#And have watched most of the others live too

[earthtooz]

x : LUST FOR LIFE *+ﾟ

in which: sunday discovers a new emotion when he's under you.

warnings: 1.5k words, sunday is B(h)ORNY and doesn't know how to deal with it, he wants reader so bad, lowkey implied switch!sunday, gn!reader being sunday's freak awakening, NO SMUT BUT UNDER 16 DNI, not edited

a/n: five likes and i'll write nsfw for sunday

What good is a leader who can’t empathise with the lives of the people he was supposed to be leading?

This thought has plagued Sunday ever since he exiled himself from Penacony, since he joined the Astral Express in a journey of self-discovery and reflection, embracing the Nameless lifestyle so he can broaden the horizons that Penacony had restricted. There, he was so detached from the reality of the people he was trying to help, so trapped in a whirlwind of his own ideals to experience humanity, too buried in official duties to rejoice in the many wonders of the universe, the simple pleasures and the grandiose ones.

Since boarding, the former head of the Oak Family has experienced humiliation, desperation, and many close calls with death. It seems he underestimated how easily trouble found the Trailblazers, and the diary he carries with him has been updated with multiple entries, filled with exasperated recounts that ended with him being grateful that he is still well and unscathed.

Sunday has also experienced laughter, connection, and the bond of humankind- something he did not have before. When he controlled the Oak Family, had everyone under or at his fingertips, the only person he could depend on was himself. When Robin left to travel the cosmos, what was he to do than learn the bitter truth of independence and self-sufficiency? 

Yet, he sits on the couches of the Astral Express and there is bound to be another by him, trying to converse with him like an old friend. He is mentioned in the conversations like an individual who they keep around because they want to, not because he is crafty, not because of what he can offer. No, he can’t offer anything right now, and the crew still wants him to stay.

He learns more about humanity with each passing day.

However, perhaps one of the more puzzling feelings Sunday has had to confront was… infatuation. 

It’s a tricky feeling. It sends his heart into overdrive and his limbs to become jelly, and at the epicentre of this hurricane of uncharted territory, is you. 

“Sunday?” Your voice comes through muffled from the other side of the door. He almost jumps off his mattress at the sound. 

“Door is open,” he responds as calmly as possible, heart thrumming alive at the sound of your voice, beating in time with the rapid succession of your knocks. 

The door slides open slowly to reveal you on the other side. “Pom Pom just wanted to let everyone know that we will be jumping soon.” 

“I see, thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem,” your gaze then flickers to the angels that flock around him and he watches as your eyes gleam with fascination.

Then, without any hesitation or reluctance, you enter his room and approach him, the door sliding closed without your weight to hold it open. You stop before him without a bow, without a formal greeting of ‘Mr. Sunday’- no, you stop before him like an equal, which you most certainly are. In fact, he would even think of himself below you, but Sunday needs to unlearn this assumption of hierarchy, needs to not let it define the relationships he forms, even if he looks up to you and finds you reverent. 

“Hey, I’ve never seen these little guys before!” You exclaim, sticking out a hand to act like a perch for the angel-like summons. One of them flits up to you and stays on your outstretched finger. “Well, not this close, at least.”

It keens at your praise. Like owner like summon, Sunday supposes.

“I don’t tend to bring them out. They are for combat purposes,” he explains. 

Your eyes widen slightly. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” 

“What? No! That’s not it-”

“-I’m kidding, Sunday,” you snicker. “We’re friends, I wouldn’t want to fight you.”

“Right,” he exhales, “I wouldn’t want to fight you either.”

“Besides, we already did once.”

He freezes at the memory, remembers when he got hit with the exact train he is currently boarding. 

You, however, are unphased by the recollection, and even continue to rub salt in the wound. “I remember fighting against these little summons too, your owner was a real meanie, do you guys know that?” 

They flock around you, spinning and fluttering like little fireflies.  Instinctively, Sunday covers his flustered expression with his wings, and he doesn’t budge, even when he hears your laugh, the sound almost enough for him to melt into a puddle by your feet.

“Hey, hey, I was kidding, sorry if I took the joke too far.” 

He uncovers himself with an embarrassed sigh, not meeting your eyes. “It’s okay, I think the memory is just… humiliating, more than anything.”

“There are no more hard feelings. Everyone has accepted you on board and none of us think of you to be the same person you were when we first met, I promise.”

Your words are completely earnest, Sunday knows it, can feel it in the way you tell him so unabashedly. So who is he to deny it?

“Thank you,” he says, finally looking up at you, “it means a lot to hear that.” 

“I’ll say it as much as you need. Well, I’ll get out of your hair now, just prepare for the jump-”

Your sentence is interrupted by a shriek when you lose your footing, and Sunday feels it too, the force so strong that even he, while sitting, feels as if is being stretched and pulled into a miniscule hole. What he also feels is your body colliding on top of his, and his hands come to your waist to catch you in an attempt to prevent you from slipping, but it’s not enough and he’s falling with you onto the expanse of his made bed.

The Express is warping to some expanse of the universe, and his stomach drops at the sensation, spreading to the ends of his nerves before disappearing, just replaced by the extremely odd feeling of being pulled through the stars. He just hopes you’re comfortable, standing up whilst warping is tough, he heard the stories of when Stelle first tried to do it and how she fell flat on her face. 

When the feeling of normality returns and Sunday doesn’t feel like he has been stretched out, he opens his eyes and tries to take in the sight before him.

You. Your face. Centimetres away from his.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but seeing you this close… perhaps just pretty is an understatement. His gaze unwillingly flicks to your lips and he wished he hadn’t because suddenly the urge to sit up and lick into your mouth is raging; a fire that can’t be contained. 

Sunday wants you to push him down by the shoulders, with no gentleness or mercy, and just… devour him whole. His hands want to find you by the hips and pull you into him more than humanly possible, he wants you to indent yourself onto him so he can remember your taste forever, so that, in a way, you couldn’t ever leave him. 

Alternatively, he would happily flip around and pin you against the mattress. He would pry you open, explore the cavern of your mouth with his tongue and suck your sacred essence out of you so that it can stay and settle in his bones instead, replacing where marrow should be. He wants to lay you vulnerable so his hands can explore places only you want him to touch, wants to take you so that you stay forever, wants to feel your tongue against his, wants to hold your face and feel how you react when he takes his time cherishing you, revering you. 

This feeling is too much, these thoughts are overpowering, yet nothing has ever been more clear. Sunday wants you, lusts for you, even, and he’s never felt so intensely for someone before. 

How would the symphonies sound when they learn of the atrocities he wants to perform? 

Temptation holds him close and infects him with a desire so strong, he’s practically frozen in place as you recover from the shock, holding yourself up with your arms that were on either side of his head. 

“Ow, I’m sorry!” You immediately exclaim, before realising exactly what position you are in, your chests are pressed together, and you’re mortified to think about how close you were before you picked yourself off him, and- his… his hips… are pressed against yours- okay, you needed to leave as soon as possible.

You scramble off him like he had burnt you, frantically shouting apologies whilst doing so, the words clumsy and rushed, but neither of you can deny how you miss the warmth that was suddenly ripped away. 

(If he wanted to, you could have stayed in that position with him.)

Then, before you could get anymore thoughts, you turn and practically bolt out of his room without another word, leaving a hot and bothered Sunday behind.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[jeanjauthor]

*sighhh...* They missed half the Orkney Islands...including the ones with the entry in the Guiness Book of Records.

The one with the purple lable Noup Head Lighthouse is Westray, and the one with Knap of Howan is Papa Westray, and they hold the Guiness Book of Records for the world's official SHORTEST daily commercial airflight route. I think the GBR says it was 2 minutes flat, or maybe a couple seconds over but I personally timed it from wheels off the runway to wheels on the runway, and that day that I watched it, it was 1m 57s. (I think they had a tailwind the day I watched.)

It's a little commuter plane, seats about 8 people, and it takes off and lands a few times in the morning and a few times in the evening, because it's faster and cheaper to take a small plane like that than it is to spend literal hours sailing over the sea.

Westray is also home to Noltland Castle (nolt = cattle, iirc), which has an absurdly high number of cannon loops. Not arrow loops, but cannon loops or portholes. Like, 72 or so...and it's NOT a big castle. It was never fully finished, but it was finished enough to live comfortably (for the time), plus it was highly defensible, and it was expected to become the place of retreat for Mary, Queen of Scots when being pursued by the English. Unfortunately, at the last minute she chose instead to head south for France, and was captured (etc'd) by the English. (The locals are very proud of the fact their ancestors were prepared to house The Queen.)

(Not all of the castle, but you can definitely see some of the cannon loops!)

How do I know all of this, and for that matter, why did I go there? Well, 2014, the World Science Fiction Convention was being held in London, and my mother and I decided we wanted to visit some relatives waaaay up in Scotland. On Westray. So they took us ALL over the place, and that's when I got to see the GBR record being (unofficially) beaten by like 4-5 seconds.

And yes, it is very, very windy. Like, wimdy windy. Literally, no trees grow up in the Orkneys unless they are in protected valleys, hollows, sunken gardens, or enclosed by walls. The tallest "tree" mum & I saw on Westray itself was a row of fuschia bushes that was probably close to 9 feet tall, slightly taller than the fence sheltering it. In fact, most gardens are sunken gardens, by at least a yard or more, specifically so the plants can grow safely, sheltered by the wind.

But it almost never snows in the Orkneys. (Can't speak for the Hebrides.) It rains intermittently, too, so it's almost always green with grass. It is almost always perfect sheep-grazing weather, and some cattle-grazing...but mostly sheep because sheep come with their own woollens for winter, and even Scottish cattle don't get that shaggy. (The reason Noltland Castle was named so, the locals suspect but cannot say for certainty, is that the local lord could afford to own cattle.)

So yes, there were a lot of sheep around the area, and you can bet they'll have their wool being made into Harris Tweed.

I don't know if anyone would want to visit Westray (other than for the awesome castle, lol) without having relatives all the way up there (like we did), but if you can visit the Orkneys, do give it a try! The main isle has the Stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brogar (both of which you can actually go up to and touch, unlike Stonehenge!), Skara Brae (the oldest intact Neolithic village in existence, so very cool!!!), and the Italian Chapel, made out of a Quonset Hut during WWII for the Italian prisoners of war.

(Stones of Stenness)

(Part of the Ring of Brodgar, which is huge, too huge to get into my camera view without having walked over a football field away.)

They were building cement buttressed causeways to connect a few of the nearby islands to the main one to try to cut off submarine access to the isles, and being Catholics instead of Anglicans or Protestants, they politely requested the camp commander for a Catholic church and priest. The commander, not being a total dirtbag, got them a Quonset hut, some cans of paint, etc, and told them they could work on building it when their daily work was done.

It's getting on in years, but the grandson of the artist (Italian POW) who originally painted the interior has come round a few times to touch up the paint job. Let me tell you something: You have to touch the walls to make sure they're not actually plaster relief work.

That is a flat, smooth wall.

Flat.

So while the Orkneys are a "piddy bit" (Scottish Orkadian for "little bit") off the beaten path, there are some interesting things you can go see! Plus, sheep. (I don't have any pictures of sheep, though, sorry.)

