaya - Meiya

Help a Family in Need💔

I am reaching out on behalf of my dear friend, Mohamad S., who is facing one of the most challenging times of his life. Mohamad is 37 years old and left his homeland in 2015 in search of a safer and better future. He’s a kind, hardworking man, and his small family has always been his greatest priority.

Living abroad, Mohamad has recently endured unimaginable loss and financial strain. Amidst the ongoing conflict in his homeland, his mother passed away, leaving behind his sister and her five young children—the last remaining members of his immediate family.

As the situation worsened, Mohamad managed to help his sister and her children escape to safety in Egypt, covering their immediate needs and securing a temporary refuge for them. Since then, he has been fully responsible for providing everything they need to survive during this transition.

In his efforts to support his family and cope with this devastating loss, Mohamad has found himself deeply in debt. To make matters even more difficult, he recently underwent knee surgery, which limits his ability to return to work for the foreseeable future. This has made it even harder for him to manage his financial responsibilities and the pressing need to provide his family with a stable future.

Mohamad is now working to bring his sister and her five children to join him in Belgium, where he hopes they can find stability and opportunity after all they’ve endured. This transition, however, requires significant resources that he is currently unable to meet alone.

For privacy reasons, we are not sharing Mohamad’s full name, as he has chosen to keep his identity discreet. While he initially refused the idea of asking for help, I couldn’t stand by and watch him struggle alone. I insisted on doing this for him because he deserves a chance to overcome these challenges.

Your contribution will help Mohamad repay the debt incurred during this difficult time, cover ongoing living expenses for his family, and assist with the costs involved in bringing them safely to Belgium.

Mohamad has been a good friend of mine for years, and I’ve always admired his resilience and generosity. Any support, no matter the size, will make an incredible difference in helping Mohamad and his family rebuild their lives after these painful experiences.

Thank you for reading his story and considering helping a man who has always done everything he can for his loved ones.

Adam

Please donate & share: Donation Link

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Mohamad reunite his family and clear his debt, organized by Adam Bin Ali

I am reaching out on behalf of my dear friend, Mohamad S., who is faci… Adam Bin Ali needs your support for Help Mohamad reunite his family

i love herrrrr

Tarot Club - Lord of the Mysteries

“The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era; The Mysterious Ruler above the gray fog; The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.”

i love being a woman

The Flame-Chase Journey won’t end with my departure. Golden blood will not be shed in vain.

sanctum | chapter one

Pairing: Yandere Preacher x Reader Description: You came because Mia said it would help—just a quiet retreat, a place to clear your head. But from the moment you stepped through the gate, you felt it: the way Father Caelestis looked at you, not like a stranger, but like someone he'd been waiting for… someone he'd already claimed long before you ever arrived. Warning/s: Yandere | Religious themes | Cult-ish | Brainwashing | Manipulation Note/s: Enjoy the first part of the series. Let me know what you think about it. Also, commissions are open. Links are below. :) Also, tags will be added tomorrow. I'm too sleepy to add them tonight.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% Off

Chapter One | The Pilgrim’s Arrival “You did not wander here. You were called.”

The journey to Eden’s Refuge starts before the road, before the iron gates and the immaculate gardens. It starts in the cramped, dimly-lit living room of your sister’s apartment. The curtains are drawn, letting only thin slivers of daylight cut through the suffocating air between you.

“You can’t keep living like this,” she says, her voice sharp but threaded with concern. “You’re drowning, and you don’t even see it.”

You cross your arms, the defensive posture a reflex against her words. “I’m fine, Mia,” you snap. “I’m dealing with it.”

Her laugh is short, bitter. “Dealing with it? You call this dealing? Skipping work half the time, avoiding my calls, shutting everyone out?” She leans forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze burning into yours. “You need help.”

You stand, the motion sudden and jerky, as though you can outrun the weight of the conversation. “I don’t need anything,” you say, pacing to the small window. Outside, the city hums with life—cars honking, people shouting, the world moving on without you.

“You’re not listening,” Mia says, her voice softening now, the sharp edge dulled by something warmer. She stands too, coming to your side. Her hand rests lightly on your shoulder, and you almost flinch. “This isn’t your fault, okay? The world… it’s not kind. It’s broken. And it breaks people like us.”

You glance at her, suspicious. “What are you trying to say?”

She takes a deep breath, her hand dropping to her side. “There’s a place,” she begins, carefully. “A retreat. Eden’s Refuge. It’s for people like you. People who need to get away, to heal.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need a retreat.”

