#( aric. )

[penaltyboxboxbox]

strollonso parents au.............spoiled racing driver only daughter............

[reislesbian]

[evermoredeluxe]

aricjones: big as the what?!

[aricarianis]

CW: explicit depictions of violence and sexual themes.

John Price was the love of your life. Love is a powerful force—capable of building or destroying—and what you shared kept you bound to him for years. But only having his rough hands on your skin for a few months at a time, hearing his gruff voice say sweet nothings over the phone, missing the feel of his beard grazing your neck as his words seeped into you like venom, all wore down the foundations of what a real relationship was supposed to be.

He knew it. He felt the same sick ache in his chest every time he promised to come home soon, both of you aware it was a lie. He’d promised to slow down, to leave the job, to stay by your side, but the marriage you ended up with wasn’t the one you’d signed up for. You didn’t want a husband who vanished for months on end. When he returned, he’d devour you, craving your body like a hard drug. His hands too eager to find your sweet spots, cock too hungry to make you forget that he had lied. He'd push you into constant moments of bliss, tricking, but even his passion couldn’t erase the truth: he’d lie again.

In time, your marriage went where so many do. When he was handed the divorce papers at the base, he still tried to attack the process server. You wanted out, and nothing he did would change it—not refusing to sign, not tearing the papers up, not skipping court. You weren’t his anymore.

Life carried on, with months passing and, as usual, not a word from John. You thought losing the love of your life would be agony enough, but his indifference only added to the torment. Part of you wished you’d never met him; never knowing love would’ve been worth never knowing this pain.

The night before the hearing, you invited your lawyer to your flat to go over last-minute instructions. As the meeting wound down, a low, metallic sound came from the bedroom.

“Did you hear that?” you asked. He shook his head.

The two of you sat in tense silence for a moment, dread prickling at you. Your lawyer offered to check the bedroom, but you dismissed it, assuring him it was probably nothing. The meeting continued until, just before leaving, he asked to use the restroom. You directed him to the en suite, since the guest bathroom had stopped working that morning.

Lost in thought, you noticed several minutes had passed without him returning. Concerned, you called his name. No answer. Yelled. Still no answer. Your chest tightened, dread spreading through you like poison. Gripping the hunting knife John had given you for protection, you made your way to the bedroom.

“You can put that thing down, love. ‘S just me.” The gruff voice sent a shiver down your spine—unmistakable.

You peeked into the dark room, spotting the familiar silhouette against the dim light from the window. “John? H-how did you find me?”

“Why’d I have to find you in the first place?” His tone was cold, anger simmering beneath restraint.

“I needed space,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Single people live alone.”

“You know damn well you aren't single.”

“I’ve been single ever since I married you.”

Your words cut deep. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, hurt etched on his face.

“Where’s my lawyer?” you asked, searching the shadows.

“He’s not our problem anymore.”

“John…” Your breath hitched. “What did you do?”

“Someone’s trying to take you from me, innit? Was it him?”

“Where is he?”

“Think a piece of paper’ll keep me from you?” His voice dripped with rage.

“Why do you care? You love your job more than you love me—”

“Don’t say that.”

“I understand, John, but this wasn’t the marriage I was promised. I’d rather have none of you than pieces,” you said, your voice thick. “At least then I wouldn’t have to lie to myself that I’ll ever have you whole.”

He breathed heavily, brow furrowing as if struggling to comprehend your words.

"Why can't you just admit you've fucked up and leave me alone, huh? You had months to pull this little stunt—it's too late to care now."

John’s expression went blank, unreadable. He lunged, disarming you with practiced ease, gripping you by the hair and throwing you onto the bed. Your back hit something solid, unfamiliar beneath the covers.

He flicked on the light, and before your eyes adjusted, he was above you, pressing the knife to your throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his beard scratching your skin, hunger corroding him from within.

Instinctively, you turned to the side, seeking something to help you escape. Instead, you saw your lawyer’s lifeless, bloodshot eyes staring back, ones that had met yours with empathy so many times, reassuring you that everything would be okay. His neck twisted at a grotesque angle, lips slack in a silent scream.