(Hebrides, you're on your own for Enthusiastic Tourist-ing.)

The answer to "What the h*ck goes on on those islands to the North and West of mainland Scotland?" by Derek Guy @/dieworkwear on twitter [x]

[azrielbrainrot]

Take Me Back To Eden

Pairing: Shadow King!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Throne Sex

Description: You've dreamt of the day Azriel would come back home for so long that you find yourself at a loss now that it actually happened. Luckily, it all falls into place as soon as your eyes meet his.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, throne sex, some fingering, some dirty talk, you know the usual

Word Count: 4,2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This was originally supposed to be a rhys story but there will be plenty more opportunities to write about throne sex with him. Also this ended up actually having some plot and extremely fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

The halls of this castle are intimately familiar to you, having walked them a thousand times over when your closest friend lived here with his family and a thousand more working here as a maid, keeping an eye on the palace and its new residents while Azriel and his allies found a way to take back his power and his rightful seat on the throne.

You've worked tirelessly for this moment, dreamed of it more times than you could ever count, but now that the walls were painted in the traitors' blood and his intoxicating scent permeates the halls once again, you found yourself at a loss, slowly making your way to the throne room to meet him, one foot in front of the other, letting your body guide you as your mind wandered.

Azriel has been by your side for as long as you can remember, even before you truly knew what him being the heir to the Shadow Throne truly meant. Your father was exceptional at his job, landing him not only the position of Head Healer of the kingdom but also the King's private healer. This meant he spent a lot of his time at the palace, becoming an important figure in the court.

Azriel's father was cruel, manipulative and nothing short of terrifying. As much as you resented your father, you could understand why he was too scared to go against his wishes, always following every order without question, even when that included bringing you to the palace to be the heir's friend whether you liked to or not.

When your father first told you of the King's decision to let you and Azriel be friends since you were about the same age and he thought you'd be a good influence on him, you had been scared out of your wits, crying your eyes out and begging him not to take you with him, all in vain of course. You had never met Azriel before and so you expected him to be just as heartless as his father and older brothers, no one you ever wanted to spend any time with let alone befriend.

The stories circulating the kingdom weren't kind to him either - people talked of the bastard's son with poorly concealed disdain, about how he had lived locked in a tower, barely taken care of for most of his life until against all odds the shadow's chose him as successor instead of his full noble-blooded brother's; everyone seemed to think he wasn't worthy of the throne since he was the son of a maid and barely educated, completely neglected since birth, but alas the shadows had made their decision, and no one, not even the King, could go against their wishes.

Azriel was a shadow of the male he is now when you met him, too shy and traumatized to even look you in the eye or speak a word to you, sticking to the corners of the room, hiding himself as best as he could in the midst of his shadows. You were only nine when you met him, a year younger than him, and even then you couldn't imagine all the pain he had gone through, vowing to help him and stay by his side as you watched him cower away from the light, dressed in expensive clothing as if that would hide all the pain and suffering he had been subjected to.

Actually befriending him was harder than you initially thought. You spent countless days simply trying to get him to speak a word to you, almost wearing yourself out as you talked and talked, about anything and everything, trying to find something that would catch his attention and get him used to your presence. Gradually he started opening up more, answering your questions with a nod or shake of his head, and then a word or two, until bit by bit you started having full conversations, his voice rising in volume with time as well. His other lessons helped make him more confident in himself too as he found his place in the world.

Azriel told you about his mother and how much he missed her; about the treatment he endured in that cold tower and how sometimes he still wished he was there instead of next to his father; how his older brother's retaliated for not being chosen by burning his hands when he was only a child who didn't even know what it meant, how his hands still ached at the smell of fire and just the sight of the marred skin sent a stabbing pain through his heart, keeping them concealed with leather gloves most of the time. It was only years later when he let you see them and hold them in your own, the same night he told you he had been sneaking outside the palace, making other friends and traveling his kingdom as far as his wings allowed him, taking you with him for the first time.

The days you spent sneaking away with him and the new friends you made were some of the best of your life, the only ones where you had truly felt free, but sadly they wouldn't last. Shortly after Azriel came of age, his oldest brother killed his father and seized the throne, chasing Azriel and every sympathizer out of the palace and forcing him to go into hiding. You've barely seen him since then, only managing a few secret meetings over the years while he prepared to take back his crown.

Your father had been among the casualties and your family's sudden fall from grace landed you a job cleaning the palace where that hateful usurper now lived. Unwilling to resign yourself to serving the male who almost killed the only person you've ever loved, you started working as a spy, sending out encrypted letters about the movements within the palace and any important information you could get your hands on to hopefully help Azriel as much as you could.

Of course when he found out you were putting yourself in danger like that, he flew over to your house despite the search parties still raking through every corner of the kingdom. It had been the last time you spent more than a few hours with him and most of those had been spent fighting, but the memory brought a smile to your lips all the same. Even though you were screaming until your voices became hoarse, it was clear that it all stemmed from your love for each other and how worried both of you were at just the thought of the other being in danger. Azriel had also left your house with a chaste kiss to your lips, a line you had never crossed before, and a whispered promise of surviving and coming back for you, for his throne.

Taking the last turn to the throne room, you find yourself in the present, every other thought escaping your mind when you hear his voice muffled behind the door, heart swelling in your chest instantly. You only caught a glimpse of him when he first stormed the palace grounds earlier that night, unable to linger and watch as you needed to fulfill your role and help every innocent bystander escape through the back doors.

Judging by the blood and the few corpses still scattered throughout the halls, you missed a hard-won battle, but the lack of urgency in the sentry sent by Azriel to get you told you there weren't any severe injuries to worry about, among your friends at least. As excited as you had been for tonight, the thought that Azriel could get hurt kept you up for days.

The smell of smoke still lingered in the air and you found yourself twisting your hands together, wondering if the smell still brought him the same awful memories, wondering if you still knew him after all this time, if it would all be the same.

Raising a shaky hand to open the door, you find five pairs of eyes falling on you as soon as the room is revealed to you, hands reaching for their swords before noticing it was you and not any lingering soldiers, still on high alert from the fight. Their reaction makes you pause, startled momentarily before taking another step into the room when their serious faces turn into smiles.

It had been a long time since you've seen the neighboring kingdom's prince, - King, you correct yourself, - his general and his cousin. You've met them when you used to sneak out with Azriel, spent countless nights together causing harmless trouble as youths do. They had been with Azriel when you couldn't, helping him get to this point from the front lines while you stayed behind in the palace. Amren also stood by their side, the centuries old mage looked as unnerving and unruffled as ever, perhaps the best kind of ally Azriel could ask for.

Speaking of, your eyes quickly dart around the room, finding those beautiful hazel eyes at last, heart stalling in your chest when you find them already expecting yours. Azriel was sitting on the throne, on his throne, clad in black leathers as his shadows lazed around his body. His shoulders had gotten broader and his powerful wings were sitting up high behind him, unbelievably large, the blood of his enemies still staining his armor - the perfect image of a King.

A smile falls over his stupidly handsome face when his eyes meet yours, standing up to greet you immediately. This sets you in motion, your steps speeding up as your body carries you to him, barely acknowledging the rest of your friends as they excused themselves with knowing smiles, closing the door behind themselves just as you walked up the last steps to the throne, throwing your arms around Azriel's neck, a gleeful chuckle escaping him, catching you in his arms effortlessly, wings wrapping themselves around you as well.

It was almost overwhelming being able to hold him in your arms after so long, feeling his warmth against your body, his scent assaulting your senses as you breathe him in, vowing to never let him leave you behind ever again. You're unsure how much time passes before he pulls away, gently prying your face from his neck so he can study your teary-eyed expression intently, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he takes you in.

Gods, you almost forgot how downright mesmerizing he was. From this close you could count his eyelashes and every green speck in his hazel eyes, if you moved just a breath closer, your nose would bump against his, another one and his lips would fall on yours. His hand craddled your cheek, his bare hand you noted, the rough, familiar texture sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers caressed your skin softly.

“We did it,” you breathe out, watching the smile on his face grow even wider, a breathtaking sight. He leans down, kissing your other cheek and murmuring the same words back at you against your skin, relief clinging to every word.

His body was still somewhat tense against yours, wings tightening behind him every so often as his breath came out in puffs, his lips peppering small kisses from your cheek up to your forehead and then down to your jaw, trying to reach every bit of skin while you tried to check him for injuries or any other sign of discomfort, remembering he had just come back from battle.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Azriel simply shakes his head against you in lieu of an answer, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing your scent in again, his hold on your body tightening as well.

“Is it too much to bear?”

When his brother took over he didn't only steal his father's shadows but also Azriel's. It had been strange to see him without those wisps of darkness clinging to his form, unnerving even, and you know that becoming accustomed to not having them by his side was the hardest trial for him to overcome. But now that his brother was dead and he finally sat on his throne, his shadows had returned to him at last, and the ones who were once his father's followed them.

“Could be worse,” he says, a shudder betraying his attempt at a leveled tone. “They like the scent of blood.”

A tremble runs through your treacherous body, the low timber of his voice as he spoke against your skin, lips brushing you with every word making it hard to keep your mind working properly. He hums at your body's reaction, tongue peaking out to lick over your pulse point, feeling your heart racing faster and faster under him.

“Azriel-”

“They like yours even more. Always did.”

The confession hangs in the air as he continues to lap up at your skin, his teeth coming out to play and mark you ever so softly, teasing your supple skin. It looked like he was barely restraining himself, trying his best to hold onto sanity while you trembled in his arms.

You knew having this many shadows suddenly singing to him had to be extremely overwhelming after so long stuck in silence, the power that came with them and now also rumbled under his skin even more so. He needed an outlet, and you both knew the blood he already spilled wasn't nearly enough.

“Let me help you.”

The groan that escaped him echoed around the room, pulling away from your neck with a harsh bite and finding your lips before you could even react, finally unleashing himself at your proposal. His shadows followed his lead as always, falling over your body as he did, twisting and turning as they roamed over you. A frenzy overtook you as well, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you, needing to feel him under your skin, so deep he wouldn't be able to escape ever again.

The lights deemed even further around you, until only the moonlight filtered through his shadows, making it hard to see when you managed to pull away and take a breath, your eyes blinking as you tried to watch him in the dark. He had no such problem of course, unashamedly studying your face as you recovered, biting your bottom lip and licking at the drool gathered in the corners of your mouth, moaning at the way your scent deeped with arousal and mingled with his own.

The lines had always been blurred at best between the two of you, fear the only thing keeping them intact in the first place, but now you didn't have to worry for his or your safety anymore, about what his or your parents would think or do if they found a weakness in the other, now you could finally give in to each other without worries.

It had always been a poorly concealed secret how much you wanted each other anyway, and now that nothing was stopping you and he was finally in your arms, you could barely keep this craving down. You could only imagine what it felt like for him with the addition of the new untamed power running through his veins and the pesky shadows whispering in his ear.

Azriel starts walking backwards until he reaches his throne, bringing you along with him for the entire way as he catches your lips between his once again, sending your mind stumbling along with your feet. When he sits down, your body naturally follows to straddle his thighs, and you pull away with a gasp, his hard cock pressing where you need him most.

