#CAN YOU TELL I STRUGGLED TO WRITE ANYTHING COHERENT BECAUSE EVERY TIME I TRIED TO DO IT I WOULD JUST START TO GET FERAL ABOUT HOW MUCH

[stormyoceans]

can i share my love for mork here because this bitch graced my screen for four minutes and snatched my heart completely. he's so sexy for being poor, he's so sexy for working with his hands, he's so sexy for having such messy style with the softest hair ive ever seen and baggy tshirts and ripped jeans and that earring (?) UGH he's so sexy for being snarky and flirtatious and strong willed and dealing with hard life situation and idk not loosing inner light yknow what i mean? he's so sexy for not sucking up to rich people lmao he really said right in day's mother's and day's faces if ya boy is a little bitch I'll say out loud even if i need your money. and I hope the creators will make him such a character that you can damn well see that he is in love and this greatly affects him. day can barely see but if someone looked at me like mork looked at day when they touched sunflowers or when he made 👉 gesture or when they were at the beach I would grab his hand and run to the altar, let other characters comment on how whipped mork is i want day to knooooow (and i know he'll be super whipped for day). last but not the least he's so sexy for having namtan as his bestie, i need to know how they met

AMEN HALLELUJAH I LITERALLY COULD NOT AGREE WITH YOU MORE ANON!!!!!! JUST LOOK AT HIM

ALREADY THE MOST CHARACTER EVER and i love how he looks rough around the edges but also so incredibly soft and how that's basically a reflection of his character too: he is blunt and flirty and cheeky and yet affable and selfless and kind. his hands are often gonna be stained from motor oil and covered with cuts and scars from having them inside engine compartments, but when he touches day they're always so gentle, and it's not because he thinks day is something fragile, but because mork loves and cherishes him so much that it makes him want to be tender

you also made me realize that i need day and namtan's character to meet SO BADLY!!!!! i need her to be like "so YOU're day. i heard so much about you" and day just raises an eyebrow and goes "only good things i hope" to which she replies "oh, don't worry. mork has nothing but praises for you" while mork blushes and desperately tries to change the subject, but at one point he has to leave them alone for a while and when he gets back they're already friends and sharing embarrassing stories about mork. I JUST!!!!! REALLY NEED NAMTAN'S CHARACTER TO SEE THEM TOGETHER AND POINT OUT HOW SMITTEN MORK IS!!!!! and maybe at first she is a bit worried about mork getting so close to day because mork still works for him, but after she sees them together she has no doubts they both have feelings for each other, so the first time she is alone with mork she's like "you know, i've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him". after that every time day is around she makes sure to comment out loud when mork is blushing or looking at day with the softest smile and eyes full of adoration

ANYWAY CAN THEY GIVE ME THIS SHOW ALREADY AT THIS RATE IM GONNA LOSE IT BEFORE IT EVEN AIRS

[percyluvr]

Hiii,i love your blog and your writing sm and that’s why i wanted to be brava and make a request!If you like the idea,can you please write a Percy imagine were reader is the daughter of Thetis(the water nymph/goddess and mother of Achilles)and she is the one that helps Percy with his water powers?Like they bond over that and fall in love with each other?Thank you very much!🩵🩵

percy jackson x daughter of thetis!reader summary: percy meets a nereid; the rest is history wc: 2524 note: thank you so much for reading my works, i'm vv glad u love my blog & i hope i could do this request justice. i wasn't exactly sure if her kid would be a demigod or a nymph, so i thought because i haven't really seen any fics w a nymph!reader, i would get a lil creative w it! i do know that achilles was considered a demigod, but i figured maybe her female children would be nereids(?)

Percy had been claimed as a son of Poseidon about a month ago at this point, and he was desperately trying to understand his powers. When he was claimed, he assumed that it would be easy to harness the power of the sea, since, well, his dad was the literal God of the Sea. Unfortunately, it was not coming as naturally as he had hoped and assumed it would, and so he now found himself swimming in the sea near Camp Half-Blood, searching for someone or something to help him get a leash on his powers.

He tried contacting his dad, to no avail; now aimlessly swimming. The only thing that had truly come natural to him was the ability to breathe under water, which was helpful now, since he didn't have to keep coming up to the surface for breath and could now just focus on finding help.

It'd been about 2 hours of just what others would consider mind-numbing swimming, but Percy enjoyed it anyhow.

He eventually found himself face to face with a young girl whom he would consider one of, if not the most beautiful person he'd ever come across. Though he was a son of Poseidon, Percy swears that he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. The longer he looked at you, the more and more aware he was that he was underwater, and all he could think was 'I'm a son of Poseidon and I'm going to drown, and because somehow it can get more embarrassing than that, I'm going to drown in front of a beautiful girl and she's probably going to laugh and I'm never even going to get to know her name or hear her voice, which is probably the most heavenly thing anyone would ever get a chance to hear and-'

His thoughts are broken when he hears you speak, and somehow your voice sounds even more heavenly than he had assumed it would be.

"Hello, Perseus," you say, smiling, and Percy thinks that his heart might just burst into a million little pieces that will eventually drift out into the water surrounding the two of you.

"Hey, hi, um," he struggles to assemble his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"Take your time, Perseus. You will not run out of breath, as I believe you thought you would just a few seconds ago," you speak, fighting the urge to giggle at the silly boy that has found his way to your home.

"Um, first, you can just call me Percy, if you want. Second, I know I won't, I was just, uh, distracted for a second. And third, I'm here because, embarrassingly enough, apparently the fact that I'm the son of Poseidon doesn't matter to this water, which will not do anything I want it to unless I'm in a life or death situation, which does happen to occur quite often, so really I'd probably be fine, but I would sort of like to be able to have the comfort of knowing that I can actually use these cool powers that every tells me I have," he rambles. "Sorry, that was kind of a lot," he concludes.

"Do not worry, I followed along quite easily, actually. Anyhow, if you require assistance with your endeavors, I am here to aide you. When I'm not busy helping your father at the castle, that is," you offer.

"Really? I mean I was hoping you would say that, but I wasn't sure you would. But yeah, I'll take you up on that, thanks," he flashes you a smile.

"Wonderful. Feel free to stop by or call my name into the water, and I'll hear it and come to you if I'm able."

"Right, uh, not to be rude, but uh, what's your name?"

"Ah, right, I forget how you demi-gods don't bother to learn the names of the Nereids anymore."

When you tell him your name, you believe you see his eyes glisten in adoration, unless, of course, you're making that all up in your head because the boy in front of you is way cuter than you had ever imagined when you had just heard his name being thrown around by the gossiping Nereids around the palace.

"Well, then, Percy, you should be on your way. I have things to be doing now."

"Right, bye then. Thanks for, y'know, offering to teach me pretty much everything," he says bashfully.

"Of course." He begins to swim away and all you are left with the ability to do is wave as he slowly gets farther and farther away.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been not even a week since Percy had been, in his descriptions to his friends at camp, blessed by your presence, and though the two of you had barely become acquaintances, he found himself missing the sound of your voice and the odd, in his opinion, outdated way that you spoke.

This type of yearning for a person's presence is not the type of yearning he feels for his mother, Sally, and so, this feeling is quite new to Percy. Of course, as a teenage boy, he doesn't know how else to manage this intense feeling, so immediately he goes to the beach and calls your name into the water.

"Hello, Percy, I can't say I'm surprised that you're this eager to harness the power of the sea. I was also very invigorated when I first learned of what was possible once at one with the sea."

"Am I not already one with the sea? My dad is literally the God and King of the sea. And are you not also one with the sea from birth? Aren't Nereides water spirits or whatever?"

"Ah, Percy, you misunderstand. You are not born one with the sea, even as a Nereid. You must prove to the sea that you are not afraid of it, and that you will not take advantage of it. It may takes days, or weeks, but I suspect that you will do just fine."

"And how exactly am I supposed to prove that?"

"You will see," you said cryptically, and before Percy could object to this statement, you were gone, and he was staring out into the clear blue water of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Jeez, when someone offers to teach you, you would think they would actually teach you something and not just say some weird cryptic stuff and then disappear," he grumbles to no one in particular.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Of course, you were correct in your assumption that Percy would quickly prove to the sea that he could be trusted to harbor its power. He manages to form a ball of water the size of a fist before losing focus, leaving the water to splash back down and become one with the sea again.

However, he was not discouraged, and in his invigorated state, he calls out for you without even realizing it.

"Hello, Perseus. I see that I was correct," you said, a bit smugly, Percy must say.

"Yeah, yeah. Will you actually teach me now?"

"Indeed. I wanted to be sure that you were competent enough for my help, so I do apologize for how ominous my words were."

"You're all good. I do have a question though, and feel free to try to drown me if this is rude."

"Do proceed with your inquiry." At that, Percy nearly bursts out laughing at how much you sounded like an office e-mail from someone's annoyed boss, but managed to somehow keep composure.

"Uh, why do you talk like.. I don't know, so formal. Aren't you my age?"

"I do apologize. I do believe you are older than me, which may come as a surprise to you. But to answer your main question, I talk so 'formal' because that is simply how everyone at the palace speaks. I suppose we do not have much contact with anyone outside of the ocean, and so we have not picked up on all of the latest dialects and ways of speaking."

"Well, I guess that makes sense then, my bad."

"Do not worry."

"So, uh, do I get to learn more about 'harnessing the power of the ocean' or whatever now?"

"I suppose now would be as good a time as any."

"Cool, cool, where do we start?"

You lift your fist into the air, a large section of water rising into the air and forming into the shape of a large sea turtle, forming into different animals as you rotate your hand in the air.

"Are you able to do that? Even a basic animal shape would be fine, but if not, we must begin, well, at the beginning."

"Oh, man," he grumbled

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been a few months of you popping in a few days a week to assist Percy with his ambitions, and he was finally able to wield the power of the sea like he once hoped he would be able.

However, September was rapidly approaching and Percy would soon have to return to school, meaning he would not get to see you nearly as often, which certainly put a damper on what was already a terrible week leading up to the start of the wretched school year.

And so, he resolved that the two of you would talk every day until he had to leave. He didn't care that he had progressed past the point of needing your help anymore, he just wanted to be in your presence for however much longer possible.

It was nearly instinct at this point for Percy to call your name out into the sea, and he was not one to fight it.

"Good to see you, Percy. But as I'm sure you're fully aware, you do not need my tutoring anymore. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I do believe that you've even surpassed me, and that doesn't come as a surprise," you praise.

"I don't know about that, but I am pretty cool now," he says jokingly.

You smile. "But uh, I didn't call you for practice, I just thought that, uh, that maybe we could just hang out, y'know? I mean you did help me a lot, so I figure why not give you some company outside of all those old people or whatever back at the palace," Percy admits.

"That doesn't sound horrible. You are quite interesting, I would like to get to know you more as well. And yes, I could use some time away from my fellow Nereids at the palace," you sheepishly say.

"That's what I thought. Hey, by the way, you never told me who your parents were. You know who my dad and mom are, but I don't know either of yours."

"Ah, my mother is a bit more obscure nowadays, as she's not one of the Goddesses that the Greeks traditionally worship as they do the Olympians. She is a water nymph, but also a Goddess, and unfortunately is no longer worshipped in the same proportion as she was in Ancient Greece," you sadly explain.

"Huh, that's pretty cool. I mean, not the part that she's not really worshipped anymore, but the part of her being a nymph and a Goddess. Um, anyways, do you ever talk to my dad?"

"Occasionally, your father will ask me to accompany him or to do various tasks. He is a kind man, I do like his presence, if that is what you were trying to get at."

"That's good. I've only talked to him a few times, but I figured he was a nice guy," Percy grins, "Do you ever get to talk to your mom?"

"Yes, my mother, Thetis, and I are quite close. She lives in the palace with me."

"Wow, I'll be honest, I'm kinda jealous. I mean, I think my dad is cool, and I know he's like a big shot Olympian and whatever, but I think it'd be nice if we could actually talk in person and bond or whatever," he admits.

"Yes, I understand. It must be hard, but for the majority of the year, you have your mother, yes? Or are you a year-round camper?"

"Yeah, you're right. I do have my mom for most of the year, so it's worth it. She's the best," he cheers up at the mention of his mother.

"I figured you would say that. She raised you well. You are much kinder than some of the campers here, but I suppose that is not their fault."

"Nah, it's not. It is what it is sometimes."

You nod, and the conversation flows smoothly on.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Today was the last day that Percy would be at camp, since his mother was picking him up later that day after lunch.

He decided that since he only had a few hours left at camp for the summer, he would spend them with the person he now considered one of his closest friends, even though he'd only really known you for a few months at this point.

When he called your name, you appeared almost instantly.

"Hey, Percy," you said, grinning.

"Switching up the greeting today?"

"I suppose since today was your last day here, I would start trying to speak like you and perhaps by the time you came back from school, I would speak more 'naturally,' as you put it."

"Huh, the way you talk doesn't actually bother me, y'know."

"That may be true, but I would like to learn to speak more modernly anyhow."

"If you want to, go for it. But uh, I thought maybe we could do that thing, it's called like, Iris messaging or something? With the drachmas? Then we could keep in touch while I'm at school, too," Percy says nervously.

"That does sound like a good idea. Now that we're friends, I think it would be optimal that we spoke frequently and updated each other on our lives. Good thinking."

He chuckled. "Good, good. I, uh, also wanted to say that... well, I think you're really pretty, and I thought maybe next summer, we could, uh, maybe go on a date or something. I don't know if you feel the same way, but if you do and you do want to, that would be pretty cool," he rambles, interrupted by the foreign feeling of your lips on his.

After a few moments, you detach your mouth from his. "Was that, uh, alright?" You quietly ask.

"Yeah, jeez, that was way better than alright. That was perfect," he says, a deep red adorning his cheeks.

"That is excellent to hear," you say, smiling wider than you'd ever in your life.

"Well, I need to go to lunch, and uh, then my mom is picking me up. I'll Iris message you as soon as I get home, okay? So make sure you're ready."

"See you tonight, Percy," you happily state, dissolving back into the water as quickly as you had appeared.

He stares into the beautiful clear water for a bit before he walks away, unaware that you had appeared again and were watching him walk away, a look of adoration decorating your features.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

You mentioned shadow tendrils in the recent piece of writing-- have you written anything with Lord Denholm using those to fuck Altair?

I would use them to pull his cute little pussy open and force him to take those and Lord Denholm's cock at the same time.

Listen we're just going to pretend that you didn't send this like 9 months ago lmao

But anyway I uh. Hope this is what you wanted? idk there ended up being more emotions than I was expecting lmao