“You don’t even know what you need,” Mia counters. “And they can help you figure it out. I’ve been there, and it…” She falters for a moment, her eyes flickering with something you can’t place. “It saved me.”

You stare at her, the words hanging between you like a fragile thread. “You?” you ask, incredulous. “Since when do you need saving?”

She looks away, her jaw tightening. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d react like this. But yes, me. I was lost too, and Father Caelestis—he showed me the way back. He can do the same for you.”

“This is insane,” you say, shaking your head. “You’re talking about some… some cult leader.”

Her expression hardens, the warmth draining from her eyes. “It’s not a cult,” she says, her voice clipped. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And you do?” you snap, voice sharp with disbelief. “God, Mia, listen to yourself.”

You take a step back, then jab a finger at her. Accusing, trembling with frustration. “This… this…” you drag your eyes over her with a shake of your head, like you can’t believe what you’re seeing. “…isn’t you.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” she snaps, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of something truly unsettling in her gaze.

The conversation ends there, but the seed is planted. Over the next few weeks, Mia doesn’t let up. She calls you daily, her tone oscillating between gentle encouragement and thinly-veiled exasperation. And each time she mentions Eden’s Refuge, the knot in your stomach tightens.

“You need this,” she says over the phone one evening. “I’ve already talked to them. They’re expecting you.”

“I didn’t agree to this,” you protest, but your words feel weak, hollow.

“You don’t have to agree,” Mia replies, her voice calm, almost patronizing. “You’ll thank me later.”

And so, here’s you are, sitting in the passenger seat of her car as it winds its way through the dense forest. The air outside grows heavier with each passing mile, the trees crowding the road like silent sentinels. Mia hums softly to herself, her fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with a tune you can’t place.

“You’ll love it,” she says suddenly, breaking the silence. “The peace, the quiet… it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you stare out the window, your reflection fractured by the passing trees.

When the gates of Eden’s Refuge appear, your breath catches in your throat. They rise high, ornate and foreboding, their iron surface gleaming in the waning light.

“We’re here,” Mia announces, her tone light, as though you’ve just arrived at a vacation resort.

The gates creak open, and you feel the weight of your decision—or rather, her decision—settle on your chest.

As soon as you step out of the car, you’re greeted by a woman in white, her smile wide and unwavering. “Welcome, beloved,” she says, her voice soothing and strange all at once.

You glance at Mia, but she’s already moving ahead, her expression serene, as though she belongs here.

The others emerge from the shadows, their movements synchronized, their faces glowing with an unsettling mix of joy and reverence. “You’ve finally come,” one of them whispers, and the words send a chill down your spine.

And then, he appears.

Father Caelestis.

He moves through the crowd with an almost otherworldly grace, his white robe billowing around him. His features are flawless, his eyes piercing, and his smile warm—too warm.

“You were lost,” he says, his voice as soft and heavy as a prayer. “But now you are found.”

You feel his gaze lock onto yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. His presence is magnetic, suffocating.

You want to run, to turn back to Mia and demand she take you home, but she’s standing beside him now, her expression one of pure devotion.

“The world out there is cruel,” he continues, his voice wrapping around you like shroud. “But here, you are safe. Here, you will heal.”

His hand extends toward you, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm, his touch cold, and it sends a shiver through you.

The others nod, their faces glowing with fervor.

“Come,” he says, and before you can protest, Mia is at your side, her hand lightly resting on your arm.

“Trust me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “This is where you belong.”

You let them lead you deeper into the compound, your dread growing with every step. The air smells of flowers and something else, something metallic and faintly acrid.

Your room is pristine, its white walls bare save for a single verse written in looping script: “Be still, and know that you are loved.” The bed is draped in white linens that smell of floral water, the air thick with its cloying sweetness.

That night, you lie awake, the silence pressing against you like a physical force. You can hear the faint hum of chanting in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment.

When you wake, the first thing you notice is the symbol beneath your bed. It’s drawn in ash, its jagged lines forming a shape that makes your stomach churn.

You want to scrub it away, to pretend it isn’t there, but fear holds you back.

At breakfast, Mia sits beside you, her expression calm, her movements deliberate.

“They’ve been waiting for you,” she says, her voice soft but filled with something unsettling. “We’ve all been waiting for you.”

You glanced around the room, your unease growing as you notice the way the others look at you—with reverence… with expectation.

Father Caelestis enters, his presence commanding the room without a word.

“The outside world has left its mark on her,” he says, his eyes scanning the congregation before settling on you. “But she is strong. She is chosen. And together, we will help her shed the weight of those lies.”