“I’ll hunt you down forever, love,” John whispered, his voice carrying all the rage and obsession you overlooked for years.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, your breathing erratic, heart thundering. He pulled back, holding your gaze with a look that seared into your soul, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile.

“Doesn’t matter what you think,” he murmured, voice dangerously soft. “I will always be the love of your life.”

[moonvixenart]

So, Havoc Squad. Best of the best.

[reliciron]

SWTOR + text posts - part 3

part 1, part 2, part 4

[odinsblog]

That last one is funny and a little bit disturbing if you realize that there are voters and store clerks and police and doctor’s assistants and nurses, and people serving jury duty and teachers & their assistants, and many many others who actually believe that Trump is their infallible holy savior

👉🏿 https://www.bustle.com/p/who-is-aric-frydberg-the-florida-man-called-911-asked-for-trump-5495591

👉🏿 https://abcnews.go.com/amp/US/perfect-irony-giuliani-faces-rico-charge-similar-popularized/story

Anyway, FUCK DONALD TRUMP AND THE GIULIANI HE RODE IN ON 😊

[roamingswtor]

Jorgan’s VA, Timothy Omundson, is reprising his role in SWTOR!

Assuming this is for his Date Night mission, which was one of the first five datamined (alongside the ones already released), buuuut I’m also holding out hope he’ll have a little bit more story content.

[iamverynormalaboutsge]

I want to cry when I think of the old gen in SGE.

You're telling me it's canon that Lady Lesso was Callis' Dean (With Callis being the not-so-ugly uglification teacher).

It's cannon that Lady Lesso absolutely despised Evelyn and Rafal because hello, Evelyn ratted her out and Rafal forced her to make a choice, BUT THEN Evelyn and Rafal's son (Japeth) is obsessed with Lady Lesso's son (Aric).

It's cannon that 2 generations, no, THREE generations of evil were obsessed with Sophie? Rafal(love interest), Rhian(Love interest)/Japeth(Interest) and Evelyn(Interest). Although truth be told Evelyn was probably a bit irritated after she read the Story of Agatha and Sophie and saw Sophie kissing Rafal. Maybe she pushed it to the side with 'Oh it's fine, he's just using her'. Ok Miss Clown and you think he ain't using you? She probably realized he is when he turned her to dust.

Do you guys ever think that Sophie thinks that she practically dated a father and his son(s)? As we know her probably not.

Here's my question, I can't exactly recall if in book 5 when we are shown how Rhian and Japeth's existence came about if Rafal was young and beautiful or not(aka if he was old).

But if he WASN'T old and ugly then what happened in the meantime? How did he turn wrinkled and ugly as hell?

Was he also ugly or not when he tried to propose with Calissa? Cuz I can't remember for the life of me.

Are we also just gonna ignore that Evelyn was practically on the streets and that the Green Knight, the OG Japeth took care of her? Talk about being a deadbeat dad Rafal (cough RHIAN cough).

How does he keep seducing all these women?! I mean with Calissa it was a fail, Sophie was easily manipulated, and hell only knows what Evelyn's thinking process was given how easily she dismissed her each time she tried to be 'useful' to him.

Do you guys think Rafal knew that Japeth liked Aric? And if so is that why he made Aric the Dean of New evil(besides his own...evilness and the fact that he is Lady Lesso's son and inherited her magic).

We don't forget that 'Rafal' literally laughed when he was told he'd have to marry a woman for evil, right? Right? And then he became the Number 1 playboy. But the apple doesn't fall far from the tree because his true name sake(Rhian) took Sophie for the same reason (power) as his father while liking Kei and Japeth, the son that took after him, took Sophie with the intent of reviving Aric.

(I still refuse to believe Japeth was conscious of how Aric would act towards him when he came back. Japeth x Aric feels like it has a weird symmetry to Evelyn x Rafal due to the possible toxicity between the two given Aric was low-key homophobic. Well... More than low-key but that's beside the point)

[parseolegacy]

I'm a serious artist who draws serious things

[discjude]

this is, by far, the worst thing I've ever made. AWWP Tedros you will always be famous

[hoth-and-cold]

The annual tradition of harassing Jorgan has returned

[cinlat]

I've been busy, but have a little bit of Sith Fynta and Jedi Jorgan for today's oc-tober.