Contains: explicit noncon, weird tentacle(ish) sex, vampires, intimate whump, wing whump, captivity, begging

~~~

The shadows coiled around his wings, sliding between feathers in a way that made Altair’s very soul recoil with revulsion. The smoky, inky magic dripped with such malice and envy that Altair was practically choking on it. The harder he struggled, the more securely the tendrils held him, unyielding in their loving, covetous embrace.

Those same shadows held his wrists in place, held his legs spread open, kept him firmly in place on the bed as Lord Denholm knelt over him, eyes ravenously roaming over Altair’s bare form.

“I can hear your heartbeat, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm purred, cold fingers tracing across Altair’s chest. “Tell me, what has you so afraid?”

Hatred roiled through him as fierce as any tidal wave. But with the corrupted magic intertwined with his feathers, he couldn’t stop the words from pouring from his mouth. “You- you’re going to rape me. Again. And it won’t be the last time, either, for me or for Elze’ith, because I can’t figure out how to stop you.”

A wave of delight cascaded over Altair as Lord Denholm smiled. “Oh, it gladdens me to hear that.” Altair choked on a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob as the shadows caressed further into the spaces between his feathers. “It should put your mind at ease, then, to know that you cannot stop me. I am going to do as I please, and you are going to take what I have to give. You do not have to fret about how to escape your fate, because I have already claimed you. All that will change is how you understand and appreciate your role here, my ruinous little angel.”

“You-” Virulent hatred threatened to choke Altair, but he still coughed up the words. “You’re wrong. I’m never going to stop fighting. I’m never going to accept any of this. You’re never going to break me.”

“Oh, my ruinous little angel.” Lord Denholm’s dark eyes glinted with malice. “The cracks in you will are already forming. And I have plenty of time to see how you fall apart.”

Slow and deliberate, a tendril curled up his leg and pressed lightly at his folds. Though insubstantial, like thick smoke or sleet or cold oil, it was solid and probing enough that Altair immediately tensed and tried to pull away. There was nowhere to go, however, not with the magical binds that held him so firmly in place, that spread his legs even wider in response to his struggles. Just as he knew he would be, he was helpless to stop the tendril as it teased and taunted at his entrance.

“No, wait— stop—”

He didn’t want to beg, but he couldn’t manage to stop himself. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t in control of anything that was happening, not his words or the situation or his fear or the strangled, panicked sound he let out as the tendril pushed its way inside of him.

Nothing had ever felt quite this unnatural. It seemed to slither inside of him, eager to caress every part of him it could access. The sensation made his skin crawl, made him writhe instinctively, made his breath catch in his chest. Cold and oily and slick and wrong. He wanted it out, wanted to burn it away until it could never touch him again, but it just kept feeding into him, slow and methodical and joyous.

An eternity passed just like that, with the perverse, foul tendril sliding its way into his core until it could go no further. Its counterparts in his wings continued to slowly shift and coil, inexorable and inescapable. Any coherent thought was lost beyond the sickening dread in his stomach and the desperation to somehow get this to stop.

So lost he was in the overwhelming, defiling sensation that he almost didn’t notice the second tendril that brushed his entrance. It was impossible to escape the feeling of it slipping inside, though, right alongside the first, twisting and twirling and filling him up even more. Lips parted in a silent gasp, he strained and tensed in his bonds, but every movement only made him more aware of the magic around him, inside him, claiming him.

And then, the tendrils went still. The ones in his wings retracted, not leaving entirely, but withdrawing enough to allow him to breathe. The twin shadows inside him stiffened and pulled apart, making him groan from the stretch, but they too paused in their ministrations. Blinking, Altair tried to take the moment to gather himself, to reclaim some shred of his dignity, though he knew that his violation was far from over.

After all, the tendrils were still inside him. Lord Denholm was still watching. It wasn’t over yet.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lord Denholm leaned down to press a kiss to his collarbone, eyes gleaming with covetous desire. Altair shivered, forcing his breath to stay even. “My beautiful, ruinous little angel. So open and ready for me,” Lord Denholm purred. His hand drifted lower, to Altair’s hip, tracing the outline of his burn scar before thumbing over Altair’s clit. “Don’t worry; I’ll give you what you need.”

It hit Altair, all at once, why the tendrils were holding him open. “No— wait— don’t—!”

His begging morphed into a scream of terror and pain as Lord Denholm sank into him, between the tendrils already inside. He clenched his eyes shut, tears gathering on his eyelashes, his lungs shaking and unable to capture any air. The stretch was excruciating, inconceivable, unbearable, and yet he was vaguely aware of Lord Denholm bottoming out inside of him as though he was made to take this much. A sob rippled through him, of pain and humiliation and anger, and then another, because

Lips brushed against his eyelids; Altair tensed, but didn’t have the strength to recoil. Though Lord Denholm’s voice washed over him, he couldn’t quite parse the words over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears. Good, some desperate, fervent part of him thought. He didn’t want to hear what the bastard had to say anyway.

He wasn’t sure if Lord Denholm or his shadows started moving first. There was just sensation, the push and pull, the steady cadence and the unnatural twisting within him. All he could do was close his eyes and try to endure and do whatever he could not to give Lord Denholm any more of what he wanted.

He didn’t think he was very successful. Nothing had ever felt like this, felt this much, felt so familiar and strange and unwanted and tainted and wrong.His entire body thrummed with revulsion with every thrust, shivered and shuddered as perverse magic shifted around and within him. He couldn’t manage to tamp down on those instinctual, involuntary reactions. He knew Lord Denholm, with his magic tangled up in his wings, would be able to feel it even if he did. Altair could certainly feel Lord Denholm’s delight, just as he knew Lord Denholm wanted him to.

Distantly, through his horror, Altair realized that the tendrils were pleasuring Lord Denholm inside of him, coiling around his cock and stroking both of them in tandem. His stomach turned; it was worse than if they were just defiling him.The notion was enough for him to try, futile as he knew it was, to summon his magic so that he might burn the foul things away. It didn’t work, and the attempt only made him more exhausted, made him want to cry even more than he already was. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Lord Denholm was jerking himself off inside of Altair, and he couldn’t stop it.

How much further would this go? How many more ways would Lord Denholm find to violate him, defile him, take him apart and lay claim to the pieces? How long could Altair withstand the assault? He already felt ready to come apart at the seams, and every waking moment seemed to bring a new horror.

What would even be left of him when this was done?

Through his cascade of emotions, through the disgust and despair, a tentative but warm pulse emanated from the back of his mind. A part of him wanted to recoil, sure that this was some trick of Lord Denholm’s, but Lord Denholm could never replicate how Elze’ith made him feel, could never fake this warmth. And even if he never wanted Elze’ith to know him when he was like this… he needed to know he wasn’t alone.

Just as softly, just as tentatively, he reached back through his mind. Brushed up against that small presence, that sliver of connection. It didn’t stop the inexorable stretch or the unbearable thrusting or the sudden intense pressure on his clit. But it was enough to keep him from drowning in it all.

Sharp pain in his neck yanked him out of his mind and slammed him back into his body. The pain was no less horrible for how familiar it was; moreso now, even, because Lord Denholm had gone still, begun to spill inside him, even if the tendrils still danced in the thin space between them. The whimper that broke free from his chest seemed to get swallowed by the shadows that still endlessly coiled around him, as eager as their master to drink in his suffering.

The brief connection with Elze’ith was gone. Even as Altair mourned the loss, he was glad for it. He shouldn’t have even reached out. Elze’ith had suffered enough. He deserved better than to bear witness to what Altair was being forced to endure.

After a short eternity, the tendrils settled, though Altair could still feel them slowly shifting. Lord Denholm pulled away from his neck, smiling down at him with blood-stained fangs and dark, insatiable eyes. Altair tried to muster a glare; in response, Lord Denholm only hummed, and leaned down to kiss him. The taste of his own blood made Altair wince, feeling sick as Lord Denholm smiled against him before pulling away.

“You feel better every time we do this, my little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, licking the last of the blood from his lips. “Just as I knew you would.”

Altair scowled, the only response he could muster. The shadows within him coiled tighter, as did the ones still furled in his wings, making his back arch.

“Please—!” The word slipped from him unbidden, a raspy, desperate cry for relief he knew would not come. As soon as he said it he tensed, eyes clenching shut; he knew what he was asking for, and he knew what Lord Denholm would give him.

“Oh?” Something cold and slick circled his clit as the tendrils within moved more insistently. “Tell me what you want, my little ruin. I think you’ve earned a reward.”

“Please—“ he gasped, feeling the unwanted tension mount. “I can’t— Enough—!”

The shadows inside him pulsed. Orgasm ripped through him, violent and calamitous, and for a moment he didn’t know whether he hated himself or Lord Denholm more.

But it was over. He sagged against the bed, limp and panting, as Lord Denholm finally withdrew. First his cock, making Altair groan as the overwhelming fullness left him. The tendrils within took a last moment to twist and twine before sliding out as well, and though Altair had to bite back a whine, he was finally, blissfully empty.

It was over. He hated how grateful he was that it was over.

Later, when Lord Denholm had returned him to his cell and he was curled against the wall trying not to feel, the soft warmth in his mind reached out once again. Altair couldn’t find the strength in himself to reach back. But neither did he push it away, even though part of him wanted to. He just let Elze’ith radiate what little solace he could, let the echoes of it wrap around him like a blanket, let his partner help hold him together when he felt like he was going to fall apart. He just hoped Elze’ith knew how much it meant.

[shinjiikar1]

due to... one billion personal reasons it took me a long time to get to these episodes, and they were probably the hardest to watch for me (for also one billion personal reasons)

I really don't know that I have as coherent a thesis this week, I'm just kind of in misery, but I'll write out my thoughts and we'll see where it goes. (Also despite having it no i still haven't read the book, I'm waiting till I'm done the show, which I may regret lol)

Gyu-ho and Go Young are such different people, they have such different worldviews and struggle to see the world through each other's eyes.

The moment for me that exemplified their whole relationship was after Gyu-ho moved in. Gyu-ho claims Go Young could never understand how he's never had anything of his own, being tied down by his family all his life, and now not even being in his own space. Go Young's reply is silence (and a smile, of course). While Gyu-ho has never had anything of his own, Go Young has never had anyone. His father is long-gone, his mother now too, as it seems is his extended family. He lost Mi Ae to someone else, and his love life... Gyu-ho's family isn't perfect, in fact they're difficult from what we see, but he can always go back. He has Gyu-ho for a while, but he never really lets himself be had, they're so close, orbiting around each other but they just can't quite get there in the end.

I really just cannot get over how scared he is to let anyone in. Every attempt he's made to let people really get to know him has ended in failure and at this point he can't conceptualize letting anyone in. He can't think of himself as deserving of it and it's so incredibly painful to watch. Gyu-ho tries, he makes an effort to break into Go Young's life. He holds his hand in public, he waits for him, he barges into his home. Like that hole in the clouds he's shoving his way in, and to his credit Go Young tries to let him in. Ultimately, however, he feels the waves catching up to him, he's lived so long in shame and guilt and fear, he can't swim out, and Gyu-ho can't pull him back to shore on his own. It's exhausting for both of them.

I really appreciated @lurkingshan's post about Why their relationship falls apart and her discussion about Go Young's very real fears about how his status is affecting this person he loves and cares for deeply. He can't let himself be the person to drag Gyu-ho down. I really resonated with Go Young here, I'm not interested in detailing my own situation, but I very much understand feeling like you're holding someone back because of an illness. It's a completely miserable feeling, even if the other person insists its fine, you know on some level, that they might be happier without you and how can you deny them that? Go Young thinks he's been too greedy, he's wanted too much. He's not willing to be that selfish (whether or not this is actually selfish behaviour isn't really the point here, he believes it is). He will be the one to make the sacrifice to Gyu-ho doesn't have to, he won't even tell him the real reason because he knows there's no way Gyu-ho would go without him if he was honest about it, he has to push him away first. It's not an entirely selfless decision, I think he's also trying to spare himself the hurt and resentment that might build if Gyu-ho doesn't get to go, but ultimately it's because he loves him so much. I wish he could have said it.

[whumpbug]

hi bug!

for your boys, just a thought: a moment where archie has to patch simon up. role reversal. like if simon tried to protect his boy and got himself hurt, and now he has to talk archie through patching him up.....

your boys are so lovely. i can't wait to see them get whumped to bits in the event!!!

- @whump-kia

kia this was genuinely such a blast to write that it ended up a tad longer than i originally planned for, thank you SO much for the prompt (˃ᆺ˂) i hope u like it as much as i loved writing it because these boys are SILLY.

to anyone else: see this post for character info!

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

There was a rumor circulating that there was an “inconspicuous medical student” spotted “aiding the activities of a notorious vigilante” in the city, and it was safe to say the crime lords and such were not happy about it.

The rumors were true, of course, but it didn’t make them any easier to deal with.

And Simon was currently dealing with them.

He should have known his extremely selfless and abundantly kind nature towards Archie would come back to bite him in the ass.

He’d be sure to rub it in Archie’s face when he saw him again.

“You’re the kid that’s been helping that little punk, aren’t you?” The man spat in Simon’s face as he shoved him up against the wall.

Judging by the way he was dressed and the way he smelled, Simon had half a mind to assume he was a goon from the drug ring Archie had been after for some time now.

Fortunately, the guy clearly wasn’t the brightest. No experienced lackey would start heckling a target in the middle of an open alley way without checking if anyone was around first.

Unfortunately, the guy was quite a bit stronger than Simon and there really wasn’t anyone around after all.

Just my luck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon spewed back, struggling against the man’s grasp.

The man’s hand tightened around Simon’s neck and the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

He was alone in this alley. Sure, he had used the emergency button on his watch that sent signal to Archie as soon as he recognized he was in danger, but it had been a good amount of time and Archie was.. nowhere to be found.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” The man shouted, sending a knee slamming into Simon’s gut. “You’re going to tell me everything you know!” Another knee to his middle sent him stumbling back and doubling over.

“I don’t.. don’t know anything..” Simon sputtered, coughing harshly and tasting metal.

Simon knew he was in hot water. He had no combat training, so self defense skills, and despite being decently fit, he was no where near the league of a guy who beat people up for a living. He needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

Alright Simon, c'mon. Focus. You can handle this. Just think.

Before Simon could form another coherent thought, a fist connected with his face that sent him reeling. Blood began leaking from his nose all down his mouth, and he choked on the taste. Before he could recover, his whole body was rammed against the brick wall and his arm was pulled awkwardly behind him. 

The punch had left him dazed, so dazed that he didn’t recognize the sound of two other guys approaching the scene.

“For god’s sake, don’t kill the kid! Rough him up, get some information, but don’t kill him. We'll have more use for him later,” A deeper voice chided.

Simon heard vague mutters of obedience before he felt his arm being strained again.

“Alright kid, since I’m feeling so nice, I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Answer the question and you’ll be on your way,” The man sneered. Simon could hear muffled snickers behind him, but couldn’t quite get the angle to look. “What is the little punk’s real name.”

He knew he should be sizing up the scene and determining the best course of action, but goddamn his arm hurt. He could feel every tendon being strained at the orientation the man had it at.

Still, no matter what, he wasn’t going to sell out Archie. Archie would come. He always did.

“N-No idea,” Simon spat, stomping on the man’s toe in an attempt to buck out of the hold.

Unfortunately, the man was still significantly stronger than Simon, so his attempt at retaliation only served in angering him further.

“You little—“ The man growled, before twisting Simon's arm and yanking it fully out of its socket.

Simon let out a stuttering wail as the pain temporarily blinded him. Suddenly, his head was being slammed against the wall again and he couldn’t figure out what was hurting more now: his head, his arm, or his stomach.

He was almost sure he was done for, until he heard a familiar shout and the sound of a fist connecting with a face.

Took him long enough.

Simon let himself slide down the wall once the man was pulled off of him, cradling his aching shoulder as he watched. Through hazy vision, he saw Archie made quick work of the lackeys. It was a flurry of hollers and yelps and limbs flying, but eventually, Archie emerged unscathed and rushed right over to Simon.

“I’m so sorry I was late! I was working, and I didn’t see the alert and— oh god, your arm!” He blurted, hands awkwardly hovering over Simon, a complete contrast to the ruthless machine he had been not a few seconds earlier.

Simon wanted to be mad, he really did. The emergency alert was there for a reason, after all. But how could he stay angry when Archie was looking at him with such sincere concern and regret. Simon sighed.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.. it’s dislocated, but I’m pretty sure it’s not broken so we won’t need to go to the hospital,” Simon explained.

Archie gave a small huff of relief.

“You do, however, need to help me pop it back into place.”

Archie blanched.

“Pop it back into place?! Isn’t that dangerous?! I don’t know what I’m doing!” He babbled.

“Relax, I’ll walk you through it. It’s not that hard. You just have to kinda.. push it until it feels right. I’ll let you know,” Simon replied, absurdly calm for the situation at hand.

“..Ok..” 

Simon carefully instructed Archie on where to place his hands and where to push in, and after a bit more coaxing, they were ready.

“Alright. Don’t give me a countdown. You have to just do it, or else I might tense up involuntarily and that could— URGH!”

A sickening snap reverberated from Simon’s offending limb.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! You said not to give you a countdown!” Archie mewled, pulling his hands away as if he’d just been burned.

“It’s fine.. it’s.. I’m good.. you did good,” Simon placated, squeezing his eyes shut at the lingering pain.

“Okay.. okay, that’s done. We should get you back to your apartment and patched up.. that black eye looks.. pretty rough..”

“Don’t I know it..”

Archie tenderly helped Simon to his feet, and supported the taller’s man weight with ease.

“Thanks for not, uh, selling me out by the way..” Archie murmured, as they began their arduous journey back to Simon’s home.

“Well, what type of ‘inconspicuous medical student’ would I be if I just went around telling everyone how I ‘aid the activities of a notorious vigilante’?” 

“...You’re an idiot.”

Simon grinned. Yep. All worth it.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[erineverly]

the  confession  alone  is  more  than  enough  to  throw  erin  completely  off  guard,  but  it’s  the  sound  of  the  all-too-familiar  voice,  echoing  in  the  foyer  of  her  two-bedroom  condo  again,  after  what  feels  like  an  eternity,  that  makes  the  muscles  in  her  legs  stiffen  and  the  hair  on  the  nape  of  her  neck  stand  up.  her  natural  instincts  urging  her  to  pull  him  into  a  hug,  assure  him  that  everything  will  be  okay  in  the  end,  pretend  he’s  still  hers  and  she’s  his  —  that  it’s  the  two  of  them  against  the  world,  the  way  it  used  to  be  a  few  years  back.  oh,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  forget  about  everything  and…  but  the  more  rational  part  of  her  wants  to  just  stand  here,  linger  in  the  doorway  for  a  while  longer,  and  pretend  she  hadn’t  heard  him,  wishes  the  ground  beneath  her  feet  would  open  up  and  swallow  her  whole,  get  her  out  of  this  strange,  uncomfortable  situation.  why  would  he  say  this  now?  why  did  he  have  to  say  this?  