The maid's uniform you still wore was thrown over your head in a flurry of movements, revealing your unmarked and unobstructed body to his hungry gaze. Unable to stop himself, Azriel leaned closer, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his hands moved all over your body, caressing and grabbing every bit of skin and flesh he could, leaving you tugging at his leathers so you too could rid him of the bothersome clothes blocking your view, as good as you always thought he looked in them.

It's only with a whine of his name and a particularly harsh tug at his black, messy curls that he pulls himself away from you and helps you take the top part of his leathers off. You had been right about his shoulders getting broader, his entire body looked more muscular too. Of course the heir to the throne had been training since he was a child and Azriel had always been a large male, but after having to literally fight to survive, he was left with cleaner muscles, and quite a few scars you had never seen before scattered over his torso, making a mental note to ask him about them later.

He barely gave you any time to fully take him in, moving to unbutton his pants without pause, settling for pushing them down only enough to uncover his throbbing cock, your attention quickly falling on it. Your hand wraps itself around him in curiosity, a delicious shudder running through him as you tighten your hold around his cock, stroking him up and down slowly, reveling in every harsh breath and the pool of desire growing in his eyes.

“I need more, angel.”

Nodding, you agree with him. “Me too.” You needed all of him, needed him to fill you up until he was the only thing you could smell, taste and feel.

He rips your underwear off unceremoniously, inserting two of his fingers inside you as slowly as his frenzied state of mind allows you to, your own body ignoring the slight pang of pain at the sudden intrusion as your hips start rolling into his hand feverishly. You were beyond soaked, the sounds his fingers elicited as he fucked them into you downright sinful as they echoed around the room along with soft moans and gasps of his name.

Azriel seemed transfixed on the way your cunt swallowed his fingers greedily, the hazel in his eyes barely visible around his blown out pupils. Gods, if you didn't stop him you think you would end up cumming entirely too fast which is why as much as it pained you to, you grabbed onto his wrist and stopped his movements, breathing out a rushed “Need you now,” when he looked up at you in question.

You used your grip on his cock to guide him to your entrance, lifting yourself up on your knees as his hands fell over your hips, helping you along, shivering when the head pressed against your cunt. Pressing down on him with a whimper, you let your weight drag you down his length slowly, throwing your head back with a loud moan at the stretch, walls fluttering wildly around him as they struggled to accommodate the delicious intrusion until he finally bottoms out, your body shaking uncontrollably on top of him.

Your lips find his yet again, getting lost in his taste as you start moving against him, his hands grabbing onto your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds you down on him, breathy whines and moans swallowed in a passionate kiss, only pulling away when you start speeding up, moving up and down his length as his hips start meeting your thrusts, your hands holding onto the arms of the throne for better leverage, the way he was stretching you out and hitting every earth shattering angle threatening to make you lose yourself.

There was no doubt in your mind that anyone that walked by this hall could hear you, but you truly couldn't bring yourself to care about them, or that the walls were still covered in blood, or anything else for that matter. You had waited too long for this, to kiss him like this, to hold him like this, to feel him like this.

“You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this,” he manages between pants, eyes darting around as he tries to take the maddening sight before him fully, only receiving a feverish moan in response from you, unforgivingly close to the edge as you were.

Hazel eyes darted around your body as he tried to take the maddening sight before him fully, taking note of the way you struggled to keep your eyes on him, mouth agape as the sweetest whines and gasps escaped unattended; the way your body moved with each roll of your hips, breasts bouncing as you did; and how perfectly you fit together, his cock disappearing inside you with every thrust.

His hands move down to your thighs, lifting your hips on his own now, your body simply following his lead, letting him take control as you moan out his name unabashedly. For a moment Azriel thinks his shadows, the crown and even the throne he was sitting on meant nothing if he didn't have you by his side, if he couldn't feel you like this again.

“Are you close, my love?”

One of your hands falls to hold onto his, needing to ground yourself, needing to feel him on every inch of your skin, needing to know this was real. Struggling to even breathe as he repeatedly hits every pleasure spot inside you, leaving you on the brink of madness.

“So close, Az.”

“Let go for me. Show me how sweet reality can be,” he murmurs breathlessly, obviously dangerously close himself. “Need you to give me everything, need to feel you falling apart on my cock.”

And fall apart you did, a gasp escaping your lips as an overwhelming amount of pleasure takes you under, drowning you completely under the waves as the world stands still, your body falling forward and shaking against him. Azriel keeps fucking into you, taking this new position as an opportunity to thrust into you even harder, chasing his own orgasm at the same time he prolongs yours.

You reach a hand out to caress the talon of his wing at the last minute, reminded of how sensitive they were, being immediately rewarded with a delicious whine of your name as he lets go, fucking his cum deep inside you with jerky motions until you were both spent, chests rising and falling against each other as you caught your breaths, meeting halfway in a kiss, his shadows covering your bodies once again.

Pulling away proves to be a monumental task, his lips chasing yours every time you try, having to push against his chest as you straighten your spine, trying to ignore his half hard cock still tucked inside you as he leans back against his throne, letting out a chuckle when he tries to pull you back to him and you send him a poor attempt at a glare, the smile plastered on your face and the fucked out look in your eyes making it less than believable.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I feel perfect,” he sighs dreamily, gazing up at you adoringly as his thumbs draw circles over your heated skin.

“So…” You trail off, not quite knowing what to say in this situation. After dreaming of not only having him back but also making him yours so many times, you couldn't find the right words now that it actually happened. “You're back.”

“I'm back, my love,” he confirms, cupping your cheek once again and rising up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips, the new pet name sending goosebumps traveling across your skin, your heart so full it felt like it would explode out of your ribcage.

“I had a speech ready, you know?”

“A speech?”

“I had every intention of talking to you before this happened, but words won't ever be enough to describe how much I love you.”

His words paired with the look in his eyes were making you beyond giddy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed you once more, drunk on your taste, unable to ever get enough.

“Say it again.”

Azriel lets out a delighted chuckle, pulling away so he can watch your face, taking you in before indulging you as he stares deep into your eyes.

“I love you. I've loved you for as long as I can remember,” he starts, voice soft as he did, “If I hadn't met you I wouldn't have been able to survive my father's cruelty, and if I didn't know you were waiting for me here, I wouldn't have been able to find the strength to come back and take back the throne. I owe you my life.” Tears gather in both of your eyes as he leans his forehead on yours, continuing, “The years I spent away from you were the hardest I've had to endure, and now that I finally have you back by my side, I won't ever let go. I don't want to spend even another second away from you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe, your heart so full it felt like you couldn't contain all your love for him inside.

Azriel kisses you again, tears now streaming down your faces as you cling to each other. He was right, words could never be enough to describe this moment, let alone the love you shared, but you were willing to whisper them as many times as you could until there was no breath left in your lungs.

[dadbodbuck]

could it shine down here with you?

Rating: G | WC: 1.7k | Pairing: BuckTommy

Loosely based on this post by @loulovingho!

Summary:

Tommy doesn't realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

Read it here on Ao3 or continue below!

Tommy is five, or maybe six, and he doesn’t like Thanksgiving. His dad is screaming at his mom because the turkey isn’t thawed. He’s calling her a lot of words that Tommy thinks are really mean. Tommy’s dad yells a lot, but it’s rarely this bad. Tommy’s mom usually waits for it to blow over, but this time, Tommy watches from the living room entry as her face crumbles and she shoulders past Tommy’s dad, breezes by Tommy, and flees into their bedroom.

Tommy wants to follow her, but his dad grabs his arm, too-tight, and tugs Tommy away towards where the half-thawed turkey is laying on the ground, cold and slimy. When they get there, Tommy’s dad hands him a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels and says “Your mom needs some time alone to think about what she’s done. Clean up this mess.”

It’s okay, because later his mom comes out of the bedroom and kneels down, her eyes red and puffy, and she tells him, “I’m so sorry you had to see that, honey. You did a good job cleaning the kitchen. It’s okay, we can still have dinner, even if I messed up the turkey,” and she makes Stovetop stuffing, and takes cranberry sauce out of a can, dishing them up on a plastic plate for Tommy, and a glass plate for her.

Tommy’s not sure where his dad went, but he’s glad it’s just him and his mom for a little while.

Tommy is twelve, and he hates Thanksgiving. He hates most holidays centered around football, actually. It’s a double-edged sword—his dad gets drunk, and his dad gets riled up, and he’s either too loud and happy, or too loud and mad. The Superbowl is Tommy’s least favorite time of the year. Especially when the Rams are playing.

The Rams aren’t playing this year, but that doesn’t mean Tommy’s off the hook. Tommy brings his dad beers when his dad calls for them, doesn’t say a word to his old man, carefully doesn’t flinch when his dad yells angrily at the screen.

For the most part, Tommy sits alone in his room and looks at the picture of his mom. It’s her high school graduation, she’s gleaming in her cap and gown. Tommy misses her.

Tommy knows that his family isn’t normal. That it’s fucked up. But he also knows how to deal with his dad, especially now that his mom isn’t around to instigate anymore. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen if he gets sent to foster care. He doesn’t want to know.

Tommy also knows, somewhere, that it’s partially his own fault. Maybe if he was a better kid—someone his dad could be proud of, this wouldn’t happen. He was always doing something to incur his father’s wrath. Plus, it’s not like his dad doesn’t love him, in his own way. Tommy loves his dad, too.

Tommy makes his own Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce from a can. His dad doesn’t eat it, but Tommy doesn’t care, because at least he survived Thanksgiving without any more bruises.

Tommy is eighteen, and twenty-three, and thirty-one. Thanksgiving is in a shitty barracks at the base, a tiny studio in downtown LA, and the 118 firehouse. It’s spent wolfing down an MRE, trying to figure out how to get his horrible stove to work, and eating Stovetop stuffing and cranberry sauce and praying that the alarm doesn’t go off. There are the other soldiers, and Tommy’s rescue cat Teddy, and Howie.

The MRE is as it always is. You get used to the weird textures and instant coffee and chemical heat smell of the food warmer. The funny thing about Iraq, the thing that will keep Tommy awake for years and years, is that it gets cold during the winter. Tommy knew before he shipped out that he didn’t know what much about the country, but now that he’s here, he’s stuck with sick realization after sick realization. The people here are scared, and the Army isn’t helping. Tommy looks at the other soldiers in a way he shouldn’t. Civilians are dying. War is messy in a way that allows people to excuse inexcusable violence. Tommy cannot speak the language, of either the Iraqi citizens or the people he was told would be his brothers. Iraq gets cold during the winter.

Teddy is an orange beauty, with long fluffy fur and a penchant for mischief. Tommy didn’t ask for Thanksgiving off, but it’s a holiday at the Academy, apparently. So, he’s here, listening to the click of the gas range as it tries to light. Teddy watches from the tiny countertop with uncharacteristic judgment in his eyes. When the flame finally catches, Tommy laughs victoriously, and gets to work making stuffing and cranberry sauce for the first time in years. It’s not gourmet by any means, just the Stovetop and the canned stuff, but it feels like his mom. It feels like he’s talking to her again. Tommy wonders if there’s a universe out there where his mom got help before it was too late. He eats his food in the camp chair that furnishes his pathetic living room, with Teddy invading his personal space and trying to sneak a bite for himself.