Mia nods, her expression one of quiet devotion.

You want to protest, to tell them they’re wrong, but the words catch in your throat.

When he places a hand on your shoulder, his touch light but unyielding, you feel the weight of his control settle over you.

“You’re safe now,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “No more noise. No more confusion. Just peace.”

But his eyes betray him. They’re not soft. They’re not kind. They’re possessive, unyielding, and they tell you one thing:

You are not leaving.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

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Mine to Protect, Mine to Own

art from pinterest

yandere mafia classmate x reader

Nicolò Dellabarca had always been a mystery.

You weren’t close. You had only worked together on a class project once. He was efficient, quiet, and surprisingly attentive, but the partnership ended without much conversation.

Still, something always felt off about him.

He was cold with others but different around you. He never spoke unless necessary, yet his presence loomed over you like a shadow. Whenever you turned your head, you found his sharp blue eyes watching you, unreadable but focused.

At first, you ignored it.

Then, small things started happening.

One night, when you were leaving campus late, a stranger had followed you for a few blocks—until a black car pulled up, and the man suddenly disappeared. The next day, a few guys from your class who had been bothering you stopped showing up. And once, when you almost tripped on the stairs, Nicolò had been there, catching your arm before you even realized he was close.

"Careful."

His voice had been deep, steady. He had let go quickly, looking almost flustered.

You should have put the pieces together then.

But you didn’t—until the night you were taken.

It happened fast. A car pulled up. A group of men stepped out. Before you could scream, a hand covered your mouth.

You fought, kicking and struggling, but everything faded into darkness.

Your first thought upon waking was: This is too comfortable to be a basement.

A thick blanket covered you. A fireplace crackled nearby. The room smelled of expensive wood and something faintly floral.

For a second, you thought you were dreaming—until the door opened.

"Mom, what do you mean you have a surprise for me? It better not be another—"

The voice stopped.

You turned your head—and froze.

Nicolò.

His blue eyes went wide. His usual cold expression shattered, replaced by something you had never seen before: panic.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Mom..." His voice was sharp, but there was something almost desperate beneath it. "What did you do?"

From behind the door, a light, cheery voice replied.

"Oh, relax, sweetheart. I just helped you a little."

Nicolò let out a shaky breath. "This is not helping."

He turned back to you.

You met his gaze, your body rigid.

"...What the hell is going on?"

The door opened again, and a woman stepped inside.

She was beautiful—dark-haired, elegant, and radiating control. She held a glass of water and smiled at you as if you weren’t just kidnapped.

"You must be thirsty," she said, offering the glass.

You didn’t take it.

"Who are you?"

Her lips curled. "You can call me Isabella. I’m Nicolò’s mother."

Your stomach twisted.

"And why did your men kidnap me?"

She sighed as if this were a mild inconvenience. "Because my son is terrible at taking what he wants."

You turned to Nicolò, waiting for him to deny it.

He didn’t.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing shallow.

You took a slow step back. "You let this happen?"

"I—I didn’t know—" He cut himself off, rubbing his face. "Mamma, why would you do this?"

Isabella chuckled. "Oh, Nicolò, don’t be so dramatic. You were never going to make the first move, so I gave you a little push."

You scoffed. "Push?! You kidnapped me!"

Isabella tilted her head. "And yet, you’re perfectly safe, aren’t you?"

Your blood ran cold.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Do you know how many people have been watching you? Waiting for you to be alone? Do you really think walking home alone at night was ever safe?"

You swallowed hard.

She smiled. "You needed to be taken, darling. If not by us, then by someone worse."

You clenched your fists. "That’s bullshit."

Nicolò finally spoke, his voice low. "It’s not."

Your chest tightened.

You turned to him, searching his face. "Then let me go."

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the truth.

There was no leaving.

-

The Dellabarca estate was suffocatingly grand. Every hallway was lined with paintings, every door guarded.

And now, you were seated at an impossibly long dining table, facing the people who had stolen you.

Nicolò sat stiffly at the head of the table, shoulders tense. Across from him sat a man you had yet to meet.

Giovanni Dellabarca.

His father.

The room felt colder with him in it. His presence was overwhelming—calm, composed, and dangerous.

"So," Giovanni finally said, swirling his wine. "You have fire. I like that."

You set your fork down sharply. "I don’t care what you like."

Nicolò inhaled sharply beside you.

Giovanni smirked. "Feisty. Just like your mother, eh, Isabella?"