clearing  her  throat  as  she  contemplates  her  response,  she  absently  brings  one  of  her  now  shaking  hands  to  her  dainty  necklace  and,  to  occupy  her  fingers  with  something,  anything  that  will  help  her  fight  off  the  urge  to  reach  for  the  redhead,  begins to  fidget  with  a  small,  heart-shaped  pendant.  she  opens  her  mouth,  but  closes  it  almost  immediately,  her  heart  pounding  away  in  her  throat,  keeping  her  from  forming  any  coherent  sentence.  for  someone  who’d  been  subconsciously  dreaming  of  something  akin  to  this  moment,  she  feels  completely  lost  and  unprepared,  nowhere  near  ready  for  this  kind  of  conversation.  the  gifts  and  letters  that  he’s  been  sending  her,  all  the  flames  that,  perhaps  involuntarily,  they  have  slowly  rekindled,  every  little  thing  that  she’s  been  trying  to  ignore  for  the  sake  of  their  significant  others  and  her  own  peace  of  mind…  they’re  standing  right  in  front  of  her  now  and  she  can  no  longer  run  away  from  the  feelings  that  she’s  so  desperately  tried  to  suppress  for  the  past  few  months.

gaze  dropping  to  the  floor,  examining  the  pink  nail  polish  on  her  toes,  she  struggles  not  to  get  emotional,  not  to  overthink  the  meaning  of  this  unexpected  visit.   ❝   𝐚.𝐱𝐥,   ❞   she  whispers,  a  soft  plea  ringing  in  her  voice  —  not  here,  not  now,  let’s  not  go  there…  she’s  just  managed  to  put  her  life  back  together,  to  move  on,  or  at  least  that’s  what  she’s  telling  herself.  if  they  have  this  conversation,  it  will  leave  her  nothing  but  a  shell  of  the  woman  she  is.  but  she  can’t  just  close  the  door  in  his  face,  tell  him  to  leave  because  it’s  her  weekend  with  sebastian,  scold  him  for  complicating  every  little  thing,  remind  him  that  he  should  be  writing  letters  and  sending  flowers  to  a  different  woman.  god.  she’s  never  been  strong  enough  to  stay  away  from  him.  she  doesn’t  want  to  stay  away  from  him.   ❝   would  you  like  to  come  in?  it’s  almost  dinner  time.  i’m  making  ‘ghetti  and  meaty-baws,   ❞   she  offers  shyly,  a  hint  of  a  smile  on  her  lips  because  that’s  how  sebastian  calls  them.  meaty  baws.  she  thinks  it’s  adorable.   ❝   speaking  of  bastian,   ❞   she’s  quick  to  change  the  subject,  although  it  breaks  her  heart,   ❝   he’s  been  grouchy  all  day.  i  think  he  might  be  coming  down  with  something.  he  keeps  complaining  about  his  throat  and  has  a  stuffy  nose,  watery  eyes,  sneezing…  you  know  the  drill.  but  i’m  sure  he’ll  be  so  happy  to  see  you,   ❞   she  explains,  opening  the  door  a  little  wider  and  inviting  the  singer  to  come  in  with  a  subtle  hand  gesture.   ❝   see  the  pile  of  blankets  on  the  couch?  he’s  in  there  somewhere.  would  you  like  something  to  drink?  we  have  apple  juice.  i  can  make  you  coffee  or  tea?   ❞

@rcsechild​

[circular-bircular]

Miscellaneous Thoughts

Alright, now that I’ve sat for a bit with my thoughts, got food, and destressed some…

Thoughts are going under a cut. This is all just ramblings and musings in regards to syscourse. Don’t take it too seriously.

I am sick and tired of the “sides of syscourse” bullshit. There aren’t sides. The sides are completely arbitrarily decided by those who tout themselves as leaders of the community, and if they don’t do so themselves, they are held up as paragons by those who regurgitate their disgusting displays in attempts at coherent thought.

I do mean that in regards to “all sides.” There are some of those who follow me who sicken me with how they attempt to interpret my words.

But then there are those who also engage with conversation, when possible. There are those who attempt to further conversations. And there’s those who are just trying their best, to understand or to learn more.

I’m… frustrated. Mostly that I can’t exist without this. It’s my entire disorder. I can either exist openly online as a DID system while participating in syscourse, or I can’t be online as a DID system. I can’t have a blog about my experiences without having to bring Endogenic systems into it, in some way.

I see my endogenic friends struggling right now due to fakeclaiming, and that’s hell. But I also see endogenic systems saying, “anti-endos have no idea what it’s like, having people tell you each day that they hate you or that you don’t exist!” And I know they mean me. Because they believe anti-endo means CDD.

I’m a CDD system. I’ve got DID. I struggle with it. And each and every day, I see more and more people who are trying to punch at the anti-endos doing things that directly impact me, as someone who isn’t a fucking anti-endo. As someone who isn't even pro-endo anymore. I'm not anti or pro anything! I'M JUST TRYING TO FUCKING EXIST.

The ToSD is real and valid, regardless of who participated in the writing and popularization of it. There’s plenty of research that supports it. Attacking the ToSD is not attacking anti-endos. It’s attacking CDD systems.

DID is a trauma only disorder. You cannot have DID without having repeated childhood trauma. You do not need to hate your system or be disordered by your plural aspects of self to have DID, and anyone saying otherwise is ignoring even the DSM. Attacking DID diagnostic criteria is not attacking anti-endos. It's attacking CDD systems.

Anyone, at all, who harasses anyone else, is either a troll, or hurting. They aren’t fucking evil. They aren’t irredeemable. They’re certainly a damn sight more than a fucking parasite — how in the goddamn insurmountable levels of hell do you think it’s appropriate to compare living, breathing human beings to parasites, and deem them worse and lesser? What gives you the right to treat others like this?

For fucks goddamn sake, I just want to live. I just want to survive with this disorder online. I want to talk about my experiences. But every single goddamn time I’ve tried, I get caught in this loop.

First, it was pro-endos, insisting I was valid while gaslighting me and harassing me into thinking I didn’t have goddamn trauma.

Then, it was anti-endos, insisting my hurt was valid while demonizing the pro-endos who hurt me first.

Then it was all of you fuckers, every single person in syscourse — yes, even you — who perpetuated these cycles. And the thing is, I’m not blaming you, I’m not upset with you; it’s just fucking impossible to avoid at this point!!

And the thing is, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave this place. I’ve spent a goddamn decade trying to carve out a hole for myself to hide in here. This became my home for so goddamn long because I didn’t have one of my own. And god, I have made a lot of connections here, people who I would miss. People who I DO miss.

But you all make it so damn difficult. Pro-endos hurting me more each day. Anti-endos hurting my friends and taking the battling gun approach to fighting ableism.

I’m so tired.

I’m just. So goddamn tired.

I think that’s all I’ve got in me right now. That’s all the energy I can muster for this. At least it’s words that count toward my daily total, right?

[see-arcane]

A list of things I’ve thought of since encountering the Jon Becomes a Teacher AU

-Yes, he may be terribly unqualified to be a teacher, but he is a literal encyclopedia and can/does Know everything he needs to about a given subject. Which would be great if only he could

A) Not spiral out into digressions every time someone asks a question (the students catch on quick)

B) Not throw in a bit of Terrible trivia about any given important writer/author/poet the curriculum claims he has to teach them.

“Out of the list I can spot twelve racists, three anti-Semites, five who believed women were property, three who fought to keep child slavery active, and this one married his sister. So, you know. Grain of salt with all these fine gentlemen.”

-When students and faculty inevitably broach the topic of his many, many, many scars, Jon gives up on lying—Martin made it very clear he cannot bluff an alibi to save a life (“A butterknife, Jon? Seriously?”)—and tells as much of the truth as he can. Leading to:

“So, what are all the spots?”

“Bug bites.”

“?? Bug bites don’t scar?”

“Exotic species. Work-related accident.”

“Oh. Then what about the burn?”

“Also work-related.”

“The multiple stab wounds?”

“Work.”

“…Your work as an archivist?”

“It’s a surprisingly competitive field.”

-No one can tell how old he is. He’s got a millennial face, but so much grey in his hair it’s almost white, and eyes so sunken he looks like he hasn’t slept since 2005, and he talks like he came out of a different century half the time. The older folks on staff ask how he keeps so spry, walking around in front of the room so much and not bothering with the desk chair.

“Pays to keep on your feet, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

He looks at them, unblinking. Mr. Sims never blinks.

“Work-related accidents.”

They don’t press the matter.

-The whole, ‘no one can lie or keep quiet if he asks them a question’ thing still holds. It makes for some overly honest and very interesting schooldays when you can’t BS the excuse for why your assignment is late, or whether or not you actually understand the material. Jon tries to keep it reined in; a hard task when half the job of being a teacher is engaging the class with questions. He has to speak in declarations—“Describe the use of the symbol in X,” “Compare the parallel arcs in X character’s progression versus Y.”

He keeps this up until some of his students speak with him after class, thanking him for (somehow) helping them to articulate their thoughts clearly. These are the students who usually mumble, stutter, and generally have trouble putting what the feel into coherent packages. They remind Jon of himself at that age.

He asks more questions—purely about the day’s subject—and is happy to find it’s true on all counts: Every student he asks to speak on the topic, they articulate their view beautifully. In their own voices, but universally smooth, comprehensible, and clear. The same goes for their essays and general writing assignments. As and Bs all around, including the students who usually struggled in such topics or thought themselves incapable of producing anything worth reading.

He's both lauded and a bit envied by others in the English department.

Jon goes home beaming on days when he hands papers back.

-He can, has, and will continue to immediately walk right out of the classroom or the teacher’s lounge if he Beholds something bad happening on school grounds. Bullying? Teacher being an asshole to their class or one student in particular? Fight broke out? Some kid having a medical emergency out of sight? Something worse? Jon’s gone mid-lecture or mid-coffee, and then Jon’s there, with whatever help is needed.

People start half-jokingly theorizing that he’s psychic, ha ha.

It isn’t until after a few confrontations with students who were expelled for violence and teachers who were fired for gross misconduct (all filmed, all full of confessions Mr. Sims Archived out of them) that the joke dies. Because Mr. Sims never has to throw a punch to get these situations to defuse. He just has to Look and ask a question. Always the same question.

“How do you think they felt?”

And, according to the assorted aggressors, they suddenly Know exactly how their victims felt. One of them, an especially aggro young man, manages to pull a knife and stab him. The knife stays in his shoulder. Jon winces, but honestly, it’s nothing compared to a Slaughter blade.

“Hmm.” He plucks it out. The wound is already gone. He Looks at the young man, pocketing the blade. “This is mine now.”

The young man does not argue and does not come back after the police take him away.

No assignments ever come in late after that.

-Everyone is dumbfounded when Martin shows up one day, bringing in the satchel with all Jon’s lesson plans (and lunchtime statements) to the classroom.

“Who was that?”

“My husband.” (I imagine this taking place after they’d made things official, or at least decided to throw in one more bit of harmless bullshit on the CV)

No one can quite reconcile Mr. Jonathan ‘Cryptid in Tweed’ Sims being married to a man who looks like what would be summoned from a circle of teddy bears, knitwear, and tea kettles.

-Eventually, yes, the students do enough Google-fu to discover sizable chunks of fucked up history to do with Jon’s former life. Jurgen Leitner’s murder comes up. Jon can feel them wanting to ask about it en masse, sighs, and:

“For those of you who are curious, which is everyone in this room bar Henrietta, Maria, and Joseph, yes, I was involved in the murder investigation of Jurgen Leitner.”

“…You were really a suspect?”

“Of murdering Leitner? Yes. But I was cleared of that one.”

That one. That one.

“There were no other charges, since you’re all wondering. You’d need a body for that.”

Mr. Sims smiles at them, Eyes bright.

“I’m open to other questions.”

“…When was the Voltaire assignment due, again?”

“Next Thursday.”

[nerdyfangirl67]

With a Little Help From the Team - NCIS Reader Insert

Pairing: Tim McGee x fem!reader, Gibbs x daughter!reader (brief/vague)

Word count: 2717

Warnings: this was a pretty fluffy piece! (not gonna lie), mild language, reader is Gibbs’ daughter

Request: @ncisfan​ “Hello! I saw your post from this morning saying you didn’t have any requests for ncis at the moment and I wanted to make a request. If for some reason you don’t want to write it that’s okay but here’s my prompt,(Idk what to call it) The reader and McGee have been dating for years and McGee has to tell the whole team (Tony, McGee, Bishop, Gibbs. That team please!) including her dad (Gibbs, cause why not?) when he wants to propose. You can decide on if they say yes or no but I hope you’ll write it. Sorry if I’m overwhelming you I just wanted to make a request”

A/N: I know I’ve told you this @ncisfan​ , but I absolutely love this idea! And a McGee x reader? Yes please! I did put this in both McGee’s and the reader’s point of view and changed it up a bit. (Yeah, I got super involved in this one and it got longer than I thought…and took far longer than I thought) I hope you enjoy it darling!!

Tim stands in the bullpen, nervously trying to find the right words to tell the team about you, the team of which just so happened to include the one man capable of making him feel like a young schoolboy still wet behind the ears, especially since that one man had a lot to do with what Tim was about to say.

Tim takes a deep breath to gather his last bit of courage and confidence, which promptly fades away the moment he starts talking.

“I uh…well you know that I’ve been seeing, no dating…dating Y/N.” Tim stutters out as his nerves get the better of him, completely fumbling the carefully planned out speech he had come up with prior to meeting with Gibbs.

Gibbs narrows his steely blue eyes as he wordlessly nods his head, telling Tim to continue.

“Things have been going well, really well actually. And I’ve been wanting to, or meaning to…not that I was putting it off, because I wasn’t. That’s the last thing-”

Gibbs cut him off with a “Spit it out McGee.”

“What I’m asking is for your permission, no..that’s not - I want to propose to her.” He was speaking so fast, his words were nearly running together, his sentences jamming together into one that didn’t make much sense.

Gibbs doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he continues to stare at Tim, looking for any trace of deception in his face. “Why?” He asks gruffly, startling Tim.

“Wh-why?” Tim squeaks out, an uneasy feeling weighing on his chest as he tries to find the right words to answer a question he hadn’t prepared for.

“Yes, McGee. Why? Why do you want to marry my daughter?” Gibbs pauses, still evaluating Tim and his reaction. “Why should I want you to marry my daughter?”

Tim takes a deep breath, a sudden burst of confidence washing over him as he realizes that the answer to such a question was right in front of him. “Because I love her… honestly, I have for a long time, even before we started dating. And, more than anything, I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to spend every day that I have left in this life showing her I love her and cherishing her the way she deserves. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”

Gibbs surprises him then, with a small smile and a hearty clasp to his shoulder. “Alright then, probie. Now all you have to do is tell her that and of course, ask her to marry you.”

Had it been any other girl, McGee might not be struggling as much to find the words. But you weren’t just any girl. You were not only Gibbs' daughter, something that caused him far more fear than he’d ever admit (he was dating the boss’ daughter after all), but you were also close with the other members of the team, which made this whole ordeal all the more nerve wracking.

You had come to know the members of the team through your job as a technical analyst for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, meaning you spent most of your time hunting down case leads in a cubicle. Then, as you grew better at your job, and closer to Abby (who had had something to do with getting you on Gibbs team, although she’d never admit to it), you had been moved from that cubicle to a desk in Gibbs’ bullpen, unceremoniously joining the team, although not full-time as you still worked with the cyber/tech unit, your father thought so highly of (something he would never admit out loud, even to you).

You eventually became just as close to Abby as your father was, something Abby always attributed to ‘a Gibbs thing’, - “It must be a Gibbs thing because Y/N is just as great as Jethro and we just click.” Many times, if you weren’t working on a case, you could be found hanging out in the lab with Abby.

You and Tony were best friends, spending hours talking about movies and pranking each other. And, despite your “geeky background” of tech analysis, Tony never once teased you (a courtesy Tony had never given him). In fact, he had become something of a big brother to you, filling a role in your life you hadn’t ever thought you’d needed filled.

And then Ziva had joined the team, filling in little by little that hole that had been left after Kate’s death. Even with the high tension existing between Abby and Ziva, you and Ziva had hit it off right away, becoming fast friends. Eventually, despite the perceived oddness of your friendship, you, Abby, and Ziva became an inseparable trio, even occasionally ganging up together against Tony or Gibbs.

Suffice to say, you were important to the team, just as they were to you. And now Tim was faced with telling these people that he not only had been dating you (a relationship the two of you had decided to keep relatively quiet because of your line of work and the fact that you were often times coworkers), but that he was going to ask you to marry him, a proposal of which he was seeking the team’s help with.

“So, uh...I-well, I’ve been seeing, er...dating-” Tim starts, his mind scrambling as he tries to form a coherent sentence.

“McGee, the chickadee is out of the bag. We all know you’re dating Y/N.” Ziva says matter of factly,

“Cat, Ziva, the cat is out of -” Tony starts reflexively, before pausing and turning to Tim and then to Gibbs, his mouth hanging open. “Wait-what? You’re the one Y/N has been dating?” He asks incredulously.

Gibbs takes a step forward, slapping Tony on the back of the head. “Close your mouth DiNozzo.” Tony’s jaw snaps shut at the command.

“Keep talking McGee.” Gibbs says gruffly, his piercing blue eyes settling on Tim.

“I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Tim blurts out.

“We kind of knew that McGee.” Abby states, her lips pulled into a satisfied smirk. “I mean, you haven’t exactly been stealthy about ring shopping. Or buying the ring. Or getting it inscribed.” Abby lists off, earring a few incredulous looks from the other members of the team. “Y/N’s my best friend, okay? I had to make sure the ring was a good one.”

Tony turns to McGee. “McRomeo getting married? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?” Tony steps forward to give Tim a good-natured shoulder shove. “You like it so you’re putting a ring on it, huh?” He asks with a Cheshire Cat-like grin on his face. Ziva is the one who moves to slap him in the back of the head this time.

“Ow, Ziva. What the hell was that for?” Tony asks, a hand already rubbing the spot Ziva had just smacked on the back of his head.

“When will you ever shut up and let McGee finish?” She questions, giving Tony a pointed glare. He opens his mouth to respond, but a hard look from Gibbs keeps him quiet.

Tim timidly clears his throat before continuing. “I’d like to do it here. And, um...I’d like to do it here, with all of you.” Smiles spread through the group at Tim’s words, several ideas already being blurred out by the more enthusiastic members of the team (it was Abby. Abby was already excitedly sharing ideas with the person sitting next to her, which just so happened to be Gibbs.)

——— You squeeze Tim’s hand before letting go, reaching for the handle to your car door. “See you at work.” You say with a soft smile before turning back towards your car.

“Let’s, um, let’s ride together today, to work I mean.” Tim stammers nervously, a hand on top of your driver’s side door, stopping you from leaving.

“Are you sure? I thought we were trying to keep this, us, quiet.” You ask, stepping away from your car and closer to him. He cups the side of your face with his hand, leaning forward to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.

“Just once, okay?” He asks quietly, a sheepish smile on his face.

You let out a small laugh. “Just this one time, alright Agent McGee?” You say with a smile, letting him take your hand and lead you towards his car. He opens the passenger door for you, closing it behind you before getting in the driver’s side. The entire ride into work is marked with Tim either giving you a huge dopey grin or a quick nervous glance, which only serves to make you suspicious, as if the insisting to ride together didn’t already.

Tim pulls into his usual parking spot, shutting off the car before turning to you. “How about we walk in together?” He asks hesitantly, a shy smile accompanying his question.

You quirk an eyebrow up at his question before responding, “Tim, it might make it pretty obvious what’s going on between us if we do that.” “Let’s do it anyway, Y/N.” He reaches over to squeeze your hand before climbing out of the driver’s side of the car and making his way to your side of the car. He opens the passenger door for you, offering you a hand to help you out, which you graciously accept. He continues to hold your hand after you are out of the car and as the two of you walk into the building, only letting go as the two of you go through security.

The two of you are the only ones on the elevator and for the entirety of the short ride, you can almost feel Tim vibrating beside you with some sort of nervous energy. You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it before murmuring, “You okay?” He gives you a tight nod in response just as the elevator dings, announcing its arrival on your floor of the building.