Tommy keeps the tradition of making himself Stovetop and canned cranberry sauce. He keeps it the year Howie shows up at the 118 and immediately proves himself braver and stronger than Tommy ever could be. While everyone else is busy whining about missing their grandma’s mashed potatoes, Tommy scrapes together his sacred traditional Thanksgiving feast. While Tommy’s not looking, Howie steals half of it.

“Mm!” Howie sighs, “That childhood nostalgia fakeness.”

“Hey! That was mine,” Tommy says, without any real heat. He hasn’t been able to muster anything beyond mild irritation for Howie since he saved his life.

“Oh, because you were going to eat all of that in one sitting,” Howie scoffs, “I’ll pay you back your dollar for my half if you really want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy huffs, scraping out the other half for his own portion. They sit at the table and eat together, and it’s the closest Tommy’s ever had to spending Thanksgiving with someone.

It’s not until they finish eating and the bell rings that Tommy realizes Howie’s the only one who hasn’t asked Tommy if he’s sad he’s missing out on the holidays.

For the most part, his Thanksgivings after the 118 are spent much the same way, but at Harbor, and alone. He gets to put his leftovers in the fridge and eat off them for a few days. Thanksgiving (save for deep fried turkey incidents) is a relatively tame holiday. No fireworks, at least.

Then, Evan.

A lot of things change for Tommy when Evan crashes into his life, all legs and a blinding smile. Evan is a whirlwind and the most beautiful man Tommy has ever seen. Evan is kind of everything.

When Tommy realizes he’s falling in love, it makes him sick to his stomach. He remembers loving his dad enough to excuse his anger, loving his mom enough to let her slip away, loving a country enough to enact its violence, loving the sense of belonging at the 118 enough to allow the kindest people he’s ever met to suffer. Tommy doesn’t love right. He can’t let Evan get tired of him and leave. He can’t poison Evan until he turns into something cruel. So Tommy breaks up with him. Evan asks him to move in, and he can feel the iron jaws of a bear trap closing around his throat, so he breaks up with him.

Tommy doesn’t realize until later that he already asked for Thanksgiving off.

(Thanksgiving came up between them for the first time when Evan asked if he wanted to do their own thing or go over to the grand 118 Thanksgiving Feast.

“I don’t know,” Evan has shrugged, “I mean, I want to spend it with you. I don’t want to pressure you into a big thing if you don’t want to, or if—if you’re used to smaller Thanksgivings. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Um,” Tommy had said, a little caught off-guard like he was every time they brushed up against the topic of family, “We didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I usually just get a box of Stovetop stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce and call it a day.”

Evan had scoffed, mock-offended. “Well! In that case, we’re going. Mark your calendar. You’re going to cream your pants when you try Bobby’s turkey.”

Tommy had smiled and thought maybe. Maybe this will be the year.)

Tommy sighs and opens the box of Stovetop stuffing. His water and butter are already boiling, so he pours the mix in and watches it saturate. He stirs it and takes it off the heat to sit. A strange, painful sadness claws at the inside of his throat. It hurts. It hurts worse than it usually does.

He doesn’t think about Evan and Bobby’s allegedly orgasm-worthy turkey and Howie introducing Tommy to Jee-yun and how close they had all seemed at the hospital for Denny. He walks over to the mantle above his fireplace, with a small, framed pawprint inside, and Teddy 2021 written underneath.

Five minutes passes slowly without anyone to distract him. Tommy tries and fails not to think about every holiday he’s spent alone, or wishing he was alone. This is the first holiday he’s wished for someone in particular who wasn’t his mom or Teddy.

Tommy eats stuffing and canned cranberry sauce at his kitchen table. Somewhere, Evan is in a house warm with love. Somewhere, Evan is loved, wholly and unconditionally. Tommy’s glad people love him. He deserves to be loved.

Tommy doesn’t like watching football on Thanksgiving, so instead he puts on Mean Girls. After his stomach settles, he’s too tired to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep until his shift in the morning.

When Tommy gets to work, he’s surprised when Lucy says, “Delivery for you in the fridge, Kinard, you better eat it before I can get my hands on it.”

Inside the fridge is a glass Tupperware container wrapped in a plastic Chinese takeout bag. There’s a sticky note attached to it that says Bobby’s turkey is even better the next day.

Tommy texts Evan and asks about it. Evan doesn’t say anything back.

But he does get a text from Howie, and the timing is too quick to be coincidence. When you’re reheating it, remember to put half a teaspoon of water in the dish so it doesn’t dry everything out in the microwave.

[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

okay so! in these neglected!reader fics Dick is almost always the one who’s like trying to reach out the most. because of this, personally(!) i feel like he’s the kinda guy who just wants his family to be whole so he kinda takes up the position of like father+brother combined (eldest child syndrome lowkey). he kinda becomes the most present figure in the twins’ lives and i think it goes double for reader tbh.

like breakfast lunch dinner Dick is right there with her and yaps her ear off. i think that where Bruce is the kinda dad that wants you to finish what you start, Dick is the kinda brother that’s like “if you don’t wanna do it, then don’t” ykwim? wanna do ballet? he’s at every recital. hate it? well, it wasn’t for you anyways! any practice, game, show, concert, he’s there. and if you decide you absolutely hate whatever it is, he’s there for you too!

just like general supportive older brother, but turned up juuuust a smidge. i feel like in the yandere aspect, he’s not really the type to go try and murder someone. sure he might hurt someone, but he’d at least want to avoid murder. it’s more like he’s gonna try and keep her home/with him as much as possible. like where are you going? it’s family game night! when did we start family game nights? don’t worry about it! now come on, it’s monopoly.

jason, on the other, WOULD probably kill someone. buuuuut i think it’s more so if she get physically hurt by someone would he be pushed to murder. emotionally? he’ll probably just beat them up and threaten them. but if they put their hands on her? mmm yeah you’re dead. sorry!

i feel like jason, who’s literally died and come back to life consumed by rage, would see reader as the opposite of himself. as good, where he is bad. and i think that on one hand he wants to push her away, to not taint her with the darkness that consumes him. but on the other hand, he’s had so much taken from him, seen death at every corner, even met the man face-to-face. can’t he be selfish just this once?

so, in the early hours of the morning, before the sun comes up and his duty as Red Hood is done for the night, he seeks her out. he comes back to the manor, climbing through her bedroom window. she’s still asleep and he just stands there, listening, watching, reminding himself that she is alive and so is he. he doesn’t touch her, he can’t— can’t poison her good with his bad. so, he settles for observing. maybe one day he can work up the courage to speak with her, seek her comfort. but for now, he’s content with simply existing around her.

tim is also an observer in like a borderline stalker kinda way. makes everybody download life360 but he watches her location like a hawkkkk. also gifts her a phone that’s totally safe i swear! don’t mind that any texts from an ex or someone that you have bad blood disappear right after you get them. they probably just unsent them!

he’s like Dick in that he tries to convince her to stay home often. but his way of doing it is… different. you wanna go for a walk on this street? actually there’s footage of a robbery that took place near there recently, probably not safe. wanna go to a friend’s house? um, according to their school records, they got detention in 5th grade. that’s a bad influence, girl! don’t worry, we can play mario kart or something instead!

with duke i feel like, compared to the others, he’s the closest you’ll get to a regular brother. he’s the closest in age to the twins and he joined the batfam after damian in canon. he’s also very kind and soft(?) so it’s unlikely he’s gonna go full stalker and/or killer over his sister. don’t get me wrong, he could kick ass if needed. but when it comes to reader, he’s mostly just trying to bond with her. watching movies in his room, sneaking out to get ice cream together, even at the ‘Wayne Galas’ he’ll stick by her side.

duke is veryyy caring and passionate, plus i feel like he’s sympathetic as well. so when you need comforting, he’s probably the best to go to. cause he won’t be the kind to go find whoever made you upset and ‘talk to’ them. instead, he’s gonna comfort his sis! unless it was someone who physically hurt her, then he’ll probably pay them a visit. but he’s not gonna kill them, i just can’t see him doing that.

next up the batgirls 😛 just as a note this is all my interpretation of the characters. if you think it’s ooc, no you didn’t ❤️

also does anyone have a preference of using third person (she, her) or second (you, your)? i might switch to ‘you’ when i write the batgirls so its not confusing, but if anyone has a preference, let me know!

and thank you all so much for the love on the first part!!!! i’ve never uploaded fanfic before so this is so new to me 😅 but i appreciate it sm! love yall! ❤️

[sleepyowlet]

Okay, so. I'm German. I may or may not know a little more about German cultural history than you do. Okay? Okay.

You're talking about the stories as if they came about, like, shortly before the Brothers Grimm collected them - they didn't. Some of these stories can be tracked across multiple cultures for literally thousands of years. Yes. Some are that old.

The entire concept of childhood as something fundamentally different from adulthood was literally invented in the late 1700s (Rosseau was one of the first to formulate that thought). There was no such concept before; children were seen and treated as little adults; hell, they could be persecuted and tried for crimes like adults at the age of twelve.

Twelve!

That was the cultural norm in pretty much all of Europe from the beginning of the Middle Ages until about 1800. It varies a bit from country to country. Children also got to watch public torture and executions, they saw the corpses of criminals strung up as a warning.

Nobody thought that was wrong.

So most of the tales the Grimms collected are folk tales, and people told them to everyone. They were evening entertainment. And like evening entertainment on the telly, they varied from lovely and heartwarming to downright grisly. Only, what we now call "children" were not perceived as such! You have a concept of "this is not for children". I do too. The Brothers Grimm also did, because that was a new concept they thought important!

But in the centuries before they lived? None of this mattered. I do understand that this is a difficult concept to grasp for someone whose entire country has only existed for a couple of centuries, and you don't tend to look back into your own history further than that. This is not meant as an insult, btw. I'm guessing it's the same kind of mind-screw that you get when you discover that some people in Europe live in houses that are older than the US.

But nonetheless, it is what it is. This stuff goes back long and deep.

And you also gotta remember that in Germany, there was also a generational trauma at work that resulted from the 30-Year War. The peasant class suffered horrifically; of course, they would also put those horrible things in the tales they told to each other as a means to collectively process that stuff - which may explain why German folk tales across the board (and not just those collected by the brothers) are really dark and bloody.

I enjoy a joke about fucked up German fairy tales as much as the next nerd, but it's genuinely striking how often the source for the really fucked up stuff turns out to be "yeah, this is only in the Brothers Grimm version and doesn't appear in any extant oral tradition, and we're like 80% sure they added it themselves". To a large extent it's not German fairy tales that are fucked up, it's two specific German dudes.

[world-of-aus]

Hot Shot

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: Bucky being a heartthrob.

A/N: I've been reading one to many hockey romances and well here we are scratching an itch. I know I would like to eventually come out with a bigger story for these two but for now this is just the start a taste if you will. I'd like to leave this open to suggestion of what y'all would like to see or know about these two if anything.. Hope you enjoy the first taste.