His wife chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. I see so much of myself in them."

Your stomach churned. "I am nothing like you."

Isabella smiled knowingly. "Oh, but you are." She leaned in slightly. "You think I wanted this life? That I chose it?"

You stilled.

"I hated Giovanni at first," she continued. "I fought, I screamed, I ran—but in the end, I understood."

She turned to her husband, her gaze softening. "Love in this world isn’t sweet. It’s fierce. It’s possession. And once you understand that..."

She looked back at you, her expression almost pitying.

"...it’s easier."

Your hands shook.

Giovanni exhaled, setting down his glass. "You’ll come around. She did."

Your skin burned with anger. "I am not her."

For a moment, Giovanni studied you.

Then—unexpectedly—he laughed.

Nicolò stiffened.

"You know," Giovanni mused, "when Isabella first entered my life, she hated me just as much as you hate my son now."

You clenched your fists. "Good."

His smirk didn’t falter.

"Yet, here we are."

Your blood ran cold.

Nicolò suddenly stood. "Enough."

Giovanni’s brow lifted. "Touched a nerve?"

Nicolò’s hands curled into fists. "They don’t need to hear this." His voice was sharp, controlled—but his eyes flickered with something desperate.

He turned to you, his voice lower. "Come on. I’ll take you back to your room."

You hesitated.

Then, without another word, you followed him out.

As soon as the door shut behind you, Nicolò let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his dark hair. His shoulders, always so rigid around his family, slumped slightly.

"Dio mio, that was a disaster."

You folded your arms. "That’s an understatement."

He turned to face you. For the first time since you woke up in this house, he looked directly at you—really looked at you. His piercing blue eyes, usually so cold, held something else now. Something desperate.

"...Are you okay?"

The words were so quiet, so gentle, they made your stomach twist.

You wanted to lash out. To scream at him. To tell him no, I am not okay, you psychotic bastard—your family kidnapped me!

But something about the way he was looking at you—like he was hurting just from seeing you upset—made your breath catch.

You clenched your fists. "...No. I’m not."

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides like he wanted to punch a wall—or worse, like he wanted to hold you but didn’t know if he was allowed.

"You—" His voice caught. He exhaled through his nose, composing himself before trying again. "You don’t understand."

Your eyes narrowed. "Understand what, Nicolò? That you let your mother steal me? That I’m being held hostage in your house?"

His expression twisted.

Then, before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

He was in front of you in an instant, his large frame towering over yours. One of his hands slammed against the door beside your head, caging you in. The other reached for your wrist, wrapping around it—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you couldn’t pull away.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

His eyes, those sharp, ice-blue eyes, burned into yours.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice was low, rough, almost shaking. "You think I wanted them to touch you? To take you before I could—before I—"

He cut himself off, his breath ragged.

You swallowed hard. "Before you what, Nicolò?"

His fingers twitched against your wrist.

His lips parted like he was going to answer—but he hesitated. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight.

Then, quietly—so softly it sent a shiver down your spine—he whispered:

"Before I could make you mine."

Your stomach dropped.

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. He could feel how fast your heart was racing. His expression darkened, something dangerously close to satisfaction flickering across his face.

"You don’t get it, cara mia." His voice was almost gentle now, a sick contrast to the possessiveness dripping from his words. "You were never safe outside. They were watching you. Waiting for an opportunity."

His free hand rose, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

"I was the only thing keeping you safe."

Your breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away.

"You hate me now," he murmured. "That’s fine. You can hate me all you want." His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate. "But you belong to me, whether you like it or not."

Your entire body tensed. "I belong to no one."

His expression flickered—hurt, frustration, something deeper—but it was gone in an instant. Instead, his lips curved into something that made your blood run cold.

A smirk.

"Say that again in a few months," he murmured, voice almost teasing. Almost sweet.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

"We’ll see if you still believe that then."

And just like that, he let go.

You stumbled back, heart hammering, but he just straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders like nothing had happened.

His cold mask was back in place.

He turned away from you, walking toward the door.

"I’ll have someone bring you food," he said casually, as if he hadn’t just claimed you as his own. "Get some rest."

You gritted your teeth. "I’m not staying here."

Nicolò stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he turned his head to the side—just enough for you to see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"You don’t have a choice, amore."

And with that, he walked out, locking the door behind him.

This is inspirated by c.ai bot and it was made by @Strawberry_88

劇場版カードキャプターさくら 封印されたカード Cardcaptor Sakura Movie 2: The Sealed Card (2000)

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