You press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Have a good day Tim, I love you.” You say, moving towards the open doors of the elevator. Tim reaches a hand out, grasping yours and stopping your exit out of the elevator.

“I, uh, I’ve got to give you something. It’s in my desk drawer, in the...bullpen.” He stammers out, quickly retracting his hand to wipe it against his suit jacket.

“Oh, can I get it at lunch?” You ask, turning back towards the front of the elevator and pressing the button to reopen the doors.

“No.” He shouts, startling you enough that you take a step back away from the sliding doors. “I mean, come with me?”

“What is up with you today Tim?” You demand, his unexplained, unnatural behavior causing your suspicions to rise, a million questions running through your head.

“Just...please.” His voice is thick with emotion, his words coming out barely above a whisper.

You silently nod your head, stepping back into the elevator and allowing the doors to close as you press the button for the floor that the NCIS team resided on. You spare a look over at Tim, whose is rubbing his hands up and down his slacks, his face turned towards the ceiling of the elevator and his lips moving in silent words.

“Tim, what is going on? You’ve been acting weird all morning and I just-” The elevator dings, announcing your arrival on the floor of the bullpen and effectively cutting you off.

Tim puts a hand over the doors, stopping them from closing as he looks at you, his kaleidoscopic eyes pleading with you to understand and to trust him. You give a small nod, taking his outstretched hand in your own and following him to the bullpen.

Right away, you notice the lights over the area of the office you’d come to know as your father’s, as Gibbs’, were off. A flash of fear settles in your chest as you begin to picture all the possible scenarios as to why your father’s part of the office was empty and dark, none of them positive. You start to walk faster, almost pushing past Tim, to get to the bullpen. You suddenly stop short when your eyes fall on Tony’s desk.

Instead of finding your best friend seated at his desk or even finding his desk empty, you see that Tony’s desktop is covered with picture frames. Your curiosity wins out over the rising fear in your chest and you step closer to the desk to inspect the framed photos.

“Oh,” A breath of surprise leaves you as you realize that they were photos of you and of Tim, taken at different times in your relationship. A series of pictures of the two of you from your second date, taken in one of the photo kiosks that you find at the mall. The two of you making goofy faces at each other in the bullpen. You and Tim bent over a computer, faces serious as you both stare at the screen. You turn to Tim’s desk next, finding it filled with vases of flowers in your favorite color.

You move towards them, leaning down to inhale their fragrant scent, your gaze landing on your father’s desk and the photos scattered across the desktop, similar to Tony’s desk, except these were pictures you’d taken of the two of you. One of the pictures from your first trip together, from the date when Tim had told you he loved you, and the first case the two of you had worked on together and a series of selfies you’d taken with Tim at various times; all laid out like a timeline of your relationship.

After a few long moments, you lift your gaze towards Ziva’s desk, curiosity seizing you as you find her desk almost empty. You quickly make your way to the front of the desk, your eyes landing on the single piece of white paper, with only one small paragraph scrawled out in the middle of the page.

Y/N,

I love you and I have something I have wanted to tell you, or rather ask you, for a long time now. I know you’re probably wondering what that question is, so if you’d turn around, I’d like to ask you it.

You slowly turn around, the paper clutched to your chest and your heart racing in your chest as your eyes find Tim’s. He gives you a small, honest smile as he takes a step forward, his hands clasping around yours before he kneels down on one knee in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what is happening.

“I’ve loved you for years. First, as a friend, and then as a boyfriend, and now...now I want to love you as your fiance, and eventually as your husband. Would you, Y/N Gibbs, do me the honor of being my wife?” In his hands is a modest red velvet ring box, a platinum band adorned with three small diamonds nestled on the inside of the open box.

A lump forms in your throat and as you try to speak, to say yes, nothing comes out. Instead, you nod your head vigorously and close the distance between the two of you. Tim stands fully just as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in against you. You vaguely register noise in the background, noise you later learn is from the various members of ‘your’ NCIS team, as you feel him kiss your cheek.  

“I love you.” You whisper softly before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, savoring in the feeling of his lips against yours.

“And I love you.” He gives you a deep kiss in return, leaning in to cup a hand along the back of your neck. After a moment, you pull back enough to smile widely at him, the realization that this man would become your husband, the man that you got to spend the rest of your life with, starts to dawn on you, filling you with elation and excitement, not only for your wedding but for the future you’d had with the man you loved.

Tagging:

@madamsnape921​ @ncisfan​ @thisiscalm-andits-doctor​

[aomine-ryo]

kise breaking up with fem s/o like maybe he just used her or it was a bet or idk (yaaas angst but idk if you could make a HEA work at the end?? but yeah :P) scenario pls thank youu ❤️❤️

The DRAMA lmaooo

I really like writing for Kise ngl so it’s kinda long. I hope you like this :) x

Scenario: Kise using and breaking up with a fem! s/o

Kise Ryouta likes playing games. Basketball, football, tennis— you name it, he’s probably played it. But things like sports take a long time to hone enough skills to thoroughly enjoy it. So what does Kise do when he’s in the need for a quick bit of fun? Fool around with girls’ hearts, of course.

Kise’s track record with girls has not been the best. In fact, the track record is so incredibly long that it would take a week to get through it all. Despite this, he gets girls falling for him time and time again because of his looks. It’s quite pathetic to him really. At this point, he’s just seeing how far he can go with this. The moment he gets bored with the girl he’s with, he calls it quits and moves on to the next. Toying with their feelings over and over.

You were fully aware of this. But for some reason, you thought you were different. No one could blame you to be fair. There’s something charming about Kise that no one could resist.

Prior to your relationship, you and Kise were actually quite close as far as classmates went. He was paired as your lab partner for Chemistry and he also sat behind you for Math so it was inevitable that you had to communicate. He’d tell you all about basketball and all his endeavours with other girls and you’d just listen whilst trying to make sure he didn’t cause any chemicals to explode (it was quite ridiculous how often this nearly happened).

“So, Y/N, what’s your deal?” He asked you in the middle of a practical activity one day.

“My deal?” You repeated in a questioning tone, taking your eyes off of your notes to look at him in confusion.

“You know, I’m always the one sharing. Tell me about yourself. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked you.

You did your best to hold back a laugh so that you didn’t seem pathetic in front of your crush. “No, I don’t,” you answered simply.

“Seriously? When did your last relationship end?” he asked, getting way too comfortable with the questions.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a year ago?” you replied, hoping this conversation would end because it was embarrassing on your part.

“A year?!” Kise exclaimed far too loud for your comfort.

��Geez let the whole school know, why don’t you?” You snapped, a tint of pink rising in your cheeks as you looked around nervously.

“Well that’s just simply wrong. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t be single for that long,” Kise said smoothly, catching you off guard as your cheeks got even brighter.

“Hm, sure,” you muttered in a sarcastic tone as you did your best not to leap in joy at the fact that he called you cute.

“No, I’m serious. Let me take you out on a date,” Kise said with his award winning smile.

You felt like your heart was going to beat right out of your chest and lay limp on the table in front of you. “Ha ha very funny. As if you even like me like that,” you said, maintaining your cool and logical thinking.

Kise placed his hand on top of yours, which was resting on the table, the sudden warmth sending your mind into a frenzy as you looked at him with concern. “Well I’ve actually liked you for a while now. I was kind of just working up the courage to actually ask you out,” he said, the sweetness of his words paired with the way his thumb grazed over the back of your palm swaying your judgement.

You took a deep breath in attempt to collect your thoughts. You had to be realistic here. You didn’t want to end up like those other girls he talked about. “You’ve practically gone around the whole school. What makes me so different to the other people you’ve gone out with?” you said, hating how harsh you sounded.

Kise seemed to be impressed by your response. It wasn’t often that girls would question him like this. However, it just make him smile with joy. He liked a challenge; you would be adding good fun to Kise’s game.

“I’m not sure. Something about you makes you so easy to talk to. You should know— after all, you know so much about me at this point when I barely know anything about you,” Kise said before tightening his grip on your hand. “We’d work well as a couple, don’t you think?”

You tried to think it over, but your mind was far too blown away with this information that you couldn’t even form a coherent thought. Every part of you screamed at you to say yes, but you were still hesitant. You didn’t want to end up getting hurt. “Could you give me some time to think about it?” You asked, noticing Kise’s smile falter a bit.

Hearing that answer made him ecstatic though. It had been a while since someone seemed to be uninterested. It just meant that he could try harder and improve his game. Which is exactly what he did. He gave you a few days to think about it, but he certainly didn’t sit idle and wait around for a response. He’d send you texts every now and then, engage in flirty conversations with you during class, and even buy you chocolates in attempt to get you to say yes.

It worked though. In the end, you couldn’t say no to Kise Ryouta.

To you, it seemed like he liked being around you. He was always giggly and cheery and your relationship seemed to be lasting longer than the average length of Kise’s past relationships. Maybe you were the one who could finally tie him down.

“Hey there, cutie,” Kise smiled at you as he walked into the classroom of your after-school club one evening.

As usual, the supervisor was not around when Kise entered so he took his liberty in placing a peck on your lips as a way to greet you. A few of his exes were a part of your club and they’d always roll their eyes at the act, but you didn’t pay too much attention to it. “Hi Ryouta,” you’d reply softly once he pulled away, though his hand would remain on your waist.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Err,” your eyes scanned your area to see if you’d left any of your belongings. “Yep, all good,” you nodded, letting him lead the way out as you waved a quick goodbye to your friends.

“So, how was your practice?” you asked him as you walked across the school campus towards the gates.

“It was fine. Nothing new. You should come watch me practice, it’d be much more fun with you there,” he smiled, swinging his arm around your shoulder and causing you to lose your balance for a moment.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the act. You were now pressed against the side of his body as you walked, and the scent of his sweet cologne was stronger than ever. “You know I would if I could,” you replied.

“I like having you there to cheer me on. Plus I won’t miss you during practice then,” Kise said, causing you to blush. He’d used this line on countless other girls before and it always worked. It was fun to watch how you’d all just wrap around his finger so simply.

“God that’s so cheesy,” you said, averting your gaze out of embarrassment.

“Well it’s true,” Kise responded. He didn’t get that kind of response often but it was still clear as day that you enjoyed it.

Kise placed a kiss on the top of your head as you two continued to walk and talk about your days. This was how it always was with Kise. He’d pick you up after school and walk you home, saying goodbye to you with a rather passionate kiss.

Every now and then, Kise would be left home alone, so he’d call you over. And who were you to say no spending time like that with Kise? You had to admit, Kise knew what he was doing. You were never left unsatisfied. Surprisingly to Kise, he actually enjoyed this time you spent together more than he did with most other girls. He didn’t think too much of it though because he had made up his mind about you. You were just another one of his little games.

A few weeks into the relationship, you had started feeling more comfortable with your relationship with Kise. In fact, most of the school had begun to identify you two as a couple. Everything seemed to be going smoothly with him though, so you weren’t all too worried about that because you genuinely did feel like there was something between you two.

One Friday evening though, he picked you up after school with a smile like he always would. The two of you liked to visit a nearby cafe after school on Fridays so that’s where you were headed. He listened to you talk about your day though he seemed to be a little less responsive than usual.

“Hey Ryouta, is something wrong?” you asked him after you two finally settled down at the cafe after placing your orders.

“I know this is kind of sudden, but can I be honest for a moment?” Kise asked, a discomforted expression sitting upon his face.

“Of course, you can tell me anything,” you nodded, putting a hand over his reassuringly as a waitress placed his hot chocolate and your strawberry milkshake on the table.

“These past few weeks with you have been amazing,” Kise began. He always hated this part— it was such a pain. “And you’re really a cool person.”

“Aw thank you. That’s so sweet of you,” you smiled as he took a sip of his beverage.

“But I don’t think that this is going to work out between us, Y/N,” he said, making your heart sink.

“What?” you said hoarsely, unable to believe your ears.

“I think we should break up,” he reiterated.

You struggled to fight back your tears as your throat felt as though it was closing up. You should’ve known this would happen. “I don’t understand. What went wrong?”

“Y/N, you’re amazing and I feel like you probably deserve better than me,” Kise said. He’d used this line many times before too. However, a small part of him was genuine about it this time.

“Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?” You said, thinking out loud.

Kise was taken aback by your response. Did you see through him? “Lying to you? About what?”

“About why you’re breaking up with me. Someone like you wouldn’t think that there’s anyone ‘better’. So what is it? Is there someone else?” you couldn’t believe how blunt you were being. Your mind was moving too fast for you to process what was even going on.

Kise hesitated for a moment. He didn’t have to tell you the truth. He could easily lie his way out of this. Make up any other reason that isn’t the truth to spare your feelings. How could he say that he’s bored of playing around with you in a nice way? “I never actually wanted to be with you,” he said, words flying out of his mouth as if he drank a truth potion.

“Excuse me?” You said, appalled by what you were hearing.

“I mean, I was using you— wait no, I was just messing around.” Kise was a stuttering mess. Why was he saying this stuff? Why was he nervous to hurt your feelings? Why couldn’t you have just accepted that he wanted to break up easily like everyone else?

“You were using me?” You repeated his words, your sadness slowly turning into anger. “So was I just another fling of yours?”

“No,” Kise replied immediately. What was he saying? Yes you were.

“No?”

“I mean, yes you were. I was just bored and decided to date you for fun,” Kise said honestly, unable to even look at you in the face.

“So it’s true then. I’m just another one of your throwaway girls?”

“Yes,” Kise said. His eyes looked down in shame. Why was he mad at himself?

“You’re such an asshole!” You yelled, throwing your milkshake into his face, gaining the attention of everyone at that cafe. “Never talk to me again.”

You stormed out of the cafe, wiping the tears away from your eyes as you did so. Kise was left sticky, soaking and dumbfounded. This was certainly a first. He grabbed a few tissues to wipe the drink off of himself, but it was no use, he was still visibly covered in it. He quickly left the cafe too after apologising to the workers for causing a scene. He felt so embarrassed. Not once did he ever feel so hurt after a break up.

“Ugh what a bitch,” he muttered to himself as he walked home all sticky. Why was that so incredibly difficult? If anything, he was glad you told him not to talk to you again because he was equally mad at you for putting him on the spot like that.

When he got home, he immediately took a shower and tossed his clothes in the laundry basket. Once he was finally clean, he landed on his bed with a tired sigh, beginning to go through his phone like he usually would when he gets back from school. He noticed that you had blocked him on all social media, so there was no way of contacting you— not that he wanted to anyways.

He spent the rest of his weekend lazing around and going out with his friends like he usually would. He tried to get a fresh start and get the numbers of a few cute girls he saw, but for some reason all he could think about was you. He’d ask for a girl’s number and they were more than compliant, no witty comments like you would do. He’d go to the mall with his friends and remember which stores you liked to shop at. Hell, he couldn’t even have peace in his own bedroom because he’d remember you laying there with him. Countless other girls have been on this bed so why were you the one that stuck?

Kise did his best to avoid you at school. It wasn’t all that hard since you were doing the same. You inevitably had to work with him during Chemistry, but you could do so with minimal words exchanged.

A few weeks went by and Kise still couldn’t get you out of his mind. He tried going out with other girls but they never kept Kise’s attention long enough for him to forget about you. There were even times where he’d almost call them by your name. It was getting pathetic at this point. Maybe he did actually like you.

Kise’s mind entertained this thought for a while and it was slowly picking him apart. It even began to affect his performance at basketball because his mind was so occupied with the thought of being in an actual relationship with you. He was beginning to grow tired of running extra laps as a punishment for not being focused.

What made you so different? Kise couldn’t figure it out no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps that milkshake to the face woke him up. No other girl would dare do that to him. We he really being swayed by the fact that you threw a milkshake at him?

Eventually he gave up trying to figure it out. However he did come to a conclusion. He wanted to be with you. For real this time.

He managed to run into you after school one day. After dating you, he managed to memorise your schedule so finding you wasn’t too much of an issue for him. “Hey Y/N, can we talk?” Kise said.

Hearing his voice immediately made you turn on your heel and attempt to walk away as fast as you could. It was no use though, Kise quickly caught up to you and stopped you my grabbing onto your wrist.

“What the hell do you want?” You snapped.

“I wanted to say that I was sorry for using you like that,” Kise replied, pushing away his pride.

“What do you want me to say? That it’s okay that you wasted my time?” You retorted, trying to wiggle your wrist away from Kise’s hold.

“I genuinely am sorry. Something about you made it so that you never left my mind and now I’m trying to change, I just don’t know where to start,” Kise explained. “How do I get you to forgive me?”

“You can’t. Just leave me alone, why don’t you?” You said, finally breaking away from his grasp and walking away before he could bring you to tears again.

Kise ran after you once more. “Y/N, please. I really like you. I want to date you— for real this time,” he pleaded.

You finally stopped in your tracks. You stared at him with the coldest expression your face had ever worn. “Are you insane? What kind of desperate idiot do you take me to be to think that I’d agree to going out with you again?” you said, raising your voice.

“I don’t know what more I can say except that I’m sorry about before. I genuinely do like you, Y/N. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since we broke up. Ask any girl I’ve dated and I can assure you that I’ve never backtracked like this before,” Kise said, noticing tears of frustration beginning to well up in your eyes.

If you were being honest, you really wanted to believe that he liked you. The time you spent together wouldn’t have felt like a waste if that were the case. However it still hurt. And you didn’t want to be hurt like that again. “I don’t know, Kise. How can I be sure that you’re not lying to me again?” You said.

“I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you again, but I can promise that I won’t lie. If I lie, I’ll buy you as many milkshakes as you want to throw at me— you can hold me to that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his promise, putting a smile on Kise’s face as well. You took a moment to think about it before finally letting out a sigh, “Fine, I’ll give you another shot. But one lie and you’re buying me ten milkshakes to throw at you,” you warned.

Kise’s heart filled with glee. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. He was so elated that he nearly started skipping down the pavement. “Oh my god thank you,” he said, pulling you into the tightest hug ever. “I’ll treat you right this time, Y/N-cchi.”

[mmvalentine]

Okay, so would you be able to write that best friend kiss challenge with Feysand? Like Feyre films herself kissing Rhys (her best friend) just as a joke but then Rhys is super into it and then she’s super into it and it gets spicy😏😏

(obviously she turns the camera off before things get interesting)

Oh you kids and your tiktoks, back in my day tiktoks were called snapchats, and we more or less used them to send nudes. But seriously this trend makes me feel SO ANXIOUS because sometimes they get rejected and I feel it way too hard?! ANYWAY this is fine because this one works out, right????

I Didn't Know