You barely had a chance to unlock your screen to reply to her message before her caller ID

was taking up your screen, a recent photo of her and Steve that she had made as her contact picture pulling a smile onto your lips.

“Tasha.” you answer.

“Y/n, listen I know you were just planning on watching the game from the comfort of your living room but I mean talk about an upgrade! From a television screen to being at the actual game on the floor behind the safety of the glass getting some wicked shots, and no one captures action shots like you do - I promise I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” she tacks on her voice pleading.

You chuckle, you know had the circumstances been different she’d be one of the first ones at the arena, she hadn’t missed one of Steve’s games yet, not since you had been signed on. “Natasha relax, you know you don’t have to pull out the stops on me, I'll go - do you want me to send you the photos?”

The redhead turned blonde breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “oh god thank you! and if you don’t mind, but take your time, I’m sure a certain bruin's player is going to be demanding your attention after the game especially if they bag a win.” she teases seemingly mentioning the man in your DM’s.

Your cheeks warm, the unread notification from the player she speaks of appearing in your mind, “please Tasha,” you deflect, “it’s the game of the season he’ll have plenty of attention with all the puck bunnies sporting his name on their jersey throwing themselves at him for an inkling of his attention.” you murmur picking at an invisible speck of lint on your sweater as you stand from the couch, intent on getting your things packed to head out.

“And yet he only seems to want yours,” she sings, “you should totally wear the jersey I got you for your birthday.”

You roll your eyes smile pulling at your lips, “is your flight really delayed, do I have to text Steve?”

Your friend laughs, “unfortunately it is and hey thank you again for this, I owe you, love you, oh and send me a picture of Steve, one of you and Bucky too!”

You shake your head as your friend rushes out her farewell your screen now gone black as you look down at it “looks like pjs are out of the question for tonight” you murmur continuing on through your apartment to grab your things Bucky’s text still sitting in your messages unanswered.

He’d have his answer soon enough.

🏒🖤

The cool of the arena’s backstage floor seeps through your jeans, your tripod sitting off to the side, your camera nestled in your hands as you wait for the first few players of the bruins to make their arrival.

Your camera goes up; the first of the team to come through the backdoors is the Bruins coach Fury, he spots you smile on his face his hand coming up in a greeting as you get your first arrival shot of the day. Slowly players begin to trickle in, most of them spot you posing for you as they stride by, others walk by with a simple wave their heads already in the game.

Speaking of head in the game center Steve Rogers makes his way in, his suit pressed, duffle thrown over his shoulder as he owns the floor. “Looking good Rogers, say you wouldn’t have Natasha tucked away in that duffle by chance?” you tease grinning behind your camera. You laugh at the grin that breaks his lips, a shake of his head as he directs his gaze at you, “can assure you Natasha wouldn’t be packed in my bag, she’d be hanging on my arm.” You coo at the bearded blonde, “you think you can say that again I didn’t have my phone out.”

The two of you laugh as you capture a few more shots, “Come on Rogers leave some love for the rest of us, you already have your face glued on billboards!”

Left defenseman Sam Wilson is striding in next million dollar smile painted on his lips like the suit he wears on his skin. “But no one has their face printed on as many shirts like you do Wilson, now give me something new to look out for will ya, want to make sure these etsy sellers get only the best!” Wilson eats your words up, feeding the fans through your film. He comes closer kneeling to your level to pull you in for a hug, “it’s good to see you hot shot, thought you weren’t coming out tonight with how Barnes was moping.”

Your heart beats like a wild drum in your chest, “Tasha’s flight got delayed, cashed in her IOU, so here I am and surely your version of Barnes moping is different from mine.”

“Oh man you should of seen him, had to smack the phone out of his hands with how often he was checking it, you’re gonna join us tonight after the win right?”

“You Bruins are so sure about that win,” you laugh.

“That’s because it’s in the bag, hot shot.” It takes everything in you not to snap your eyes to the broad shoulder right defenseman sauntering into the building. “Here comes your boy.” Sam chuckles patting your shoulder as you find said man with your camera lens. You wanted to eat him up like he was eating at your film.

Like Sam Bucky strolls till he’s standing above you, grin pulling at his pink lips as he offers you his hand. You set your camera down gently against your chest before taking his offer, warmth seeping though you at your hand wrapped in his. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.” He murmurs watching you.

“Well as enticing as staying in my pjs on my couch with a glass of wine watching the game tonight sounded IOUs are a serious thing to cash in.” you say struggling to keep his gaze, you were certain you’d turn into a puddle of goo soon.

“More enticing then upgrading your lock screen?”

You let out a groan reaching out to smack his chest, but his hand captures yours instead keeping it there a teasing smile playing at his lips. “You’re never going to let that go are you?” you question recalling the night at the bar that he discovered himself as your lock screen. To be fair it was one of your favorite shots you had captured at the beginning of the seasons. It didn’t hurt that he was your favorite Bruin player to follow on and off the ice.

“Never, though I’m hoping by the end of the night ill see a photo of me after the win.” He chuckles thumb running over your hand.

“You’d have to secure a win first Barnes.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he closes the distance between the two of you, “I’ve already won though.”

Your reply is caught on your tongue, Fury voice breaking through the haze, “Barnes you’ll have time to catch up with y/n later get your ass in the lockers now!”

Bucky let’s your hand falling, chuckle brewing in his chest as he steps back, “hope you’re not watching Wilson or Rogers to closely tonight hotshot because this wins for you, and I’m going to be the one bringing it home.”

You watch him walk away, his gaze lingering on you till he disappears through the locker room.

And God how you hoped he would.

[chimivx]

“…i want you, bless my soul…”

Four months.

You met him on your first day in your first class, your professor the agitated type, the kind that gave you piles of homework with every lesson. He sat beside you, slipping into his chair right before the syllabus slid onto the table in front of you.

Dark hair cut short in the back lived a little more free in the front, on the top, growing into a messier, curlier mop as the weeks drew by, on and on. Tall, broad, and most definitely strong as hell, he was gorgeous. There simply wasn’t any other word for it, he walked into class every week with his golden skin aglow no matter where the sun lived in the sky. You’d be lying if you said your stomach didn’t twist in knots watching his wide eyes scan the room, standing there near the doorway in a white t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans clasped to his waist with a leather belt.

What in the fucking Calvin Klein ad just walked in here?

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, please don’t-

He wore Dior Sauvage, just enough of it to charm your eyes in his direction, the two of your glances meeting for only a few seconds, yet long enough to know that this was going to be a long semester.

After that first week, that first class, he showed up on time, sometimes even earlier than you, and sure enough he’d be in that seat and he’d offer you the tiniest smile while he pushed in his chair to let you pass behind him.

Did he own any clothes that fit?

It felt like every week he’d have on a new shirt that clung to him like seran wrap, every little chiseled sculpted by Michaelangelo notch in his body, his chest, completely and utterly visible. As if he didn’t know it, more than enough time in class he’d spend with his hands behind his head, his biceps tightening in his sleeves, bulging beneath the fabric that you waited to see rip.

Too often you’d have to tear your eyes away, too lost in wonder as to what kind of marvel sat beside you. Six foot something, perfectly built, not only did his appearance alone catch you off guard, but his ability to be so gentle. A smiley, sappy giant full of tooth rotting sweetness. Each raise of his hand, how he toyed with his pen between his firm fingers, the way he’d listen to other people speak — his eyebrows pulling up in the center, his eyes widening with wonder. He’d keep to his space, never once invading yours. Respectful, he knew to say hello, goodbye, would ask you quiet questions, like what page number you were on, and he’d give you thanks into oblivion.

It wasn’t until a month or so had passed that you realized it. One morning you stood in front of the mirror for too long, put a little too much effort into your makeup, into your hair. Spritzing a bottle of perfume to your wrist that you saved for special occasions, when the glass tapped back onto the shelf and you dabbed your wrists together, you gasped.

Damn.

Swapping the lacey sweater for something more casual, you know, for class, you pulled half of your hair up and back, letting some of it hang forward, praying to anyone who’d help that it didn’t look like you woke up before your alarm to get ready for a class you half cared about.

He noticed.

He sat down, walking in a few minutes after you, and his eyes lingered in your direction. Not that you could tell, nor were you paying attention, you were sitting backward in your chair with your nose in your phone. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at being nonchalant like you’d been for nearly two months now.

Besides, it didn’t work. He didn’t say a word the entire class, only his hello and his goodbye.

It didn’t upset you. That’s what you told yourself, the lies you fed your brain to pretend to feel better. It didn’t upset you, he was a boy in a class you didn’t see anywhere else on campus. He probably had a girlfriend. Look at him, listen to him, he definitely has a girlfriend.

By the next class you were back to the usual, the snoozed my alarm twice before getting up in a rush, a hoodie and baggy jeans. Hair thrown up, makeup minimal, you accepted your fate.

You weren’t expecting him to be in the room first, you’ve narrowed down his time frame of entry, typically within ten minutes of the lecture starting depending on when you’d arrive. He was five minutes too early. Giving him the tightest smile, you shimmied behind his chair and mimicked his greeting, shoving yourself into your seat, not prepared for fifteen minutes of silence with him beside you.

Nose in phone, nose in phone.

It was all you could do to keep from gawking, for some reason he was fresher than normal. Black t-shirt, denim jacket on the back of his chair, silver jewelry hanging off of him. He wore a different cologne, one you couldn’t pick out, but god it was delicious you wanted to lick it straight off his neck. He definitely sprayed it to his wrists too, typical, you could lick it off of him there too, why not. Maybe even his chest. No- anything beneath that shirt that should be squeezing the air out of his lungs was lethal, how was every muscle visible? How could he walk around like that, he had to know that-

“Did you do the homework?”

Great.

You didn’t dress yourself up to keep the giddy high school level crush on the DL, but the way you jumped at his words and your cheeks warmed definitely helped. And, yes, you were staring.

“I, uh, yeah, I did.”

If he noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

“Mind if I see it to make sure I got it right? You’re better at this than I am.”

Juvenile, all of it, from the way he checked his answers to the way he slid your notebook back over to you with a shake of his head. Nothing else was shared, the class had begun and he focused on your irritating professor who assigned similar homework for the third week in a row.

Holding onto the way he spoke to you, the soft tone, the warmth in his eyes, the subtle graveliness he forced but then got rid of when he answered questions aloud, you truly felt seventeen years old all over again.

He asked you a question.

He talked to you.

Did he spend more time on how he looked for you?

No, it’s for his girlfriend. The one he definitely has.

The girlfriend that he-

“Whatever perfume you had on last week… I liked it.”

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wait around for you to say anything. He scooped his books into his arms, and he walked out of the classroom, leaving you in absolute shambles. Nerves lived within you for a week, so many nights spent lying awake thinking about him, what he said to you, what you were going to do. If you wear the perfume again you’re setting yourself up for exposure, you may as well just tell him you have a crush on him to his face. But, then again, if you didn’t wear it, you’d lose his interest. He wouldn’t think you had an interest in him, and what if he told you that because he does have an interest in you?

Oh god.

What if he knows?