[evermoredeluxe]

oh im so 🥺 by these taylor and aric photos (x)

[aricarianis]

CW: explicit depictions of violence.

Johnny’s eyes always lit up when he saw you. You first caught his cerulean gaze a few weeks ago, as he watched you stir the newest waxes in your candle shop. The flames flickered, bending toward the breeze, as if curious about the stranger stepping through the door. Near the glow, Johnny’s expression was like a child in a candy shop—an unspoken hunger beneath his smile.

It didn't take long for the two of you to grow close. He'd come by the shop every day, lingering over each item, inspecting them with an almost obsessive care. He’d make conversation, stretching it far longer than any other client would—an excuse to remain near you. Sometimes, he’d bring treats: tea, cake, little offerings. You’d sit together, listening to the strange stories he told about his work as a Kinetic Solutions Expert, whatever that was supposed to mean.

"He's a grumpy one, but he grows on ye." Johnny’s tone was light, his voice warm with the aftertaste of laughter.

"Grumpy? His name’s Ghost. He sounds terrifying." You teased, carrying your curious tone through the store as you prepped everything for the next day.

"Everyone’s got a dark side, bonnie… most folk just don’t have the right spark to set it off."

“Well, damn, Mary Shelley,” you chuckled, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. “Coming up with good lines now, huh?”

You blew out the candle between you, retreating to the back of the store—far enough to miss Johnny’s quiet mutter to the swirling smoke, eyes locked at the consumed wick.

"Even better at watchin' 'em burn out."

Locking up for the night, you caught Johnny’s gaze on you as you carefully washed your hands in the back sink, scrubbing until there was no trace of wax or fragrance left. He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter.

“Bit thorough, aren’t ye?” he teased, nodding to your reddened hands. “Not like you’re preppin’ for surgery.”

You managed a small laugh. “Oh, it’s for his sake.” You dried your hands, setting the cloth aside. “My boyfriend—he’s got this respiratory thing. Even a little wax or candle scent, and it sets him off. Oh, speak of the devil."

Johnny turned around, his gaze narrowing on the man through the storefront window. Tall, languid, soft features. Too frail to look after a right lass. He knew you had someone, but that image twisted something inside him—this frail, inept man. The kind of man who couldn't even shield you from the dangers of the world. He couldn’t shake the thought that any street creep could harm you, and your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to stop it. Johnny had seen enough to know how the world worked—how a thing so pure could draw the wrong kind of attention. Filthy, rough men. Men who didn't deserve you. Men like him.

Johnny’s jaw tightened as he watched you wave through the glass. You looked at the man with that warm, easy smile—the one Johnny had drawn from you so many times it almost felt like it belonged to him. But it didn’t. You gave it to that flimsy excuse for a man, one who couldn’t even bear the scent of a flame, yet still got the privilege of being loved by a girl who breathed fire. His mind raced, picturing every way that man would fail you. It didn’t matter if it looked like madness; the feeling gnawing at him like a spark in dry grass had already taken root.

Next Thursday felt slightly off. Johnny had come by the day before to pick up his order, and as usual, the conversation stretched on longer than necessary, filled with laughter and stories. He never missed Thursdays—it was his favorite day, after all. It was the day your boyfriend came home early from work, took a nap, and then left to pick you up. That nap gave Johnny time to “have you a little longer,” as he always put it.

You missed it. It was just a day, but it felt like more. His bright eyes crinkling at the corners when his cheeks raised, the dramatic way every story tumbled from his lips, the way he made you feel like you were something special—something the world had yet to understand. Things only he could see. More devoted than any friend. Almost as devoted as a—

"Boyfriend!" You gasped, snapping out of your thoughts. You glanced at the clock, realizing it was past closing time. Your boyfriend would be at the shop any minute. You hurried to the sink, scrubbing your arms, when the doorbell chimed.

"Baby, I’m so sorry, I lost track of time! I’ll be right out, don’t come in!" You called out, panic rising.