Feyre was addicted.

She had lost count of how many versions of this tiktok she had seen, but she did know that about twenty minutes ago she had to pee and thought 'just one more,' yet here she was, still sprawled across the bed watching best friends kiss for the first time and riding the rollercoaster of second-hand nervous anticipation and then either gut twisting joy or empathetic mortification. Her bladder was not impressed.

It was Mor who had sent her the first one, and then it was all too easy to go down the scrolling rabbit hole. Of course, at the time Mor had added 'You should totally do this to Rhys, I would pay to see his reaction.'

At first, Feyre had thought there was no way that was going to happen. Rhys had been her best friend for the past 7 years, if they were going to date, surely it would have happened by now. Also, she was fairly certain that most of these were set up, because so many seemed to have a shockingly calm reaction to being kissed by someone they had supposedly been platonic with for years. That's just not how things felt when you were best friends.

Of course, she was impressed with how much engagement these videos got, set up or no. And so the next day, when Rhys was spent half the day teasing her about how many more followers he had than her, all she could think about was one very effective way of shutting him up. With Rhys's jawline, she just knew it would do well on social media. And of course it would be a joke. Just a joke.

It happened in the evening. Rhys was going to drop by her place after his last class, since he had finals coming up and his frat house was hardly the ideal study environment. Mor was at her girlfriend's place for the night, so Feyre had the apartment to herself. She set up her phone on the dining room table, propped up against a pile of text books and secretly recording. She made a whole plan of it- first she'd have to stall him by the door to keep him in the shot, and to have enough recording so that she could match the kiss up to the right spot in the music. And she'd have to make sure he was facing the right way so that his reaction would be clear in the shot.

At 6.30pm when Rhys was due to arrive, Feyre texted Mor. I'm doing it, she said. I'm gonna do the best friend kiss challenge on Rhys and he's gonna FREAK.

Mor replied immediately. No fucking way!!! Yes girl get it!!

Feyre laughed. Can you imagine? she wrote back. This will shut him up for sure, he's gonna be standing there looking like a fish with his mouth opening and closing. Like when Az played that prank and gift wrapped every item in his room before Christmas.

Somehow, I think this is going to top that... Mor wrote back.

I just hope he doesn't punch me out of reflex or something, Feyre joked. At that moment, footsteps neared the door from the hallway outside. Gotta go, this is gonna be hilarious, Feyre sent off. She quickly turned the camera on and put it back in its place against the book stack as the knock came.

"Girl I have so many snacks," Rhys said when she opened the door. "I am ready to study." Feyre laughed at his armfuls of assorted packages.

"I didn't realise you were planning a 3 day study lock-in," she said, and stepped out of the way. Rhys headed toward the table, and Feyre panicked. "No!" she yelped. Rhys looked at her, surprised.

"No what?" he asked.

"Uh, give those to me, and you can stay and take of your coat." She hurriedly scooped the bags of chips and chocolate out of his arms and dumped them on the table, while Rhys eyed her suspiciously.

"Okay, you weirdo," he said. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the arm of the couch, more than comfortable enough in Feyre's home to know where to put his things. He stepped forward, but again Feyre blocked him. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Um, maybe we should study here on the couch," she said. Rhys raised his eyebrows.

"Instead of on the nice big dining table that I can write on, and where you've just moved all my snacks?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean..."

"Feyre," Rhys said with mock concern. "You are seriously losing it."

"I... ah," Feyre scrambled. Oh what the hell, she only needed to fill a few bars and surely there was enough now. Before she could chicken out, Feyre stood on her tiptoes, grabbed his face in both her hands, and mashed her lips against his.

A heartbeat later, Feyre let go. She realised she had been holding her breath, and exhaled with a whoosh, giggling as she did so. She could feel herself going red, and covered her face for just a second before biting her lip and looking back for Rhys's reaction.

But there was no reaction.

Not at first. For a good three seconds he just stood frozen, and then he found her eyes. Stared at her in complete wonderment, and then with more gentleness than she had ever seen on him, he reached out his hands and lifted her chin back toward him.

Feyre barely had time to register what was happening, when Rhys's lips found hers once more.

This time, instead of the rushed surprise attack Feyre had used on him, Rhys kissed her soft and slow. Feyre's eyes widened, then slid closed, as Rhys's arms wrapped around her waist. His lips were cold from the frost outside, but when her body pressed against his it was warm in his arms, and when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, she felt the heat of his mouth all the way in her belly.

Feyre wasn't coherent enough to be shocked. She was overwhelmed by the way her body was reacting to Rhys's kiss, and before she knew she had lifted her hands, she had his dark curls between her fingers. He tasted so good she couldn't get enough, and when she lifted up onto her toes to get closer, his fingers dug into her sides. And then the first touch of her tongue had her knees buckling.

"Feyre," Rhys moaned between kisses. "Feyre what are we doing?" He licked at her lips. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I didn't know you wanted this."

"I... I didn't know either," Feyre gasped, and then he brought his mouth back to hers before she could say anything else.

Suddenly, seven years felt so long. How had they not been doing this the whole time? How had they stood being this hungry for all these years, and how could they make up for it now? Feyre breathed in the smell of him, and loved the groan that slipped from his throat when her teeth hit his bottom lip.

"Bedroom," he struggled out, and Feyre only nodded as she untangled herself to move down the hall. Rhys caught her two steps later, pulling her back in to kiss her again.

"I thought you wanted to go to my room," Feyre said breathlessly.

"I did," Rhys mumbled against her lips. "But I first I just gotta-" He finished the sentence by licking her tongue and sucking on her bottom lip. Feyre wanted to laugh, but a second later she couldn't remember why. Besides, her mouth was busy.

"Bedroom," Rhys said again, and this time he took the lead and towed her by the waist.

Feyre only just remembered to grab her phone and hit the lock button, closing the camera off as they went. If she had had the presence of mind, she'd already be embarrassed by how much was recorded, but what did it matter? What did anything matter when her lips were swollen from being bitten and every step took them closer to bed, and Rhys, and Rhys in her bed.

They stumbled down the corridor, then one moment Rhys was roughly pushing the door shut and the next her back was hitting the mattress. Their movements were messy, frenzied. Feyre yanked off Rhys shirt, and he lifted her higher up the bed, and then suddenly there they were.

Feyre's head on the pillow and her legs wrapped around Rhys's hips. Rhys staring down at her with pupils blown wide and kiss-reddened lips. A heavy hardness pressing between them and a still, silent realisation of where they had landed.

They stayed frozen like that for a while, and then Rhys lowered his head slowly and kissed her again, soft and with his eyes open. Is this okay? the kiss said. He lifted his head, but Feyre put her hands gently on either side of his face and pulled him back to her.

More than okay, she tried to tell him back.

Rhys's body turned liquid then, rolling into hers so smoothly that it pressed the air from her lungs so she sighed into his mouth. Feyre knew he had tattoos, but it wasn't often they were on display like this and she couldn't help but think he was beautiful. Rhys changed the angle of the kiss, and moved again. This time his hips grazed hers and that unbearable pressure between Feyre's legs had her arching her back up to him, chasing the wave of his warmth. Rhys growled in his throat, and the vibration of it sent a shiver that echoed to her fingertips.

"Where have you been all my life?" Rhys groaned, as his hand slid under the hem of her shirt. The contact on her bare skin raised goosebumps and then she was feeling him everywhere. Suddenly her t-shirt was too rough, and her jeans intolerable.

"I've been here," Feyre gasped, hands reaching for Rhys's back and chest and shoulders. Needing to feel his skin, too. "I've been right here."

She lifted her arms to help Rhys get her shirt off, pulling him back down to her as soon as she could. He kissed her again and this time the line of contact down the bare fronts of their bodies burned between them.

"How did I not know?" Rhys asked, seeming to be talking to himself more than her. He slid a hand behind her back to get at her bra clasp, and then she was shivery and naked before him. She only had a second to be self-conscious about this before he squeezed one of her breasts in his hand, and put his mouth over the other. And then all she wanted was him touching her.

Rhys moved his tongue slowly over her nipple. Flicked back and forth over it, and the feeling somehow seemed to repeat itself in the apex of her thighs. Feyre's fingers tightened in the thick mop of his hair, and Rhys shifted across to the other nipple. She was just thinking she could die from pleasure like this, when he kissed in between her breasts. Down her sternum, slowing as he reached her belly. Almost reverent when he nipped at her navel, and traveled lower still.

Rhys undid the button of her jeans without lifting his lips from her skin. His hands tugged at her waistband, and when Feyre raised her hips for him to get them off, his mouth slipped downward again, and his kiss landed over her clit through her underwear.

Feyre jolted up toward him, and Rhys slid her jeans the rest of the way off her feet. He licked against the cotton of her panties, until she was panting beneath him and squirming to get closer. Finally, he pulled off the last of her clothing, and when his tongue hit her bare pussy she could have sworn she blacked out for a second.

"Mmm," Rhys hummed against her. "You taste like fucking heaven." Feyre's hands scrabbled in the sheets and then gripped Rhys's head as he moved, first in broad, rough strokes with the flat of his tongue, then flicking faster over her clit with the tip like he had on her nipple. He reached out a hand to squeeze at her breast, and the other one smoothed over her chest to hold her down.

"Can you come like this honey?" Rhys asked her, before taking her clit into his mouth in slow, suckling kisses. "I would love it if you came on my tongue." He slid it deep inside her. "Please Feyre." Returned to flicking over her clit. "Do it, please, for me."

And to Feyre's absolute surprise, she did. Came with her fists in in Rhys's hair and her legs wrapped around his head. She never came on the first time with someone. Then again, Rhys wasn't just anyone. Rhys kept his tongue moving as her hips came up off the bed, not letting her down until her climax had faded into ragged breaths.

Rhys stood then, and unzipped his own jeans. As soon as he was leaning over her again, Feyre reached down to palm his cock through his black boxer-briefs. Rhys moaned softly, and buried his face in her back as he pushed himself into her hand.

"Yeah baby, touch me," Rhys whispered, and guided her hand under his waistband.

If Feyre was honest, she would have to admit that it had crossed her mind before what Rhys might look like naked. Her eyes had snagged below his hips when he was wearing sweatpants, or was fresh out of the ocean. They had been friends a long time. And how could you not notice when Rhys looked like this?

But having her hands on him was something entirely different. Feyre curled her hand around him, and when she stroked up and down the length of him she felt first a little intimidated by his size, and then second deliciously in control when a light groan was coaxed from his lips.

"Like this?" she asked. Rhys moaned louder.

"Yeah, just like that," he said, and the muscles in his chest flexed above her. Rhys's eyes closed, and he bit down on his lip as she twisted her hand around him. It was so sexy, Feyre was moving her free hand down her own body to touch herself at the same time.

It only took a minute for Rhys to notice, and then a wicked grin was tugging up the corner of his mouth.

"You need some too, huh?" he asked, and then he took both her hands and laced his fingers through hers. Laid them either side of her face as he settled himself back down between her legs, and then lifted her hands around his neck as he kissed her.

Rhys looked her seriously then.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Feyre breathed. Rhys rolled his hips against her, and watched her lips part and her head tilt when he did it.

"You want more?" he asked.

"Yes," Feyre said again, and felt his cock twitch between her thighs.

"You want me inside of you?" he asked roughly.

"God yes," Feyre said, and then Rhys was lifting his hips and pushing inside her.

Their eyes locked, and they exhaled together as Rhys hit his hilt. Then Rhys's gaze flicked to her mouth, and he moved, out and back in, and the stretch of him was the sweetest ache.

"Fuck, Rhys," Feyre whimpered, grabbing his shoulders. He looked at her quickly.

"Okay, honey?" he asked. She laughed breathlessly and then nodded, and Rhys thrust again and she gasped as her head fell back against the pillow. "Am I hurting you?" he said. Feyre shook her head, and arched her back to get him deeper.

"Shit," Rhys barked. His hips snapped forward and his palm hit the mattress. He drew a breath through his nose, seeming to get himself under control, and then began a smooth rocking that had Feyre's eyes rolling back in her head.

"I wish I had known," Rhys said, and the words were almost despairing. "I wish I had you like this every day." Feyre's hands fluttered at his chest. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologise," Feyre frowned. She lifted her hips to him. "I want you."

"You've fucking got me," Rhys said, and then pulled out only to flip her over and come back from behind. Feyre moaned at the way he got deeper this way, and dropped to her forearms.

"You feel so good," she breathed.

"Oh yeah?" Rhys asked. He reached around and put two fingers over her clit. "What about now?"

Feyre got louder as the pleasure got sharper, and then her vision was clouding at the edges.

"You gonna come again for me baby?" Rhys said. Feyre couldn't answer. "You want it a little harder?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Will you come if I fuck you hard?"

"Yes, oh god yes. Please Rhys, please."

"I'd never say no to you," Rhys said, and his free hand gripped her hip tight as he pounded into her while those fingers, now dripping wet, moved over and over her clit. "You're gonna make me come," he panted. "You look so good like this." His hips sped up. "But you gotta come first, honey. Come for me."

Feyre's spine stretched and her back arched as release found her. Rhys was so deep in her she could feel it in the bottom of her stomach, and then he was falling right behind her, and the sounds he made when he came were so damn hot she broke out in goosebumps.

Finally, Rhys dropped to the bed beside her, and pulled her down onto his chest. Feyre breathed deeply and was gratified to hear Rhys's heart going as fast as hers. She smiled into his skin, and breathed in the warm smell of him.

"Is this weird?" Rhys asked after a few minutes. His thumb stroked at her elbow.

"No," she said truthfully. She looked up at him. "Is it weird for you?"

"Honestly?" Rhys tucked an arm behind his head. "It now seems weirder that we weren't doing this the whole time." He looked at her. "What made you finally make a move?"

And that's when Feyre remembered the tik tok.

Her eyes went wide, and she felt herself going red. Rhys was bewildered. "What?" he asked. Feyre just shook her head. "You really can't tell me after we just did that?"

"Uh. I was um. Doing a tik tok?"

"You were what?"

"You know. The best friend challenge. I wanted to video your reaction if I kissed you."

Rhys pulled back suddenly. "Wait so you didn't actually want to kiss me? You just wanted a reaction video?"

"No! Well- yes, but I didn't know!" Feyre wailed.

"Know what?"

"That I wanted you so much."

Rhys blinked at her. After a tense second, his mouth twitched.

"So," he said, "in actual fact, you filmed your own reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"You surprised yourself. That's really embarrassing." He settled back down. Feyre picked up a pillow and whacked him with it.

"Shut up," she mumbled, and Rhys laughed a beautiful laugh and kissed her so sweet it made her dizzy.

****

Sweet and spicy, order up.

PS I just want to say that in modern AUs I usually make sure to like make some kind of condom reference because I'm trying to be realistic/ a good role model but this time I just COULDN'T BE BOTHERED sorry have safe sex kids.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I… Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Birthday Cake

A/N: Suprise folks!!! *me laughing maniacally* The whole scenery for this fic somehow appeared in my head and I just COULDN’T let it slip away, so... My biggest inspo for that was @drawlfoy!! Remember her posting the fic where Draco and Reader work at McDonald’s and are total suckers in their job (arguing with the customers; preparing wrong orders; etc.)? Dee unfortunately, deleted this precious, but it’s stuck to my head ever since (lol lol, it’s the moment where Dee wants to get rid of something, but I kindly remind everyone it existed). Therefore I present to you the next Draco x Reader fic related to our fav fast-food rest. This time, however, they’re not working at the same workplace but... I'm going to stop here cuz I don't want to spoiler :P

**The second thing that triggered me to write this fic is the YouTube video I recently saw with a lady who orders the 'specials' appearing to be out of the menu list of McDonald’s, through the Drive-Through. She asked for a birthday cake, was laughed at a few times, but eventually got what she wanted. Applause for the attitude!!

About the fic (context, my bitches): ofc it’s the modern AU, non-magical world. Draco’s the worst boyfriend ever but always manages to turn things into their righteous place. 

Summary: The birthday is upcoming, and Draco is in a rush to think up an idea for a perfect gift. His ingenuity fails, however, and leaves Y/N very unsatisfied with a disaster that has been forged. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: my brain playing a total psycho, language, alcohol, sexual undertones/allusions to sex, Pansy being too much of her self... deal...

Tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Such an unrestrained desire to strangle somebody you hadn't felt in a long time.

Really.

Today was your birthday, which you had been widely announcing for almost a whole month to people you might have accidentally forgotten about it. Having your boyfriend, Draco, on your mind in particular.

You doubted he would have the guts to omit your big day, though as repeatedly as he had done for a few years back. But something between foresight and the second sense of prevention told you to keep reminding him every day of the upcoming event, with a heap of birthday-themed emojis and uppercases in the messages.

Everything was planned out in your head: him picking you up from your house with the sharp-red cabriolet that he used only for special occasions; him driving the two of you to the fanciest restaurant he could find in town; him bestowing you with a nice-looking, golden necklace or a different piece of jewelry you had been suggestively pointing out in the store's exhibition; him booking up a hotel room for you two to celebrate.

Either way, that was much beyond your expectations, as it turned out. And now you were sitting in the front yard of your house, waiting for him to show up.

'If he was going to at all.' This thought invaded your mind for the last hour, try as might to subdue it. An hour you had been sitting tight, hoping it was only a delay caused by a traffic jam or other irrational explanation he could come up with. But you were deceiving yourself, you eventually presumed -- you had been checking up your phone every one minute, only to see if any message notification popped up on the screen, other than birthday wishes from friends who actually cared for you.

2.02pm: Nothing.

2.03pm: Susan 'Happy birthday bitch!'

2.04pm: Instagram notif. (Someone liked your photo, which you had posted before leaving your room, posing in front of the mirror in the best cocktail dress you could find in the wardrobe.)

2.05pm: Nothing yet again.

2.06pm: Still... Peace and quiet.

"Fuck it...Enough," you muttered under your breath, an annoying disillusionment falling like a heavy mile stone on your chest. Tears suddenly started sprinkling in your eyes at the regret, and you were very reluctant to admit that your friends were right -- Draco Malfoy was an egoistic, negligent, self-absorbed pri--

"Hi." You heard the raspy, panting voice says. "Sorry for the delay."

You blinked slowly, stupidly. You raised your head to assure yourself it was him. That his expression actually corresponded to his words and showed some kind of remorse for standing you up. But no... There he was: standing in front of you, plainly confident and unashamed, with his cocky smirk provoking you to slap him.

Oh, how much you craved to slap him right now. "Where to the fuck have you been?"

"I've tried to pick this up," he explained, simultaneously lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying in his hand. The big, exclaiming letters 'McDonald's' with the brand's logo were printed on its exterior, and it was fully stuffed with something inside.

Not quite comprehending, you furrowed. You attempted to hide the venom in your voice, but somehow it found its way to leak out. "Couldn't you do that in advance?"

"Nope..." It was his turn to furrow, looking almost shocked with the question. And thanks to all those years of your relationship, you knew it was his piss-poor estimation of time taking over. "It was a last-minute surprise."

"Sounds like it," you commented irritably. "What's that?"

"Your birthday present, sunshine," he drawled happily, ignoring your remark. He sounded positively delighted and satisfied with himself at surprising you with that because he saw a slight crease of shock painting on your forehead. "Here you go."

You took his deposit out of his grasp, still quite unsure. What if his gift would only make a situation worse? Can it get any worse with Draco's total lack of tact? Yes. But it was only one way to find out.