You wore the perfume. One spritz of it over your heart before you left your room, enough that he’d just be able to tell if he paid as much attention as he suddenly seemed to be.

Early again, beating you to a class you tried to get to even earlier today, you did not miss the small smile that pulled at his lips as you slipped behind his chair. It was the only thing shared all class, a smile somewhere in between lessons when he caught your eye. He had that same cologne on, the one from last week, the one that had you envisioning what it’d be like to have your tongue dragging all over his body, it was hard to not look at him.

Oh, he definitely knew.

And so it began.

For another month, perfume and cologne alike, worn every class, you started to share more than smiles. He’d lean your way for questions and answers, would ask about the homework, the assignments, sometimes when he didn’t even need it, asking for an answer he already had scribbled on his paper. Fighting the nerves, the way your belly filled with butterflies and did cartwheels within you, you started to share more than just classroom talk. While you worked you chatted, you learned where he was from, where he came from, where you came from and why you both were here.

He was funny.

Funny in the way he didn’t know he was funny, oftentimes asking you what he did to make you laugh like that. You’d cover your mouth and pray the giggles away, unable to tell him how adorable he really was.

He filled every shoe you profiled him with. Kind, sweet, funny, gentle giant.

Chiseled chest his cologne, the one you loved, radiated from.

But you didn’t figure that out until the following month.

Month four.

Four months was all it took, and he was yours.

Class whispers turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into homework dates, which turned into dinner dates.

By the end of the third you were wrapped in his sheets, wrapped in him, cologne on your tongue and lips pressed to his, whispering confessions of how long you liked each other but both felt too nervous to say anything. Reveling in pride, that you weren’t as obvious as you thought yourself to be, his sparkling grin overtook his face and he whispered two words that cradled your heart.

“I knew.”

[soleilapproves]

Nanami is in love with his best friend who saves him from a creepy woman. Honestly, I’m not sure what the plot is. I just wrote this because I was procrastinating my chem assignment.

Notes: reader referred to as wife

main masterlist

Nanami Kento didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Maybe it was when you giggled and pulled him out of the house to jump around in the rain with you. Or was it when you fell asleep on his shoulder after a long workday?

He didn’t know that you found so much solace in him. 

His breathing was shallow as he watched you prance around your shared kitchen, singing a generic pop song about… love, was it? Or heartache. He didn’t know or care; all he knew was that you were wearing his shirt like it belonged to you- like he didn’t spend his hard-earned money to buy something for work, and you just plucked it out of the laundry room like it had your name on it.

He half expected you to be all bashful once you turned around and saw him, but no, you just pointed the whisk you used to mix your pancake batter at him and began lip-syncing the song's lyrics to him. He scoffed as he walked around the kitchen island and held on to your waist. Your singing slowed down as his grip tightened on you.

“What? You were hogging up the space in front of the coffee machine. Don’t stop on my account,” Nanami nonchalantly said as he dragged you away from the coffee station. Bewildered, you went back to singing again, facing away from him as you looked for cinnamon in the spice cabinet. 

Nanami bit the inside of his cheek as he noticed your ears looked redder than usual.

It all felt oddly domestic. Your work shoes were strewn by the door, he was comfortable with his hair being disheveled, your unapologetically tone-deaf singing, and of course, the fact that you were making breakfast for him unprompted. 

‘I could live like this forever,’ the blond thought. Of course, minus the whole best-friends-who-live-together-and-aren’t-in-a-romantic-relationship situation.

But was confessing to you a good idea? What if you both broke up and never wanted to see each other again? What would happen to your living arrangement then? He can’t handle not seeing you for a day. It would be horrible for his sanity. 

But then again, you both have been friends for so long that it only felt natural to be with each other all the time.

He ignored his heart, screaming at him to confess to you. The man was clearly too far gone; if he spent another day in your presence, he would surely go mad. In love and in vain.

He ignored his thoughts when he saw you accidentally pick up his cup and place your lips exactly where his were a few seconds ago. You scrunched your nose, and it took everything in him not to kiss it. “Dear God, this is bitter. I’m sorry, Ken, but I will never enjoy your tastes in food.” 

Ken

He could hear you say that all day, all night, and in his dreams. Fuck, weren’t you a magnetic being?

He ignored his heart while brushing his teeth later that night. He put his hand on his chest and rubbed it when he saw your toothpaste next to his. Yours was pink, and his was blue. A silly little cliche among most couples. He looked at the shower shelf in the bathroom- you used the same body wash as him because you said men’s shower gels smelled better. He simply complied and brought you a few bottles because it gave him the illusion that you had slept in his bed. 

The two of you were polar opposites. He preferred a quiet night in, while you’d take advantage of your weekends and go out with friends. You hated cooking while he cooked elaborate recipes for fun. You were very outdoorsy while he preferred to use his treadmill.

There were so many differences, but you both complemented one another so well. So much that it confused mutual friends. People often asked why you both weren't a couple instead of if you were one.

He would also ignore his heart when it thrilled him to see men walk away from you as soon as he was in your space, hands naturally sitting on your waist while you whined about being single. ‘I’m right here!’ he wanted to scream. ‘Look at me!’

But his heart reached its wits end when you pretended to be his wife to protect him from an uncomfortably touchy woman.

Nanami is a simple man; he gets excited when he hears about food. Especially when it has to do with trying new dishes. So it was only natural that he dragged you to a global food festival in the city. It was pleasantly warm in the outdoor space for a cold winter night, thanks to all the cooking going on in the stands. You were a little overstimulated by all the smells, but the excitement on Nanami’s face was well worth the temporary discomfort. By now, you both had traveled to France, Turkey, and India via flavors alone.

The bar at the food stand you both were eating was getting increasingly crowded by the second, so it was only natural that there would be some unintentional physical contact with strangers. Nanami wrapped his arm around you to prevent the old man beside you from rubbing all his nauseating cologne over you. You ignored the way your body fit right next to his. And dare you say- like a puzzle piece with the silhouette of your breasts pressing up right beneath his pecs. 

You both decided to share a bowl of spicy noodle soup, but you couldn’t handle the prickly taste of peppers on your tongue. “I’m gonna grab something sweet. You want anything?” 

Nanami missed your warmth as you climbed out of the booth’s eating bench. “I’m alright, I’ll wait for you.” 

You also needed a few minutes away from him so your body could catch a break. The rush of adrenaline you’d get when he’d touch you was unlike any other.

He didn’t touch his noodle soup in your absence. It felt tasteless to him without you pressed up next to him. 

He continued his wallowing while staring at the bowl of soup until he felt someone slide in next to him. Excited, he turned around only to be met with a stranger. “Oh my, I really want to try the spicy noodle soup, but I’m scared it’ll be too painful.” 

“I’m sure the owner can give you a sample, and this seat is taken, so I’m gonna have to ask you to move to another place.” 

The insistent woman placed her manicured hand on his bicep, and Nananmi’s posture stiffened. “Oh, come on, I’ll just take a sip from you- I mean, your bowl, and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

This was turning into sexual harassment, and he was about to pull out his sanitizer spray to put her in her place until he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, lady! Leave him alone.” He let out a breath of relief when you arrived, ice cream in hand. 

“I can do whatever I want; it’s a free country,” she sulked.

“So can he, and he asked you to leave him alone,” you argued back. 

“Who even are you?”

“His wife.” Nanami’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. By now, the people at the booth had turned towards the three of you to observe the spectacle. Before the creep could counter your answer or ask you for proof, the booth’s owner spoke up. “Hey, you buyin’ or not? I have customers waitin’ who actually wanna eat!” 

The lady quickly tucked her tail between her legs and briskly walked out of the area. Never to be seen again. “Fucking hell, some people really need to learn about consent. You okay?” Nanami wanted to reply to you, but no words came out of his mouth. 

You had basically declared to the world that you were his wife. Well, not the world, but all eight people in the booth (excluding you two) believed that you were his wife! It probably meant nothing to them, but to him it was like you had hung the stars in the sky. 

“Ken?” 

Ugh, you said it again. 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” His eyes simply couldn’t look away from your spice-swollen lips. If you’re his pretend wife, then it’s okay for him to kiss you, right? 

He mentally slapped himself at that thought. If he was going to kiss you then it was going to be the real deal.

—

Honestly, I like it when reader protects the character. Like yes, come here, my 6’4 baby girl, I’ll beat that person up for you.

[sheep-from-rad]

How would the batfamily react if they found out that the singer/influencer reader was dating one of the villains?, imagine the reader has friends with benefits from the villains

(What kind of jokes do you like?)

Batman is so scary, even bullets are afraid to hit him. That's why they aimed for his parents. (sorry)

anon 🦌

Note: 🦌anon please send more jokes. After the Solmare announcement regarding the Obey me series, I am one push away from drinking every wine in my fridge.I’m gonna need more jokes (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) I don't give permission to have my fics posted to other sites, copied, or fed to AI. Thank you.

Masterlist 

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive and @strangergraphics. Please do support them ♡

You heard that? That’s the collective sign of every Batfamily member sighing in disappointment and collective glare towards Bruce. Like father like child, of all genes to be inherit you inherited his taste (ಠ_ಠ). Getting entangled with a villain is not something new in the Batfamily because they are either related to one (Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian) or romantically involved with one (Bruce with Talia, Poison Ivy, Catwoman and sometimes Harley. Dick with Catwoman II. And Jason with… you know what let’s not talk about Talia and Jason. That one is weird on all levels). 

If you’re romantically involved with someone who does not know Batman’s real identity then it’s not much of a problem. The family is just going to visit said enemy and scar them for the rest of their mortal life. It will be so bad they will just quit being a villain and leave Gotham all together. If you’re romantically involved with someone who knows Batman’s real identity, then it will be a chaotic event. Bruce is already fighting villains and now he’s fighting his blood pressure too. 

Riddler would be so smug about it. He would rub it in every Batfamily member’s face and would constantly drop your name in fights like ‘How would they react if you hurt me?’ or ‘Oh they will be mad if I come back bruised!’. Riddler would be so insufferable like the madman he is. If you’re dating Harvey Dent, you’re technically dating two persons (in most media depictions, Harvey is the same age as Bruce so let’s go with that one). His incorruptible part is basically filling every space that Bruce neglected to fill. He’ll teach you about legals and laws, tell you stories about their days and he protects you from those who dare to come close. His corrupted part, Two face, is kind of mean. He will never miss the chance to remind you of the potential parental issues you have. 

Headcanon that Harley will make it her mini mission to keep you away from Joker because let’s face it, Joker will not love you. He will only use you and break you like how he did to Harley. 

Honestly, it doesn’t matter if the relationship you have is good or bad. To the family it’s a parasite that needs to be terminated immediately before it grows. You’re grounded. You’re not allowed to go out alone. If you don’t live in the estate anymore, you will just randomly find your apartment sold to someone else and you’ll be taken back to the estate. No metahumans in Gotham rule but Damian already has the permission from Bruce to have the Titans stay for a while as reinforcements. Even Jason is patrolling more and everyday now he will make a report to the estate. 