"Could get used to that... baby."

You froze. That voice—Johnny. You turned, a smile awkwardly pulling at your lips as you saw him standing at the door. "Johnny? I—I thought you weren’t coming. You’re never this late on Thursdays."

"Aye, bonnie, I know." He stepped into the shop, his gaze unwavering. "Had to visit a lad."

"Business?"

"Pleasure," he said, his sky-blue eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

You glanced over at the door, suddenly on edge. "I—I’d love to stay, but I’m closing up. My boyfriend’ll be here any minute..." You trailed off, a slight frown pulling at your brow. "He should already be here by now."

Your phone rang from the back counter, cutting you off.

"S’ probably him. Might be runnin’ late." Johnny’s voice was flat, but his gaze didn’t leave you.

He watched as you picked up your phone, face contorting with every passing second of the call. Your mouth dropped, breathing hitched. You didn’t hear Johnny move. One moment, you were still struggling to process the nightmarish news, the next, his hand was on your back, steadying you as your knees buckled. You barely registered him pulling you to his chest. His shirt quickly soaked up the tears that flowed from your eyes, thick and furious, but there was no reproach in his touch—just a steady pressure that held you close. His arms weren’t harsh, but firm, like you were something he couldn’t afford to let go. Your nails dug into his arms, not for comfort, but because you had nowhere else to hold onto. The words on the other side of the line were still echoing in your mind, but Johnny’s presence slowly clouded them out—filling the space with a comforting weight.

Johnny drove relentlessly, the miles slipping by as your body fought between waves of shock and numbness. It wasn’t until you were a couple blocks away that you saw it—black plumes of smoke spiraling into the sky, the jagged shape of fire hoses drawn through it. You shoved the car door open before it even came to a stop, stumbling toward the scene as firetrucks and curious onlookers swarmed the street. Water rained down, struggling to tame the last flames devouring what used to be your home.

The firemen spoke in steady, methodical tones, as though it were another job—no emotion, just fact. You could barely hear them over the pounding of your heart.

Unrecognizable. Suffocated on wax. The fire had consumed most of him.

Your body went cold, a chill creeping down your spine as their words scraped against you like glass. You tried to steady yourself, but the world felt unstable, as if the ground might swallow you whole.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “That’s impossible. There weren’t any candles. He—he couldn’t have set them up. He—” You gasped, stepping back as your knees buckled. “He can’t even be around candles—wax, they make him sick, I—"

The firemen ignored you, their eyes distant, too accustomed to scenes like this. The truth was too heavy for you to hold, too absurd to understand.

A hand gripped your wrist, grounding. Johnny. He had been quiet, too quiet. He remained silent, keeping his grip firm as you tried to steady your breath, to push away the mental images that kept flooding in, images of your boyfriend—how you had joked earlier that day, how he had been so alive only hours ago.

Then your gaze fell to what was left of him. It wasn’t just the remains of a man; it was something worse. His body, twisted and contorted under the blackened sheets, the skin burned beyond recognition, patches of it melted into the fabric, the candles' wax seeping into his face, his mouth, his eyes.

The firemen hadn’t exaggerated. What was left of him was barely human, a grotesque silhouette of what you’d once loved. You stumbled back, vision blurring with tears that wouldn’t stop, chest tight with an unbearable, hollow ache.

Johnny’s grip tightened, his breath warm against your ear, a whisper like an anchor. “Jus' breathe, bonnie... Ah’m here.”

But you couldn’t breathe. Not with the image of him like this, suffocated by his own weakness, suffocated by something you couldn’t even understand. The smell of charred flesh and smoke filled your nostrils, and you wished you could close your eyes, wish it all away, but it was already burned into your mind.

Johnny didn’t let go. His arm snuck around your waist, chest pressed to your back, your last pillar. As the two of you watched the final flames die out, his eyes lit up. Blue tinged with copper—a hint of pride twisted in the shades. Tightening his grip, he whispered, almost to himself.

"Some lights fade. Others just burn forever."

[moonvixenart]

Well. That was... productive. Very relaxing.