Without even stealing a second glance at him, you ripped off all of the packaging that had been folded around, protecting the contents. You tried to do it carefully and without any impact of emotions revealing the way you felt inside, but your hands were shaking with rage, and you couldn't quite contain yourself. You had been highly aware you shouldn't have expected much from him, but still...

You wondered if the universe was playing against you.

There was a moment of tense silence as you struggled to deal with all the wrappings. Rather unfortunately, you wished you hadn't put so much effort in opening your so-called 'gift' because as you finally did, it only angered you more, seeing as the disappointment laughs at your face. And yes, as a matter of fact, the universe was against you today...

"Are you kidding me?" you asked in disbelief, fury reappearing in your eyes. "A birthday cake?! From McDonald's?" Ugly, little cake with the creepiest smiley face of a clown. It wasn't even fresh, you realized, when you smelled it and felt a musty reek of a freezer, it probably had been kept in. A confusing sense of sadness in your chest couldn't reach any higher at this point.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, detecting the wrath in your eyes. At that, you felt the dumbest urge to laugh and never stop. "I thought it'd be something original."

"Oh, I love it," you said sarcastically, a faint voice of hope telling you it was only a very bad joke was still lingering in your head. But it wasn't a joke.

"It's not just--" He struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I've been asking Blaise and Theo about any ideas. I told them, what you had said to me -- 'you didn't want anything fancy.' So we decided it's... something."

"Of course I didn't tell you I want anything, you dolt!" Your voice raised up almost two octaves, and the pulse sped up so fast it entailed a headache along. A neighbor from the opposite garden who was watering the flowers looked at you, startled, and eyes widened your exasperated tone. You didn’t care. "It's how it works: you don't tell other people you expect them to buy something!"

"But I'm your boyfriend. You shouldn't -- er-- feel uncomfortable to tell..."

"Exactly! As my boyfriend, you should have known!"

"Well... I didn't. If that's what's bothering you, we can...we can..."

"Stop." Listening to him and his pathetic excuses was the last thing you were going to do now. "What – why would you even – " You sputtered out, unable to process or express exactly what you were feeling. There was definitely anger and indignation. Curiosity, for another, as to why Draco would even fall for such foolish and ill-considered idea, and -- to the top of it -- hope it would make a good fit. And possibly, the last and most satisfying part, was the wicked impulse to throw the cake directly into his arrogant face, letting him taste his own medicine he had been serving you for years on each failed birthday.

"You know, for once, you could pay more effort and try doing something nice for me," you told him firmly, deflating to calm down your buzzing nerves.

"I've been tr--"

"Do you realize how much it costs me to pretend to be happy when you forget about me? Last year, I organized a big-ass party for your birthday, inviting over all of your friends and buying the best booze I could find to celebrate it properly," you said harshly and pretentiously, as you intended. "The best part is, you didn't even thank me." You stared at him, wringing your hands and expecting to perceive any trope of shame in his eyes. For the first time, you actually did.  

"Listen, about that--" he calmly attempted to cut off your monologue.

"No, you listen..." Did you really want what was upcoming next? Maybe it was about time. "Today, I decided I'm standing up for myself. So, for the last time, get out from my porch."

He bristled, the thunderstruck air hanging around him. "Because of the stupid cake?"

"What?! No! It's just... I feel like you don't give a damn about me anymore." Gulp formed in your throat, and the tears finally left your eyes at the consciousness of what was happening. "I think we both deserve some time."

Your eyes moved to his, and you almost wished you hadn't looked. He was watching you, with pursed lips and a pure mixture of every emotion: anger, sadness, resentment, pretension, dejection. The faintest of his flustered blushes appeared on his cheeks, and you suddenly wished you could hug him. "So you are putting us..." His finger pointed at him and you as if expecting clarification. "...on a break? Is that what it is?"

You were truly torn, to be honest. Becoming single on your birthday was the last wish you had for this day, but you felt a strong sense of adequacy and pride for building up the boundaries of tolerance. Besides, seeing as it was heading nowhere, it was only a matter of time that your relationship came to an end.  

Although, it hurt. A lot. "Yes."

You darted your eyes from him, not wanting to study his reaction in case it caused you to meltdown and jump to his embrace, apologizing endlessly for your words. You loved him. But you didn't regret what you had just said.

Something like a dry chuckle of disbelief escaped out of his mouth. "Is that what you really want?"

'No,' your thoughts prompted you instantly before you could even contemplate. 'I want you to say so many things you're never willing to say. But you don't know.'

So instead, you lied: "Yes."

All expressed, you spun around without peeking back and rushed into your room, already knowing there was no more sense in strives to make this day any better; all of it would bring only bad associations. It would be depressing, even more than it already was.

God, was it how the break-up pained? Because if so, you wanted to be deceased. The world spun suddenly, and you sank to your knees, shaking madly and doing your best to find your way back to your bed, located a few mere meters from you. Part of you felt numb, but your head was wide awake and alarming you that something in terms of a disaster had just happened. Because it did. The clutching in your chest was unbearable, and tears were dashing out of your eyes like a living waterfall, which made you bury your face in your hands. Never have you ever wanted to be so drunk before.

And so many questions rung up in your head at once.

Did you make a good decision? What if you are going to miss him, yet knowing you could never call? What about college -- are things about to get awkward?

No answers.

But you knew someone who would be able to reply to them.

With the blurred by tears vision, you struggled but managed to find your phone in the purse, and then clumsily scrolled through and tapped in your list of contacts before holding the phone to your ear.

Please answer, you begged. Please, please…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Pansy's voice roared from the other side of a line, as always, enthusiastic.

"Pansy." You tried to sound less brokenly than you were, feeling marginally worse at the reminder of your birthday. "Is Daphne around?"

"Ouch, you're a really nasty bitch sometimes, you know. I'm not goin' to point out today, but since you didn't let me end my wishes, I'll note that for the future reference." You were sure she was grinning at the teasing, seeing as much as she liked that. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but... "How--"

"Pansy, please..." you sobbed out, almost desperate to have someone to consult and share emotions with. Daphne -- contrary to Pansy, who could be very judgy sometimes -- was someone you had especially on mind now. "I need to talk to her."

You heard her sigh; the kind of sigh she used to either prove her resignation or concern. But, as much as it surprised you, she suppressed her curiosity and, without a second word, obediently handed the phone over to Daphne. At least, that's what you assumed because you heard a pause and subdued mutters in the background.

"Y/N?" the milder tone spoke up, and you felt suddenly very strange as if submerged in water of relief; relief to hear the familiar voice. That released you from keeping a distant attitude, and yet again, a sadness washed over you, triggering a loud wail to come out of your mouth. "Y/N, is everything alright?"

"No..." you sniveled, unable to collect yourself together. "I-I... We br-brok-e up."

"You and Draco?" Daphne asked, astonishment evident.

You nodded but then remembered she couldn't see you nor read your expression. So instead, you forced your vocal cords to work again. "Mhm..."

"What happened?"

Restoring the story in your brain again, you told her everything, still tearfully but much more coherently this time. You avoided the details, briefly skipping from one utterance to another, as your conversations had gone, and you were very much thankful she didn't press for more information about the prospect of the situation. If it hadn't been her sporadic gasps or loud inhales of breath, you would have almost presumed she wasn't listening. However, she was, and as soon turned out, Pansy was as well.

"That's bananas!" Pansy shouted somewhere from the back as you had ended, and despite your gloom, you giggled quietly at her comment.

"Shush," Daphne tried to silence her, covering up the fact she had put you on the speaker. You didn't mind because you knew Pansy, who would definitely expect Daphne to cite the whole conversation if needed. But knowing Daphne as well, you could bet she flushed more than she would want to at that point. "So it all started because of the cake?"

"And the delay," you added. "But it's not just about that, obviously. It feels like... he completely stopped caring. And I don't want to be stuck in a relationship where everything is about sex and having fun only. Draco wasn't looking for a commitment, which..."

"Sucks,"ended this time Pansy unhesitatingly, who wasn't now screaming from the other part of a room but openly participating in the discussion.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"As for me, I think he might love you more than you know, Y/N." It was Daphne talking again, and she sounded positively convinced about her view as for someone who had hardly exchanged any word with Draco for the past few years. As if reading your thoughts, she continued. "I've observed you a lot. I know he might seem unemotional, but it's you who discovered him. That must require a lot of trust, you know."

You contemplated, and some of the memories and images from your first encounter run across your brain, try as might to suppress it: spotting each other at the party; binging some whisky shots together; flirty teasing; the very masculine scent of cologne; and then... more spicy recollections -- eager lips pressing against each other; against each others' necks; against other parts of the body; stripping off the clothes in the passionate haste...

Receiving a long moment of silence, Daphne took a second chance and asked. "And what's with you? Do you want to end it?"

It felt like standing before the oracle of truth. Therefore, you couldn't deny it in front of yourself. "No."

"So what're you still doing there?" commented Pansy impatiently, and you could imagine her rolling the eyes. "Get out and find him!"

She was right. You will.

XOXOXOXO

"I thought I'd find you here..."

No. Actually, you didn't. 

You had tracked Draco's phone with your own one with some help of an app that, as the two of you had established still in the relationship, would be a good idea in case of an emergency. That in itself proved to be more than helpful, believing that your argument may be pinned as something in terms of an emergency, right?

So having access to his location, you had found out he was in the park where he had taken you on the first date, shortly after dinner, to watch the sunset that, as he had described, 'was a typical cliche from every romantic movie.'

But you had fallen for that. So much.

You hadn't been aware the place had actually some meaning for him until now, and that... God, that he had even remembered it. Time showed, however, that it indeed did, to which your heart reacted with a happy jolting. But also with a nasty sting of nostalgia following shortly after.

Yet, that only had encouraged you to make up your mind and go looking for him, which hadn't been such a difficult task per se. He was sitting on the bench, in the shade of a tree, and hiding his a little too delicate skin from the sun rays. As soon as he had heard your voice, his gray eyes flew up to see you standing a few meters away.

"What are you doing here?" was the immediate question that tumbled out of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, and to your surprise, he didn't even look angry or sad with you. Nothing near the edge; actually, almost something like the amusement was painting on his face.

"Aren't you mad with me?" you asked intrigued, completely forgetting about his question.

He frowned. "Why would I be?" His tone was so mild that you weren't sure if he was referring to the double meaning; but then he smirked playfully and said, "Besides, I knew you were coming."

"Wha-- How?" you asked, eyes dilating a fraction, in shock.

He smirked, pointing at his phone in an explanatory manner. After a moment, you finally figured out what he meant: the app must have registered he had been tracked and that your phone was trying to find his. At this notice, you reacted with a wave of flush, suddenly regretting your previous lie. His smile only widened at your expression. "Wanna sit? It's plenty of room here."

"Mhm..." You nodded, pleased to accept his offer, and walked over to the bench, doing your best to hide the evident embarrassment on your face. You felt strange he had taken you with such ease, seeing as merely two or three hours ago, you had burst at him like a cram-full volcano of unspoken emotions.

Draco shifted a package from his side, making more space for you to sit, and it took you a moment to realize it was a McDonald's cake from earlier. Everything started from that -- a stupid, little piece of cake which stood up between...

You shook the thought away, taking a seat next to him, close enough to smell his sandalwood cologne. "You didn't answer my question," Draco reminded you. "What's so important to make you track my phone?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You rounded your face to him, flustrated, leaning at the backrest of a bench. "That's why I came. I wanted to apologize."

"Oh... Couldn't you call?"

You sighed. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk to me after...you know... our quarrel," you said half-despondent, half-desperate, watching your feet as if it were the most interesting thing to peer at now. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know," he said. Out of nowhere, he was gently grasping your palms which forced you to look up directly into his intense gaze. His eyes were swirling like molten silver at you. "But I should be apologizing, love. I made a mistake, okay?" His hands traveled all across to your tense shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "I know I should be more... affectionate with you. And this was...dumb. A dumb mistake. With that cake. But I'll try to be better if you give it another shot."

He looked so serious that you instantly believed him. You wanted to actually, with all force of longing, which grew up too rapidly in you when he wasn't around. Draco was a fool, you could easily say. But he was your fool, which was a thing you couldn't be more proud of.

Peeking slowly in the other direction, you asked, out of the topic, "You remembered the place?"

"Of course," he puffed jokingly, smiling. "Our first date. Officially our place from then on."

"Right..." You smiled back.

Honestly, the mere fact that he had called this spot 'yours' warmed up your heart, and you felt yourself grinning at his never-before-discovered emotionality. To assure yourself you weren't the only one caring, it was all you needed to hear.

The whole moment was intense, and now, you realized, is when you should have hugged him. Kissed him. Said something back at his sincere endearment.

But instead, spotting plastic cutlery next to your 'gift', you asked, "So what's the taste of the birthday cake?"  

And you knew he had caught the subtext of your playful inquiry. And you knew that soon you would work things out again. But, as for now...

"I thought you would never ask."

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Looooooool. Such a drama-comedy, right? And I could easily say It feels like 50% Draco-x-Reader / 50% Draco-x-BirthdayCake... But whatever (2am is working like a drunken bud, folks). Happy beginning of August :)

[amphxtrite]

harry potter x fem!reader

warnings: ⚠️tw⚠️ suicide, substance abuse, blood, suicidal thoughts, alcohol, depression, anxiety, breakdowns, kissing, overall pure angst with a fluffy ending.

currently unedited please excuse grammatical mistakes

summary: A summer changes the girl harry potter fell in love with, leaving her with more pain than she’d ever admit.

a/n: there are many things in here that may be triggering, please consider the warnings before reading.

word count: 6k (writing this really helped get my feelings out)

taglist: @oldschoolkiddo

please message me to be added to my taglist

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Rushing down the Hogwarts halls, bags slung over your shoulder and sun shining through the windows, you scour the crowds of students leaving Hogwarts for summer vacation, trying to pick a familiar brunette with green eyes.

Rounding the corner, you spot three gryffindors chatting by a stone pillar and run towards them, crashing into one of the boy’s backs.

“Guess who?” You giggle, feeling Harry’s chest vibrate as he chuckles.

“Hm, I don’t know, is it Hagrid?” He teases, running his chin as Hermione grins. “Nope.” You laugh, popping the ‘p’

“Is it Dumbledore?” Harry tries again, placing his hand over yours and stroking his thumb over your fingers. “Afraid not lightning.”

“Well then, perhaps is it y/n?” Harry turns, wrapping you in his arms as you laugh and hug him back.

“Are you guys ready for summer?” You ask, glancing around at Hermione and Ron before glancing back at Harry.

They all bore similar expressions, small smiles with a ‘maybe’ face. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re off to save the world over summer too.” You sigh, releasing yourself from Harry’s arms and walking to Ron to give him a hug.

“We won’t get in too much trouble.” Ron chuckles, patting you on the back and letting you walk over to Hermione.

“We just never know at this point.” She shrugs, squeezing you tightly.

“Well I’ll meet you guys on the train!” You smile.

The ride back to your platform was as it always was, the trees whipped by and swayed. The sky was lined with puffy white clouds. The snack trolley passed and you bought yourself a chocolate frog and some ‘every flavour’ beans to share with your mom when you got home, a tradition as they were her favourite, and because she needed a little happiness with you off at school and your father gone.

Sitting back and sighing. The golden trio finally arrived at your cabin and told you about their summer plans. Hermione was travelling, Ron was staying home and Harry was staying with the Dursley’s until he could ‘find a reason to escape to the Weasley’s’ as he put it.

The train arrives at your stop and you grab your bags to leave.

“Write to me if you can, all of you, and I’ll see you next year.” You smile, walking back over to Harry and planting a quick kiss to his cheek, ruffling Ron’s hair and kissing Hermione’s forehead.

“Bye y/n!” Ron and Hermione chime.

“Bye thunder!” Harry calls as you turn again and wave. “Bye lightning, bye guys!” You smile, rushing off to the train.

“So you finally told her?” Ron chuckles, patting Harry on the back.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks furrowing his eyebrows.

“We know you like her mate, and she just kissed you on the cheek!” Ron continues.

“W-Well maybe I do fancy her, but she gave Mione a kiss too!” Harry stammers, his face going as red as his uniform.

“That was platonic Harry, we can tell she likes you, lightning.” Hermione teases using your nickname for him.

“Listen, I don’t want to jump to conclusions and creep y/n out. She’s an amazing friend and I’d like it to stay that way.” Harry smiles, looking off into the distance to see you still walking away.

“Even if she does like you back?” Ron questions.

“Well you don’t know if she does.” Harry sighs, rolling his eyes.

Your eyes scan the station for your mother, swiveling your head back and forth to find her but only seeing other families being reunited with their children.

Pursing your lips you sigh and wait for a moment. Hoping and praying that this year would be different, and your mother would come running to you with open arms. Seconds fade to minutes, and soon the station is almost empty as excited parents rush home to hear about Hogwarts adventures.

You pull your luggage behind you as you walk to the front of the station and hail a muggle cab, leaning your head against the cool window as the pink skies shine above you, the driver makes no move for conversation, so your drive is silent, and when you finally reach your old house, you hand the man driving the rest of your muggle allowance and nod him goodbye.

Your house was looking as quiet and calm as you had left it.

The flowers you had planted last summer had wilted, the porch sat empty and the stairs still creaked as you approached the door. Home.

You smile as you turn your key in the lock and push open the door, setting your bags on the floor as you set out, candy in hand in search of your mother. The kitchen sat empty with only the soft hum of the refrigerator suggesting someone still lived here. The living room was empty, the old leather couch seemed to be collecting dust and the tv looked like an ancient artifact with the cobwebs strung on the sides. As you ascend the stairs to the second floor, you notice the blinds to every window suspiciously closed. Odd, your mother usually enjoyed watching the sunset.

The floorboards beneath you give high pitched creaks as you walk across the hallways, something you had always despised, especially as a child trying to sneak sweets in the early hours.

Pushing open your mothers bedroom, your eyebrows furrow as her bed laid neatly made, with not a thing out of place. The usual mess of pill bottles and plastic bottles had been cleaned, the pile of clothes had disappeared and she was still nowhere to be found. A sense of dread bubbles in the pit of your stomach as you push on, checking her closet and even your own room for your mom, but nothing.

You turn around with a plan to head to town and see if she was visiting the pharmacy for her pills again, or maybe the grocery store, heck, maybe she had stopped at the corner store for cigarettes again. You turn to shrug on a jacket and leave, but as you reach for the front door knob again, your head snaps up and your blood runs cold.