During those days they were full on babying you to the point of infantilization. They’ll give you ‘the talk’ especially if you’re in a friends with benefits relationship with a villain and sometimes they’ll go so far into showing you every other person they had been with. They are not above poisoning the relationship too. They’ll show you expertly doctored photos showing their ‘infidelity’. Guilt trip you into reading old cases and gaslight you. You’re not in love with them, you were just manipulated into thinking that you are. 

But of course, what is a Wayne if not stubborn? Month of being grounded and being in heavy watch and you’re done. You already have their shifts memorized down to who checks on you at night. After hours once you’re certain that everyone is now asleep or busy on their patrols (or finished checking your room), you start acting out the plan of running away. You passed each security detail without triggering them, passed every room without alerting anyone, and passed Titus without waking him up. However before you can even reached the doorknob, you heard Dick and Jason behind you:

“Looks like someone took lessons from Catwoman” 

“You know we saw your lover today. We were going to let them go but I guess no one’s picking you up anymore” 

The next time you wake up, you are greeted by the fresh warm breeze and the sound of water hitting the shore. As you descended down the stairs, news about a villain going missing was on the headlines along with the date on the screen saying ‘Thursday’. It has been three days since you got caught by Jason and Dick and Tim just entered the door carrying take outs from Mad Yak cafe. You’re in Happy Harbor, far away from Gotham and your lover is missing. Was the no kill rule violated? You can only pray it’s not.

[ultravi0lence14]

Butterfly

sam winchester x angel!reader

1k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: you and sam were complete opposites of each other, and sam had no idea how a gorgeous, pure girl like you could even chose him in the first place.

sam sometimes just stared at you when you weren’t looking, wondering how he got so lucky in finding a girl like you.

you were so sweet, someone sam thought his wretched soul wasn’t worthy of. he’s got demon blood running through his veins, the vessel of lucifer himself. why would you — an angel as pure as snow — even remotely look his way.

that was the funny thing with you angels though. you guys always saw the best in people.

before you touched down from heaven, you had learned the copious stories of the winchester brothers lives. how their mother died, springing them into the hunting life. their tragic upbringing, and how their father raised them poorly. but most importantly, you learned about the youngest.

sam winchester. the boy with demon blood. every angel you spoke to said he was an abomination, but you thought differently.

this wasn’t sam’s fault. he was a defenceless baby, having this curse brought forth onto him by his mother’s actions long before his conception. sam was a victim, a child forced into this life with no say whatsoever; and you felt like the only angel who truly saw it like that.

when you had made it to earth, cordially meeting both sam and dean for the first time, you wondered why your brother’s and sister’s talked so poorly about the man.

he truly was a friendly giant. too sweet for his own good. he cared. about people he didn’t know, his brother especially, and all the strangers he came across on hunts with dean.

watching him console a victim for the first time tugged on your heart strings. he was so kind, so thoughtful and unlike anything said about him up in heaven. it was at that moment you felt your first human emotion. a surge of fondness rushing up your body like bile coming up your throat.

for a fleeting moment, you experienced what human love was truly like.

as time moved forward, you and sam got closer and closer. more often than not, you decided to stay back and research with him instead of going out with dean and cas. you talked with him, learning about his childhood from his mouth and truly understanding the full truth and severity of his life growing up.

the day that he kissed you for the first time was magical, better than the feeling of all angel grace combined. he was nervous, hands shaking as the cupped your face and shyly asking if this is what you wanted.

of course you wanted it. you wanted sam winchester since the moment you saw him, and now you were finally getting what you hoped for.

just as you believed, sam truly was the perfect boyfriend. he was caring and considerate, always willing to drop anything and everything to make sure you were okay. though he was also tough and protective, turning full hunter mode whenever someone bothered you or made you uncomfortable.

one thing you loved was how he spoke to you. he held you at the highest point in his mind, addressing you with the upmost love and respect that he could muster.

because that is how he really saw you. sam in his heart believed that you were possibly the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on. you were truly the apple of his eye, and he wouldn’t dream of letting someone as perfect as you go.

he even called you his butterfly. a gorgeous creation of God that flys around and somehow always lands somewhere on him. which was true, because you were a very clingy person.

you two were always holding hands, arms linked, or sam’s arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. dean had to stop himself from hurling 24/7, and you had to stop yourself from getting cartoonish hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

the peace and serenity that you brought to sam’s life was all he could ever ask for. when you decided to take up drawing and painting, he cherished the times you two would find an empty space, setting down a picnic blanket and drawing whatever your heart desired surrounded by nature.

when he joined you for the first time, and you handed him over a intricately detailed drawing of him sitting down at that very moment, eyes opened and staring woefully at the large trees and flowers surrounding him, he couldn’t help but let a couple tears fall.

“oh no,” you had exclaimed, sitting up on your knees so you could get nearer to him. “you don’t like it, do you?”

he instantly snapped his head towards you, watching as tears filled your bright coloured eyes. his heart shattered staring into your glassy irises, and he cursed himself for ever making you feel like that.

shaking his head and putting down your sketchbook so he could cup your face, sam pulled you over to him so you were delicately perched in his lap. eye’s boring into his as he delicately stroked your cheek.

“i love it butterfly. that is the prettiest drawing i have ever seen. even prettier cause it was made by you.” his cheesy words made you blush, not caring in the slightest how silly you two probably looked to on lookers. with your finger reaching out to trace the slope of his nose, you looked at him with a soft smile on your face, pouring your heart into one look. “you mean that?”

“of course i do.” his eyes held that glossy puppy dog look you loved so dearly, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. “i am not trying to sound cheesy when i say this, but you truly are the best thing that ever happened to me, butterfly. you’re the one of the only one’s who believed in me.”

his words brought a gleeful smile on your face. and as the midday sun trickled across his, you thanked your father for whatever he did to make you and sam come together.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (2)

posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player. 

“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room. 

“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said. 

“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room. 

“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy. 

“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!” 

“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before. 

“Kei, come on they don’t know.” 

“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before. 

Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends. 

Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all. 

“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in. 

“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice. 

“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?” 

“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.” 

“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?” 

“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”

“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”

“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.” 

Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world. 

Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning. 

The morning that would change things. 

[howling-medic]

I just… this is perfect. I am obsessed with fourth age headcannons and theories. The interpersonal relationships and friendships between these characters are so special. I absolutely love Imagining how they would evolve and how their kids would interact.

I want to add a few ideas your post gave me:

Faramir Took would love to learn and expand his knowledge like his father and namesake alike, but he would also be the spiciest lionhearted hobbit - just like his father. There would be no foe too big for him, and he would train with the Rangers of Ithilien and the Knights of Gondor to hone his swordsmanship. Watching his son learn to fight would remind Pippin of learning from Boromir in Eriador. Later that night, Pippin would sit Faramir down and tell him all about his namesake’s brother and how Boromir saved his father’s life. Faramir would have heard this story many times before, but he would listen to it all again in rapt attention.

Elboron eagerly shares all his latest findings and pieces of knowledge with his dear friend from the time they are children - whether in person or in letters. Faramir looks forward to these exchanges more than almost anything even when it’s the most mundane of facts or theories that hold little interest for him. Elboron’s excitement is infectious. (I am simply ignoring the fact that it would take at minimum 3ish months to travel from The Shire to Ithilien, which would make it a six month process to get a response to a letter)

Both Elboron and Faramir would be treasured advisors to the other - Elboron leaning on Faramir when unsure if a situation calls for military action and needing reassurance that it is the correct decision, and Faramir leaning upon Elboron to temper his more impulsive nature.

The two fathers love nothing more than watching their boys play together and learn from each other. They sit together and reminisce on their younger and wilder days. Some days they one of them will get a far off look in their eyes and wonder aloud what Boromir’s children would be like. The other would sigh and say “would that he could share in these moments with us.” “He lives in us, and then in them, my friend,” the other would answer. For a long while they would both fall silent and gaze out towards the Falls of Rauros and Amon Hen.

Aragorn and Eldarion make a point to watch over all the children of Faramir and Pippin, promising them both to keep them out of trouble and keep them safe when their fathers pass, serving as a god father and older brother respectively. The task is a challenge, but they mostly succeed. Faramir takes to calling Aragorn Strider even when not appropriate, just as Pippin did. Elboron, while as quiet natured and scholarly as his father, also inherited his father's keen perception and ability to read people. With it, he inherited Faramir’s propensity for mischief and teasing - we saw Faramir in Ithilien with Frodo and Sam, he likes to mess with people. Rarely does it get him trouble, but every once in a while it lands him in a tight spot when he's a little to on the nose with his teasing or calls out the wrong noble for ill intent with no concrete proof other than vibes.

I have spent too much time thinking about these characters. I refuse to acknowledge how far apart they live, and I absolutely insist that they spend any time they can with each other even with canon distances.

Anyways, these were a blast to contemplate. Thank you for the inspiration!

Hey you know how Pippin and Diamond had a son and they named him Faramir? And then they introduced him to his namesake and he immediately gained the biggest uncle ever? And how Faramir and Elboron would pal around together and became close lifelong friends? And how Faramir and Elboron both took after their fathers, in that Elboron became a gentle scholar who helped restore lasting peace between Gondor and Harad and Faramir became the fightingest Thain Tuckborough had produced in generations and carried his father's sword and was known for leading the defense of the Evendim Road in the goblin skirmishes following the restoration of Annúminas? Okay so only the first line is actually canon but the rest is also canon

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream surviving No Nut November.

AN: Posting this on clutch LMAO. Minors dni.

Mark Lee

I feel like Mark's up to that silly challenge of yours. A month without nutting seems like easy for him, he'll just have to shift his attention on others things. You on the other hand, thinks that it'll be easy for you two. Not until Mark slowly loses his mind, literally,,, everything you do is so hot for him and maybe he was craving for you! But he can't let himself lose this challenge, he'll lose his pride!! The first week was fine with him, but when the second week arrived, he's slowly losing it. Fuck the challenge, he wants nothing more but to be inside you. 

Huang Renjun

All Renjun needs to do is to meditate, relax, and just stop thinking about fucking you when you suggested NNN as a challenge, the prize was the loser has to cook for the month of December, and Renjun is not backing out on escaping chores. Everything's going well, he can manage to dodge all your attempt seductions on making him lose but he bottled it up so badly that it'll just break before November ends. Probably around 20th, he just realized that November's been too long and he's just, "whatever, I need you right now."

Lee Jeno

Contrary to popular belief, I think that Jeno needs your consent when it comes to having sex. So the NNN challenge would be SO HARD for him. The many times he has to wash his hard-on using the shower and thinking weird thoughts to flatten it just makes it worse for him. You watch in amusement as your boyfriend lose his mind because he has not fucked you for the last three weeks, but deep inside, YOU'RE also craving for him. It wasn't until you called a truce between the two of you when he immediately jumped on you. 

Lee Donghyuck

You really think Haechan will join NNN??? Well, at first he's confident that he can have a whole month of not nutting but that's all a fraud. HE NEEDS YOU. You're his life and sun, and no silly challenge is going to take that away from him. He won't even probably last a week, and will be jumping on you in no time because he's just touch-deprived and can't live without your pussy.