“No, no, no. Please no.” You repeat to yourself, running up the stairs with tears in your eyes and you approach the one room you had yet to check. The one place your head told you she was, but your heart refused to believe. There was no way it could be true. She’d be opening the door right now, the sound of keys clattering on the table in the kitchen would alert you she was there. She’d say, “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up, work was awful today.” And she’d proceed to pull out her groceries so you could prepare your favourite meal together, after dinner you would sit on the couch and you’d tell her all about your school girl crush on Harry Potter and she’d tease you as she popped a jelly bean into her mouth and give you the best motherly advice you could ask for. You pause at the closed door and pause, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the sound of footsteps, even the sound of breathing, anything.

You’re met with silence, and in the exact two hundred and sixteen seconds you stood outside the bathroom door, tears began to cloud your vision as you finally opened the door, counting another ten seconds before opening your eyes.

The first thing you saw was your mother, eyes closed and face unusually pale as she lay in the bathtub, and for a moment, you almost convinced yourself she had fallen asleep.

That is until your eyes trailed down her body, and where the water turned red. You drop the jellybeans and everything goes blurry.

“No…” You whimper incredulously, not realizing you had fallen to your knees until the pain in your legs registered and your eyes flooded. Her skin was littered with scars, ones she obtained from her job, harmless ones that healed with time. Beside them were what you cried for. Large, angry gashes that covered her wrists and stole the life from her.

Your face contorts into a hateful cry as you scream, pain flooding your entire being as the metallic sting of blood floods your nose and you gag.

Words seem to blur together, a mixture of ‘why’ and ‘come back, please.’ Seemed to be the only ones that came out coherently as you collapse and slam your fists repeatedly against the floor.

“Mommy, why did you do this? Why did you leave me?” You sob softly, hesitantly touching her face, ice cold to the touch, a quick check of her pulse showed she was gone, but you could tell from the colour still draining from her face that this was recent. Another choked sob escapes your lips as you turn away from her and spot something sitting on the bathroom sink. A letter.

You scramble to grab it and tear it open.

Y/n, if you’re reading this, you’ve gotten home safely and seen me by now. Please know this isn’t your fault love, I just couldn’t bear this anymore. You know that ever since your father left I’ve struggled, you were the only reason I still wanted to stay alive baby, but it’s too much. Everyday I wake up and I have no reason to stay. I was fired not too long ago, lost all my friends to my absence, and lost everything.

Please forgive me. I love you so much, angel, and I’m so so proud of you, I’m resting now baby. I’m finally free.

The paper starts to crinkle as your hands tighten to fists, your tears spill like rivers down your face and your breathing grows rapid as your head falls into your hands.

“P-Please don’t go… You’re all I have, I-I can’t lose you.” You sob, pushing her hair back against her forehead in the soothing manner she had always done for you.

“Please, please, please. I can’t lose you mom… I-I still haven’t told you about this boy at school, t-the test I aced in potions even though professor Snape hates me, all the house points I got, mom there's still so much I have to tell you…” You sniffle, pressing a kiss to her head as you sit back on your heels and push the tears from your eyes to no avail.

“I got your-your every flavoured beans mom, I was hoping we could share them as I told you, maybe I would get an earwax one and you would laugh.” You stutter as the tears flood your eyes again. “I miss your laugh so much mom, please, can I hear it one more time.” You beg, refusing to move from your spot on the floor next to your mother, holding her head in your arms as you begged and prayed for her to come back, going as far as to try and perform magic to heal her wounds and bring her back.

But even magic couldn’t bring her back, and she’d want more for you than to be expelled for uselessly trying to save her.

Eventually the metallic scent became more than you could bear, you pushed yourself away, swallowing your sobs and closing the door behind you. You had no clue what you were going to do with her, but that would be a problem you’d face another day. Your breathing began to race, your heart pounded a million miles a second and the overwhelming feeling of being trapped settled around you, squeezing you into a box you could not escape from, pushing from all sides until you were clawing at yourself to escape your imagined prison.

It was too much. You run down the hallway to your mother’s room and collapse in front of her cabinet, trembling as you tug open the bottom drawer and grab a small cylindrical container with her name on it.

You knew this was a terrible idea, these were strong muggle painkillers meant to help a grown adult, not a teen.

But the looming dread was too much to ignore, too much to bear, too much to even think about. Your mother’s lifeless body flashed through your head, painfully embedding itself into every inch of your memory until it burned.

You pour an unknown amount into your hand and throw them into your mouth, swallowing them dry and collapsing onto the floor in a fit of anger at your actions and pain. Pain so blinding it swallowed your rage, filling your entire being with a convulsing sadness, and as the meds began to kick in, an artificial peace.

New sunlight shines through the closed blinds onto your closed eyes and you finally stir, sitting upright holding your head in your hands, clueless for a moment what you were doing on the floor. Scanning the room, the burning memory hits you like a punch to the face and you freeze, resisting the urge to empty whatever sat in your stomach onto the floor.

“What am i going to do?” You murmur to yourself, glancing around helplessly for something, someone to hold on too, but alas, you sit alone, clutching a pill bottle in your hands.

You eventually snapped to your senses, called a muggle ambulance to help you get your mother out of the tub and before you knew it, you were standing in a flowerless field as two workers lowered your mother into the ground. They offered you condolences and convincing frowns, but to them this was just another job. One more person laid to rest, no care to know what tragic story was buried in the heart of the one person standing at the funeral.

They left without a word you stood at the headstone, engraving the image into your mind.

‘m/n l/n, finally at peace.’

You convinced yourself reading those carved words would have your feelings set in stone. She was at peace now, finally free from her suffering. But it wasn’t that simple, how could it be?

The last family you had ever known was gone, ripped from your arms and held so far above you, there was no possible way you could reach her.

You trudged back home with a permanent feeling of dread looming over you, again your heart begged to have the pain lifted, even for a moment, just to feel alright. And there was only one way you could think of.

“This always helped take the edge off her…” You murmur, digging through your mother’s drawer again to find an untouched box of cigarettes sitting at the bottom.

“This will help…” You convince yourself, taking the box and standing again, slowly trudging out the front door and sitting on the front porch.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.” You murmur lifting a cigarette to your lips and lighting it like you’d seen your mother do many times before.

Inhaling deeply, you barely flinch as the smooth taste of smoke coats your throat. You exhale as you look up into the sky and sigh, it was going to be a long summer.

It almost became an immediate response for stress to pull a cigarette from your pocket and stick it in your mouth, you didn’t particularly enjoy it, but in a twisted way, the smell reminded you of your mother, and you clutched onto anything that reminded you of her.

When you didn’t have cigarettes you turned to alcohol, your mother hadn’t been much of a drinker, but gifts of different drinks were common when her friends came over were common, and they sat untouched in a cabinet in the basement.

The taste of many of them were bitter, but if you drank enough the taste simply didn’t matter and the buzz took over.

Letters from your friends slowly piled on your window as owls came and went as you threw back fire whiskey and stared into space talking to yourself and shooing away the owls who stared at you strangely before flapping away.

When you weren’t at home you went into the small town nearby and bought anything advertised to take the pain away, no one seemed to pay you any mind, many seemed to be going through it as well, to caught up in their own realities to give a shit about a girl buying sleep medication and painkillers, no matter how strong.

You dove deeper into your pain, taking something every night to lull away the nightmares and ignore the pain. Drinking and smoking in the day to cover the tears and help you forget for a couple hours.

Some days were better than others, when you could just sit outside and enjoy the fresh summer air, but others your anxiety caged you up and you did anything to escape.

One late August afternoon a snowy white owl lands beside you on your front porch as you twiddle your thumbs and hum softly.

It drops the letter directly onto your lap and waits staring up at you expectantly as if asking you to open the envelope and read it to them.

“Alright, I get the message.” You yawn, sitting up and ripping the paper off the top of the letter and pulling a piece of parchment into your hand.

You clear your throat and begin, “dear y/n..

I hope you’re doing well, you haven’t responded to any of my letters yet and I’ve been very worried, Ron and Hermione have told me you haven’t been answering them either and we’re all hoping you’re safe. School’s starting up again and I’m looking forward to seeing you, take care.

Harry Potter.”

The owl looks at you again, and you wondered if it actually thought you were going to respond.

“Sorry pal, I’m not writing anything back. Here, for your troubles.” You nod, placing three knuts in front of the bird. The snowy owl looked down at the money oddly before ruffling his feathers and flying away, leaving you alone once again.

“Harry.” You sigh, sipping on a glass of water. You had completely forgotten you had promised to write to your friends over the summer, almost forgotten your life completely as you tried to focus on keeping yourself alive.

“What the fuck am I going to do?” You sigh, setting down your cup and resting your head against your knees.

Summer blew by much faster once you realized how close the first day back really was, but there you were standing in the empty street hailing a cab to travel back to your station.

You pull your sweater closer to you as your leg shakes furiously and your breathing grows rapidly blowing through every possible bad scenario that crosses your mind. The disappointed faces of your old friends, laughter, teasing, each thought clouds your thoughts. A cold sweat breaks out and you can almost feel yourself slipping when a voice pulls you out.

“Um, miss? We’re here.” The cab driver says, glancing back at you worried.

“O-Oh, thank you.” You clear your throat, handing him his payment and stepping out of the car and grabbing your suitcase.

Taking a deep breath you wipe the sweat from your forehead and walk to the magical platform, bracing yourself as always before stepping through the brick border.

Loud and bustling, you quietly walk towards the Hogwarts Express, but instead of walking to your usual compartment where you knew the golden trio would be sitting you strode all the way down to the back of the train and sat in an empty seat.

Glancing around, you make sure the coast is clear before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, instantly feeling a rush of relief as you take a deep breath in and out.

You watched as the trees disappeared behind the window and the sky shone above, but it didn’t feel right. You didn’t get the usual rush of excitement and joy, in fact you almost felt worse the closer you got to Hogwarts. You close the blinds hurriedly and sit back in your seat.

“No I-I’m sure I saw her come this way.” A voice calls out not too far from you.

“Harry, We’ve been down this way three times already!”

Harry.

“Fuck.” You whisper, pulling the hood of your sweater over your head and keeping your eyes trained on the floor.

“Mate we gotta get changed into our uniforms, we’ll see her at the feast.” Ron sighs, probably pulling Harry away as their voices fade away and you’re left alone again.

You curse yourself for hiding. Why were you hiding from the people you loved? What were you so afraid of?

The answer lay plain as day, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You were afraid of them seeing you like this. Broken down, exhausted, and with a cigarette sticking past your lip.

That did remind you, your uniform.

Covering the compartment windows with your jacket, you quickly swap your hoodie for your collared shirt and a tie. Running a brush through your hair you menatlly prepare yourself to re-enter your life, a life that no longer seemed like yours. Stepping off the Hogwarts express, it felt like you were seeing your past life, a flash of familiarity you no longer knew, a warmth you could recognize that was no longer for you.

You recoil softly at the shiver running down your spine, but push forwards, walking along surrounded by the sea of students.

Reaching where the carriages usually were, you look up expecting the usual strangeness of being pulled by an invisible force, but stumble backwards at the sight of a dark, nightmarish horse standing before you.

It’s eyes seemed to narrow, glaring daggers at you that seemed to pierce your very soul. You quickly climb into a carriage with some random  students and stare out the windows the entire ride.

Their quiet chatter is drowned out by your thoughts, coming up with a way to avoid the golden trio at all cost seemed to be a top priority, followed by the need to down some firewhisky to get your mind off everything.

You kept repeating to yourself everything would be okay, just make it up the stairs, around the pillars, dodge anyone that seemed to be walking in your direction and hurry up to your dormitory. Collapsing into the bed that was now called yours you sigh and bunch the blankets into your fists and breathe properly for the first time since you left your house. Your roommates had yet to show and you were grateful for the alone time. Your hands finally stopped shaking, your sweat finally stopped and your breathing evened. You finally work up the strength to unzip your suitcase and pull the small container of firewhiskey you had brought out of your bag. You unscrew it and take a small sip, allowing the burning liquid to slowly take your edge off and calm you down. You sat for a moment nursing the bottle against your lips, contemplating whether or not it would be smart to go down to the great hall for the feast. You were starving and needed food, but you couldn’t face anyone in this state. Glancing at your faint reflection on the window you swallow at the unfamiliarity of the person staring back at you. Where had the happy girl you once were gone? And who was the stranger you were looking at? Your summer had been restless and difficult, of course. But had it really been enough to shake you to the point you didn’t recognize yourself?

What a stupid question. You almost laugh to yourself, tilting your head back again and drinking a little more. Drinking was supposed to take your mind off your situation, not have you overthink even more.

After a while of sitting and glaring out the window you finally pick yourself up, tuck away your firewhiskey and straighten your uniform. You make your way down towards the great hall, walking slowly down the halls you used to run through. Staring in boredom at the carvings and paintings on the wall you used to admire with awe. Keeping your mouth shut when you used to laugh down these corridors.

Finally reaching the great hall the sorting ceremony was still in full swing, playing as a distraction while you slipped to your table.

You sit and nod hello to the students surrounding you, giving them empty excuses on why you were late, and half-heartedly listening to their stories.

Your only thought at the moment was to eat and keep your head down, become invisible if you must.

Harry glances around the great hall anxiously looking for your face. He had barely touched his food, hardly clapped at the new students being sorted into their houses, barely talked to Hermione and Ron as they watched Harry worriedly.

Harry had only one thought on his mind, find you. See if you were alright, hug you in his arms and tell you he missed you, ask you about your summer and ask you to Hogsmeade like he was too afraid to last year. He had so much planned, all he was missing was you.

Just as Ron opens his mouth to tell Harry to quit for a moment and just eat, he catches sight of familiar h/c hair. Longer than he remembered, but no doubtebly yours. Standing in a hurry Harry runs off leaving Ron and Hermione confused, glancing over to see where the brunette had run off to.

Your head snaps up as you hear footsteps approach you and just in time you see Harry running towards you. His green eyes were alight in joy. His tousled brown hair was shorter and he looked older, more mature. Your heart drops as you frantically try and hide your face. He couldn’t see you like this, what on earth would he think?

“Y/n, there you are I’ve been looking for you!”

Bloody hell, his voice had gotten deeper too. Still holding that boyish grin that you loved so much.

“Y/n? A-Are you okay?”

Go away. You pleaded in your head, refusing to look up into the green eyes you’d fallen for.

Harry refuses to give up and attempts to reach out and take your hand.

His skin makes contact with yours and you flinch away, finally giving in and removing your hands from your face.

“What do you want?” You snap unintentionally, cringing inwardly at what you had just done.

“I-I just wanted to say hi-- are you alright?-” Harry asks furrowing his eyebrows, was that firewhiskey he smelled on your breath?

“I’m fine, could you please leave me alone?” Your voice is softly this time, but still with a cold edge.

Harry’s eyes blink in confusion, as he glances around and open and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. This was not the reunion he was expecting, heck this didn’t seem like you at all. Regardless, he nods and slowly walks away, looking back every now and again to see you holding your head in your hands and eventually standing and leaving in a huff, were those tears he saw streaming down your eyes?

“Did you find her mate?” Ron asks as Harry takes a seat.

“Yeah-yeah. Listen, something's wrong.” Harry states, explaining the confrontation he had with you. Slowly the two other gryffindors expressions fade to concern as well.

“And you’re sure it was firewhiskey?” Hermione questions, pursing her lips.

“I’m afraid so, I-I don’t know what to do.” Harry sighs defeated.

“Give her some time, perhaps she just had a bad day?” Ron suggests.

“Sounds more like a horrible summer.” Hermione sighs, worried for her friend.

“I’m gonna go look for her, I don’t want her alone at a time like now.” Harry nods, not waiting for his friend’s reactions before running off to find you.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” You curse yourself, unsure where you were running too. You simply follow your feets as you angrily wipe tears from your eyes and cry in the empty hallways. As you run the image of Harry’s shocked face plays over and over again in your head, taunting you, trying to prove to you what kind of person you had become. Your feet lead you down another corridor and before you know it you’re climbing up a flight of stairs and fighting for breath while digging your fingers into your hands to keep yourself from sobbing to loudly. You had let him down. You had let everyone you love down, you let your mother down, you let yourself down. Maybe if you had spent more time at home your mother would have found a reason to stay, if you just didn’t go to the magic school and stayed with her she’d be alive and there to guide you. You miss her so much everyday. You collapse onto the cool ground of what must have been the astronomy tower you glance down at your hands and realize you’ve been squeezing too tight and hot blood is beginning to flow down your palm. You gag as the sight brings you back to the beginning of the summer. The start of your hell. Instinctively you pull a cigarette from your pocket and bring it to your lips, lighting it and before you know what you’re doing, walking to the edge of the tower.

There wasn’t anything left for you here. Your mother was gone, you had successfully avoided your friends and the person you loved had seen you for who you truly were. You were ready, and you couldn’t think of any place you’d rather go then your favourite place at Hogwarts.

The place you’d spent so many nights gazing at the stars. The place you’d realized you had fallen in love, looking into the green eyes of Harry Potter while watching the planets shine above you and the stars twinkle.

Harry, the person you were so excited to tell your mother about. The boy who made you smile and laugh every day you were with him. You would miss him. Miss his smile, his tousled hair you loved to play with, miss his voice.

As you take one final drag from your cigarette, your feet just over the edge, you look up towards the sky. You see the moon shining, the trees swaying in the distance, nature in all it’s peace, calling to you.

A feeling like your mother’s arms wraps around you, and for a moment you can see her, feel her. “I’m coming mom, we’ll be together soon.”

Taking a step forward you look down at the ground, almost smiling softly before looking back up at the sky, where you’d join your mom and--

“Y/n!” A pair of real arms wrap around you and pull you away from the edge. Squeezing you against their chest and sobbing into your hair.

Why were they crying? Why weren’t you with your mother yet…?

“Y/n what are you doing?”

Harry. You realize, and as he raises his head and you come eye to eye, you see his eyes clouding with hot tears behind his glasses. You lift your hand and wipe them.

“Why are you crying?” You ask, dropping your hand again and realizing you had accidentally smeared blood on his face.

“I-I could have lost you! What were you doing so close to the edge?” Harry asks, pleading for answers as he holds you close against him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You smile as though he had just asked the silliest thing.

“There’s nothing left here for me. My mother’s gone, she killed herself when I got home for summer. My dad left us when I was just a baby. I’ve managed to get Ron and Hermione to stop worrying and you’ll never like me back.” You sigh, looking down at your hands and reaching into your pocket again.

“What? Y/n, I-I’m so sorry.” Harry murmurs, placing his forehead against yours as you raise a cigarette to your lips.

“S’ alright.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he slaps the cigarette from your lips.