Na Jaemin

Jaemin CAN survive NNN because consent is sexy haha and he needs your consent when you two have sex. If you want to join NNN then he has to do that too. I feel like he has needs but he thinks with his mind when it comes to things like this. AND when you're such a tease for making him lose, he knows how to turn it down because there's no way he's backing down from the challenge. (His leo pride is stronger than Mark ngl) But good luck to you when December 1 comes, because he'll be fucking you until you can't walk properly. 

Zhong Chenle

Chenle also wins NNN despite all your endless teasing and attempt seduction because this man never backs out a challenge. His sheer competitiveness just wins over his horniness, that's why he can survive a whole month without nutting because he's thinking of the grand prize --- which is the loser has to give the winner a gift with no price limit. Although there are times that he almost lose because really, he's also a man with needs, the thought of losing slowly comes in which immediately brings his head back to the game. 

Park Jisung

Jisung will be the most frustrated out of all because he ALMOST won NNN and that would've happen if you weren't such a vixen who's only goal was to make him lose. It was fine during the first weeks, you leave him alone and he thinks that he's winning BUT it wasn't until the third week where your only goal was to make him lose. He tried, really, Jisung has to beg in his knees and start praying for the temptation to go away, but he'll ended up nutting on the last day because you decided to tease him more that he couldn't take it anymore. (Safe to say, you two started December with a bang lol)

[shapelytimber]

Wanted to paint some of my favorite characters, nothing more nothing less

[COMMISSIONS]

Way too much yapping like an embarrassing amount, the individual portraits and the template I used below vvv

I shouldn't be allowed to talk about my favorite characters- especially to people who (presumably) don't know them xjfkdk apart from the very popular ones ofc

ILLYA KURYAKIN (The man from U.N.C.L.E)

gay ass little Russian spy I love him he is so *dramatic* and a huge nerd and a Beatles fan and into fashion design- perfect pocket size blorbo ;w; also seeing a Russian character being given a positive leading role in an American tvshow from the 60s ?? Yes he lives in New York and works for UNCLE America.... But he is still a communist ?? Incredible ! Also I really like the fact he isn't given the cliché personality traits often given to Russian characters i e anger issues drinks a lot violent ect (looking at you shitty(imo) modern remake... What did you do to my little guy ;;). In a close contest with Spock for the "gayest man from tvshow" of the 60s..... And in my heart he is winning djdkd for me the gay subtext of muncle hits so much more because it's not a scifi show- it's closer to home, Napoleon and Illya were *like that* in the present day of the 60s, they were both human, and no alien fuckery made them go to the village more than once or play house in the suburbs or get attached ass up to get pegged on a regular basis... Truly a show that feels written by an old queen and a guy with the biggest fem dom fetish jkvjjkb (don't get me wrong tho I adore star trek tos and spirk too <3)

KUROO HAZAMA and PINOKO (Black Jack)

sometimes I rewatch some of the oavs from the 90s when I'm sad :) I had a huge phase a couple years back when I read nearly all the manga (should really finish it... Or reread the whole thing frankly), watched *all* the shows (bar young black jack, hated that shit) and idk I just love this venal bitch so much- him and his daughter and his conflicted feelings for his tboy ex that he still loves kfkfkf btw I'm dying for a modern take on this like please please please I'd love to see Kei Kisaragi's story rewritten a bit (trans character in the 70s sure was progressive but oh boy-), because him and black jack's relationship makes me so *weak*.... And maybe see him a bit more than in one story- anyway ! When it comes to his daughter Pinoko, it's very hit or miss- when the writers lean on the cute father adoptive daughter relationship it's great, when they lean more on the whole "she has a crush on him" (very much like a child in most case, and he *never* reciprocate thank god) and bring up the fact she is technically 18 a lot (she was an evil tumor trapped in her sister before he created a body for her- black jack shit dw), and she gets jealous of other women.... Well it's terrible and I'm uncomfy :(

EVA KANT (Diabolik)

Look.... You just can't show me danger diabolik 1968 and not expect me to become insane djdkdkdk she is so cool ;; !!! Her and her devious eel of a man (here as a panther, because even tho I haven't read the comic yet, I'm taking an educated guess that all the panther imagery is here to represent him, the lethal twunk always in the all black gimp suit... And if it's not then fuck my entire life ig fjfkkd), the cuntiest het couple you've ever seen, such freaks I love them ! Partners in crime that will blow up the tax offices of the whole country if you try to put a bounty on them <3 they are in the guilty faves category only because I'm this invested in these characters after 1 (one) movie fkfkf watched the first two remakes and was hmmm let's say underwhelmed, could have been worse but going after the 60s one ie peak cinema was hard... I went in fully invested in these heterosexuals and they still fucked up their romance and relationship ;; (don't spoil me the third one btw haven't seen it yet ! I know it's the yaoi one- which doesn't give me much hope for Eva tbh...) I'll soon start reading the comics tho ! Managed to find all twelve volumes of "Il grande Diabolik" in french for pretty cheap so I'm excited for that :D (might scan them and upload them online because omg I tried finding scans in *any* language and only found a dubious website that sold digital copies for 7€ a volume ??? What is this)

UTA (The Void / Тургор / Turgor / Tension)

Apathy girlyyyyy she just like me for real for real nfkfk what absolutely charmed me about her is yes her design, but more importantly her chamber's design (if you've never played the void, a sister's chamber is a space that represent her. You get a sense of who she is by exploring her chamber before finding her and talking to her soul it's great). The lonely island out at sea, her laying down on a suspended steel boat in a grotto, looking passively at the moon by a crack on the ceiling.... And the moon is looking back. Incredible ! I love this game so much

KIM KITSURAGI (Disco Elysium)

Do I really have to explain this one ? When I played the game with quiji I remember I kept saying "when Kim talks, we *listen*" djkdk we did get a good grade in Kim Kitsuragi and got him to dance in the church <3 this fucking centrist cop wormed it's way into my heart and many others because of course he did. The only Kim K in my eyes. Also funny anecdote : before I played Disco Elysium, I had one concept art masterclass where a kinda famous concept artist came to give advice, make us really stressed then give us a shitty grade.... And when I tell you this man looked so much like Kim ??? Same haircut, glasses, face with a scar *exactly* where Kim's portrait has a stark shadow on his cheek and he was dressed in an orange top- truly uncanny. Anyway, Kim is so fucking cool how does he do it

DARK VADOR (La guerre des étoiles)

*sight* not surprising if you know me... and to be clear when I say Vader I don't mean Anakin Skywalker, post barbecue only zouz here. I refuse to yap about this man djdkdk I already do that way to much in ao3 comment sections

And here is the template I used ! Don't know who made it tho sorry...

PS : all these where made in 2-3 hours each :D wanted to challenge myself by painting quickly, and I mostly (looking at the Eva Kant one that gave me trouble) succeeded !

[postcardsfromheapside]

I need to be salty for a hot second about people who are upset about aspects of Lucanis' romance.

I'll put everything else under the break for spoilers, but in general, I am so disappointed in a large portion of this fanbase who apparently thought "disaster" meant "romantasy," but also it's in keeping with how a lot of people seem unable to put things in context.

One of the complaints I keep seeing run past is that the scene where you commit to a relationship with Lucanis seems pefunctory, or out of the blue, there's nothing really romantic about it, it's too similar to the platonic route, etc, etc, ETC.

I romanced Emmrich, but I've seen other people's versions of romancing Lucanis. I'm just going to kind of word vomit here, and hope I can come up with something cohesive.

As someone who id's with Lucanis for "generational abuse" and "dumpster fire disaster bi" and "using socially acceptable drugs as coping mechanisms in place of addressing your problems" reasons, it's been really fucking annoying watching the almost deliberate misinterpretation of his character even after Mary Kirby dropped several explanations on social media. It's like a large part of the fanbase saw all that and turned into the "yes yes, very sad...anyway!" meme and went right on fetishizing him...then got mad when he didn't turn into the seductive Dom with wings they were hoping for.

You commit to Lucanis after (what I consider) a very intense scene inside his "mind prison." He's struggling so much internally that Spite wrests control of his body from him in front of witnesses and begs Rook to help them. Lucanis would never ask Rook to do so on his own, he's terrible at asking for the help he truly needs. Spite drags Rook into the Fade Ossuary and demands they free Lucanis from his self-imposed prison. And whether you're a friend or would-be lover, Rook slowly talks Lucanis out of a host of self doubts regarding his family and friends. Can he trust himself not to hurt other people, now that he's saddled with this affliction? Has he disappointed the people he cares about most? Do these new people he's coming to care about actually trust and care about him? The rooms are filled with fragmented thoughts that peter out into regrets. You're literally seeing Lucanis' fractured and complicated emotions.

One of them tore a hole straight through me: "You'd have to kill me...And Spite would die."

You'd have to kill him to get rid of the demon. And he'd regret the death of the demon that's protected him and given him strength, through a brutal year of betrayal and torment. I don't know if y'all remember the scenes in the Ossuary of the failed experiments and the corpses you had to pass to get to his jar of blood. It wasn't fun.

When you break out of the mind prison after helping him bond with Spite, it's intimate and momentous, even on a platonic route. You've seen desperate and lonely parts of him he'd never willingly show anyone.

As you're convincing Lucanis that it's okay to leave his mind-prison, you tell him you understand that it's easier to deal with problems like the Ossuary and Zara than healing and living with Spite, potentially hurting people he cares about. But he wants to. It's Rook's job to help him see a path out, a way for him to make the struggle easier so he can begin to heal himself.

I need to stress: you aren't "fixing" him. You're acting as his lighthouse, regardless of whether you're a friend or a lover. Sometimes people need help. He's still going to have to do the work to get there.

As a friend, it was extremely rewarding to come back to the kitchen and see him doing exactly as I'd hoped: moving on with the business of *living*. He made a nice dinner for everyone he's come to care for, and a special dessert for Neve. Cooking is where Lucanis finds creativity, and comfort, and connection with his friends and family. He isn't very good with words, but he will note everything you consume, and try to make you feel loved by expressing it that way.

Which is why I think it's important you don't dismiss the commitment on the romantic route. He remembers YOUR favorite drink and makes YOU a special dessert if you're romancing him. Lucanis isn't going to get poetic. You've already made him feel raw. You've seen the ugly, embarassing parts of him. What is he supposed to say? Usually it takes Spite reaching through his body to actually be direct. Instead, Lucanis reaches for food, his favorite medium, to try and apologize for inadvertently showing you those things, to thank you for helping him despite seeing what he considers the most shameful parts of him. Your commitment is letting him know that you value him, that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that you understand what he's trying to express with his struggling communication skills, which appear to get better as your relationship progresses from there.

It's weird that some of y'all don't feel that this is heartfelt and important, because you'd rather him act out some sensuous fantasy trope. It's also weird that some of you haven't figured out that many scenes in RPG's can be similar on platonic and romantic routes with tweaks to shade context.

(Also just in case this comes up: cooking is not his "love language" - that whole concept was invented by a misogynistic weirdo and we should remove it from our ideas of communication)

Anyway, this guy is my Rook's bestie and I'll go down swinging for him, you should appreciate the fuck out of him and stop acting like his writer didn't craft a perfectly funny little weirdo who is bad at showing people his tender parts and terrible at interpersonal relationships.