“You’re drinking and smoking?” He shouts.

“I’ve got painkillers and sleep medication too, anything that’ll get my mind off things.” You shrug, struggling in Harry’s arms as you try and escape.

“Y/n, these things are going to kill you!”

“Good! Maybe I want to die Harry! Maybe I can’t take being alone anymore, and maybe I know these things will kill me so I use them. I want to see her again Harry! I want to not be alone, I want to erase everything I saw, I want to be me again.” You cry, lifting your hands to your face and using your bloody hands to wipe your tears away.

“But I can’t! I still go back to smoking, drinking, using pills to take the pain away and I still. Can’t. Forget!” You continue, bawling into Harry’s shoulder as he holds you.

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” You shriek, trying again to escape Harry’s grip, but he refuses to let go.

“Darling look at me.”

You don’t stop.

“Please Y/n, just look at me.” Hary pleads again.

When you don’t stop this time, he finally gives in and leans towards you. Ignoring the blood, tears and taste of smoke, to  press his lips to yours.

You freeze and Harry keeps himself there. Waiting for your breathing to even out and your heartbeat to stop racing.

Your eyes close and you pause as Harry finally pulls away and takes your face into his hands.

“Y/n, you mother wouldn’t have wanted her daughter to go like this. She would’ve wanted you to be happy and live the life she never had. Darling, from the way you’d always talk about her I know she loves you very much, she doesn’t want you to die.” Harry murmurs pressing a kiss to your eyes and nose.

“Ron and Hermione were worried about you y/n, they just respect your privacy and didn’t want to intrude.” He continues drying you tears with his thumb and peppering kisses down your cheeks.

“They love and care for you so much love. They don’t want you to die.”

Harry pauses for a moment and lifts your lips to his, this time deepening the kiss and moving your lips in sync with his.

“And I… I’m in love with you y/n. I wish I’d had the guts to tell you sooner but I was always too nervous.”

“But look at me now Harry. I’m a mess. I-I’m not the same person.” You murmur, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

“Y/n nothing could ever change the fact I love you. You lost your mother, you can’t expect yourself to just be alright.” Harry sighs.

“I still get nightmares about my parents, I see them collapse and have the life drained from them in mere moments.”

“Y/n after everything, you’re my light. You’re what keeps me motivated everyday to keep going. And I’m not going to let my light die if I could have stopped it.”

You pause and choke back a sob as you glance up into Harry’s eyes and once again melt into the soft green.

“I’m here for you darling, always and forever, whenever you need me, whatever you need, we’ll support each other.” Harry smiles.

This time you engage the kiss, grateful as you relish in the pure moment of happiness.

“Thank you Harry.” You smile weakly.

“Now why don’t you tell me about your mom?” Harry suggests, sitting you down and pulling his wand out of his pocket.

As you ramble on about childhood stories, funny jokes and happy memories Harry smiles and listens, healing your hands and holding them in his.

You spend the rest of the evening laying against his shoulder and gazing up at the stars. Harry places kisses against your head, cheeks and nose every now and again, and even though you knew there was still a long road to walk before you could truly say you felt change, you smiled a little and realized.

Nature wasn’t calling you join it, it was reminding you of the beauty you would be missing. The stars weren’t inviting you up, they were shining to show all the wonders you loved.

And your mother wasn’t embracing you from afar to push you forwards, she was edging you back. Back into Harry’s arms.

[fktonofwhatnow]

The Rhys/Tamlin 180 in ACOMAF makes me mad! Like there’s wasted potential there, even if Rhys is endgame. The concept of after the happily ever after is actually pretty cool. There’s real potential in looking at how Tamlin and Feyre deal with the trauma of Amarantha. Having two people realized they’re not right together while still respecting each other is a more adult take than “surprise, Tamlin sux now”, and allows for Feyre to actually make real choices and grow. What's your ACOMAF rewrite?

Damn YALL ARE SPOILING ME WITH THE TAMLIN ASKS ☺️☺️ thank youuu for the ask @havenfable

THIS IS AGREAT POINT TOO WAIT WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT ALLOWING FEYRE TO ACTUALLY MAKE REAL DECISIONS !! YOUR BRAIN !! you guys are spectacular eat a cookie you have earned it 

Ok my thoughts are not quite coherent rn so I’ll try to make sense. I’ve tried writing this like 4 times and every time it just doesn’t work so bear with me here thank you I love you ok here we go. 

Ok I’m gonna start by saying that there is something to be said about Feyre as the narrator and her being an “unreliable” narrator of sorts. The story is about her, told from her perspective. I don’t expect her to have objective views of what happens around her. one thing I found interesting was that she said in conversations with people that she knew Tamlin was struggling, but when we would be listening to her internal monologue, when she thought of him it was mostly to blame him for not knowing she was struggling. (or if he did know, he didn't do anything about it) So like, same thing with the whole thing with Rhysand's mom and sister, we don't know what Tamlin thinks or feels about the situation because he doesn't talk about it and Feyre never asks. (But oh DAMN Sarah should not have given me room to speculate.) Like, UTM broke Feyre right, she tells us that much. Why are we not allowed to believe that it destroyed Tamlin too.

Here we are again, just like with Rhysand's family. I don't blame Feyre for literally needing help, and I do blame Tamlin for not helping her, but to a degree. I hated how the whole situation was handled like Tamlin was shit for not trying to help Feyre (even tho he was, just not in the way she needed), but then Feyre literally not lifting a single finger to try to help Tamlin is ok because he's a man and he can just suck it up and take it. ???? No ? That's not how we handle trauma? Like, my homeboy is fighting a losing battle against this shit and he's the one who's gotta fix everything for Feyre?

But like you said, just a tiny little bit of helpful communication would have done wonders. How about a lil, "hey you ok?" ???? LETS TALK ABOUT IT! Let's talk about how we're falling out of love, let's talk about what Tamlin experienced under the mountain, let's talk about what Feyre experienced under the mountain, let's talk about how maybe we were never good for each other and how we move on with our lives from that! POTENTIAL !! LETS HAVE THEM GROW "Surprise! Tamlin sucks now!" bitch how. Literally how. How did this happen. How did we get here. Tell me. I want to know SJm. Stop being a coward and tell me. You know what, I'll do it for you.

Damn this is about to be super duper long I'm so sorry. 

Alrighty guys once again, I love Tamlin with my whole chest, but I do put a hefty chunk of this on him. From what SJm tells us about Tamlin, he is a fearful individual. His responses to fear are either to freeze or to explode. Both extremes hurt people around him. His actions hurt people, and his lack of action hurts people. Also, for as often as he says the word sorry, he doesn't really show any signs of change or improvement. While I understand that yes , changing your behavior is hard, especially if you're not getting help and don't know how, Tamlin still could have tried a little more, pushed just a little harder, and yes, he could have been better.

But Tamlin is scared. He's scared of things outside of his control, he's scared of change, he's scared of people he loves leaving him or getting hurt. I'm willing to bet he's scared of himself, and rightfully so. He lashes out and it only ever hurts people. I can't believe he's blind to it. When he destroys the study, he's clearly afraid he hurt Feyre.

(i think I’m gonna do my acomaf rewrite headcanons in a different post, every time I try to write them here it doesn’t flow oooof lemme know if thats something you want ahahah I could talk about this shit forever) 

And like, being subject to someone else's fear is stifling. I don't blame Feyre for getting the hell out of there.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, I know I've said this before: in my opinion, Tamlin has the best depiction of trauma in the whole fucking series. PTSD is a bitch and Tamlin is losing to it. The thing I loathed about acomaf/the beginning of Acowar is how Tamlin isn't given help and then treated like an absolute asshole for it. SJm could have done so much if she had Tamlin learn to ask for help. We can't all just have a Rhysand who knows every thought we have. Sometimes we have to ask for help, as much as we don't want to. That would have done wonders for Tamlin's character arc. And I think that he should have leaned heavily on Lucien for that.

Now look, Lucien deserves a lifetime of free chiropractor visits to relieve the soreness from carrying the entire series solely by himself on his own back. If I'm the one to pay for that for him, so be it. I would do anything for this man.

Lucien deserved so much better than to be bulldozed by the narrative. I refuse to believe that he would let Tamlin use him as a doormat. Lucien deserved to tell Tamlin off on his behavior ok. Lucien deserved a fucking backbone that he had all of acotar and then SJm decided that he was the character who got to suffer for the decisions of every other characters so they didn't have to. Stupid. (At this point I wouldn't be surprised if Rhysand's cum from having sky sex with Feyre fell directly on Luciens face. That's how much SJm likes pummelling him)

Lucien deserves to be strong and tough and emotionally available, especially for Tamlin. I don't think he deserves to be abused by his best friend. I've read fics that make Tamlin like this jackass who's not sad at all that Amarantha forced him to whip his best friend. Are you fucking kidding me. I feel like if Tamlin was going to cling like hell to someone through all of the shit before, during and after UTM, it should be lucien. But no SJm needs us to know Tamlin is a bad guy now. He hurts everyone with no remorse!!! What a villain!!! That was a sin.

Acomaf deserved to be two people talking about how maybe this relationship wasn't going to work out. This book deserved to be Tamlin getting up the courage to as Lucien for help. This book deserved to be Lucien always telling Tamlin that he would be there for him and us getting to watch the two of them overcoming their hardships together. This book deserved to be Feyre choosing her own path, choosing her own family, choosing to live her life as she wanted.

But nah. Rhysand's got a fat cock and uhhh y'all need to like it more than y'all like Tamlin's dick. Also Rhysand is a feminsisist. So suck it.

(If this book was really about giving Feyre a choice, SJm would let her make actual decisions that actually impacted herself and the story instead of just having Rhysand give her two extremes with one of them being obviously the right choice and then tell her whatever she wanted to do was her choice. Feminism.)

Did any of that make any sense. Any at all. No? Yeah I didn't think so anyways I've spent like a week on this I'm tired and I wanted to get it out there. Acomaf was a mess but at least it wasn't Acowar hahahahaha

[herstroywritten]

For All Her Colors

Does Alfea have a ballroom? I’m going to assume it does. 

This idea for this fic came to me in the middle of the night and I just had to write it. And by that, I mean that I knew I wanted Riven to simp over Musa in a bunch of different outfits and colors and had absolutely no plot for it. Can’t say it’s my best work, but I enjoyed writing the banter. And thus, I present you Simp!Riven and Flirty!Musa.

And just for research purposes, what colors do you guys classify as “sexy”? My friend and I have had this conversation multiple times and it always gets more and more interesting.

YELLOW

Bright. Brighter. Brightest.

That's what Riven thinks of Musa's smile. He thinks this same thought each and every time he sees her smile.

He likes her shy smiles, the ones where she bends her head downward and plays with the straps of her backpack, the ones where her lips pull up and she tries desperately to hide the blush that frames her cheeks right after he's told her he's particularly fond of her current swim attire.

And he likes her mischievous smiles, the ones that spark to life as her eyes sparkle with understanding and hidden messages. Those ones he has the privilege of admiring right after she's made a joke that isn't quite as innocent as it seems, or when her and the girls are planning something he can only assume will land them all in some sort of trouble, or (and this is his personal favorite instance) when she makes a not so sly pass at him from across a room with just her eyes in a way that he knows will land him in a load of trouble.

And don't even get him started on Musa's wide smile, the one that she currently sports as she throws her head back laughing at Bloom's lame attempt to stay afloat after her not so coordinated cannonball into the lake.

Her hair is loose, a rare occurrence at any time, and he watches as she swims to the shore and walks to where he is sitting pretending to admire the sunset and fooling no one in the fact that he's just staring at her. She's all curves and  bare skin as she steps out of the water, droplets grazing her body. His eyes follow their way downward with each new strip of skin that is revealed as she makes her way out of the lake, fully aware of the fact that she knows he's watching.

"My eyes are up here," she jokes half-heartedly as she plops herself down next to him in a very unladylike manner. Stella would be horrified.

His lips twitch up at her words, but he makes on effort to look up, focusing instead on the way that yellow bikini top lifts and falls as she breathes in and out. Breathing was never something he'd thought of often before her. Sure, a living, breathing human being was a must in any partner. But before her, there had been no long drawn out thoughts about how deep breaths and hitches in a someone's breathing pattern made him want to just… snap. But, now, as he looped his arm around Musa's waist and brought her onto his lap, hearing her breath catch somewhere at the back of her throat, he wondered if breathing could be a kink.

"You going to speak? Or do you just plan on staring at me for the rest of the time I'm in this swimsuit?" She shifts herself on his lap so that they're face to face, and pokes his cheek with her index finger. "Come now, you can do it. You can form a coherent sentence and speak it for me. You're a big boy."

And at that line, how could he not give her what she was asking for?

"You would know." He all but growls in her ear and she throws her head back, flashes the sky one of her wide smiles, bares her throat to him. He leans his head down, presses his lips to her neck, feels her vocal chords vibrate through him as she laughs.

"You're a child. You know that?"

"Not my fault my mind can't control itself."

"Actually, I think that is your fault?" She cocks an eyebrow at him, gives him her mischievous smile.

"Let me correct myself then, love." He makes a show of leaning in as close to her as he can get without actually touching her and says, "Not my fault you're unavoidable in that bikini."

Her eyes darken as she wraps her arms around his neck, "Hmm. What about this bikini is so appealing to you?"

"All of it."

"Would you," she taps a finger to her chin. "I don't know. Would you say the color is particularly attractive?"

That's an interesting question. "Huh?"

"You heard me. This color. The yellow. Do you like it?"

"What?" He tries again, looking at her all perplexed because really, where is this going?

"Riven, I know you're struggling with words at the current moment. But really, this isn't that hard a question. Yes or no. Do you like the yellow?" She huffs lightly and he has to remember to take in air and let it out as he feels her hot breath against his bare chest.

"I can manage words just fine. I just don't know what exactly that question entails?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Do you think this color is attractive? Does it make you want to strip me naked right here, right now, and fuck me senseless?"

He chokes on his own spit at that response. "Okay, first of all, there is never a time when I don’t want to strip you naked. Second, I am not answering that question because I know there's no way this conversation isn't somehow related to the rest of your little pixie friends and I… I don't even wanna know."

"Oh, come on," she whines. She leans down then and kisses his jaw. "Humor me," she whispers to him.

Her breath tickles his skin, carving a path of wanting as it travels through him. And fuck, , is it really possible to be turned on by someone's breathing?

She's trailing her lips over the parts of his skin that are available to her, not quite kissing any part of him but present enough that he's about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Hmm?" she murmurs in question, pushing him to answer her ridiculous question.

And though he's sure that his answer is about to make him the popular talk of the Winx suite, he answers her anyways, "Yeah. Yeah. Fine."

"Fine, what?" Lips brushing past his cheeks, past him jaw, against his mouth.

Fine, dig my grave right now, why don't you? he thinks. Instead he answers with a grumbled "Fine, that's a very attractive color."

Quick as his words come out of his mouth, Musa's lips are off of him and pulled back into her wide smile as she shifts herself around and hollers over her shoulder, "HA! Stella, you owe Bloom money! He's totally into it!"

Good gracious fucking God. What in the devil's name did he just get himself into?

LILAC/LAVENDER

Turns out, what he got himself into was a game of circling rounds. Riven's not sure of the details, not sure he wants to be sure of the details quite frankly. But, the main idea is this: there came a night when Bloom decided the girls needed a good old-fashioned "slumber party" and in between the late night snacks and movies, the girls had found themselves in a heated game of truth or dare. Aisha had dared Terra to start leaving a plant in Dowling's office every day until she noticed, Terra asked Stella for some very juicy information about what was going on between her and that newly-appointed bodyguard of hers, Stella paid forward the embarrassment by asking some very detailed information of Bloom concerning the girl's current relationship and that had led to the conversation of… lingerie? This is where stuff gets a bit fuzzy for Riven. Really, Musa's explanation had all but gone down the drain once he's heard that word. He truly wishes the story had ended there. He would have been fine with that. But no, the pixies had somehow managed to stir the conversation to the topic of… colors? Sexy colors? Again he's not too sure of the details here.

What he is sure of, however, is that Musa now wears a different color every day just for the sake of testing his reactions. And yeah, he's got plenty of reactions.

Take now for example. All of Alfea is crowded into the greeting hall, a raging party is in full swing, and the only lights that can be seen are that of the moon through the large French doors that surround the school and the occasional lighter from a student who doesn't care all that much about getting caught. The whole Winx suite is crowded by one of the round tables situated in the middle of the room, no doubt Stella's choice of seating. Let it never be said that Stella of Solaria was anything but the center of attention even on her worst days. And attention is what she is getting, as she sits ever so daintily on the edge of her seat, leaning forward so that she can graze those perfectly manicured nails of hers across the biceps of who Riven assumes is the bodyguard Sky (and everyone else in their little group, for that matter) won't stop talking about. She's fluttering her lashes at him, whispering something Riven knows for a fact is not very ladylike of her, because the more she speaks, the farther forward the poor sap leans and the deeper his blush grows.

Whipped, Riven thinks to himself. Someone should warn the clueless sap he's in for a hell lot more than what he thinks he's signing up for.

And someone should tell Sky to stop with the heart eyes before they become a permanent fixture on that pretty face of his. Bloom has somehow managed to get him on the dance floor, but from the looks of it, there is very little dancing being done. More stumbling and tumbling across the floor and toward a corner of the room. Riven has to stop himself from laughing out loud as Sky almost tramples over a poor freshman girl in his rush the follow Bloom.

You're not as smooth as you think you are, Sky.

He's not really sure where the rest of their gang is, but he can't really bring himself to care either. The only person he really cares to track down is sitting cross-legged on top of the table that Stella and bodyguard guy are feeling each other up under, and he spotted her the second he walked into this lame party. She's draped in lavender silk, or something akin to it. He's not sure, but he (again) couldn't care less what the material is. The color though, that he is wildly interested in. He knows it's a game. He knows she's looking for a reaction. And he told himself he wouldn't give her one, but far be it for him to deny her anything when she's all long legs and tan skin in just a tiny lavender dress that he swears makes her look like a goddess from the heavens.

And then she curls her lips his way, and he stands corrected. Not from heaven, but hell. Because the pure lavender of her dress cannot possibly match all the thoughts that must be running her mind, all the thoughts running his mind.

She's worn that color before, and his brain has memorized the exact shade of it without him knowing. It's the color of the sweater she wore when he first spoke to her. For days after, Riven hadn't been able to get that exact hue out of his mind. He would see flashes of it in the sky as the sun set, would notice flowers of that color around campus (had they always been there?). He would even see it when he closed his eyes at night.

Still smirking at him, she makes her way over and reaches to clasp her hands at his shoulders when she finally stands before him.

"Thought you might be into this one," she whispers in his ear. They both know she means the color. 

"Can't say I don't appreciate it," he chuckles into her ear, the diamond-dipped earrings she wears tickling his lips as they sway. 

And then she's tugging him to the middle of the dancefloor.

"Hey, I-"

"You don't dance. I know," she smiles up at him. Her wide smile, the dazzling one that makes him forget to breathe. "But… come on, just one song? For me?"

The way she pushes the strap of lavender off her shoulder in a very intentional manner does not bypass him.

In the end, he lets her have as many songs as she wants.

BLACK

Musa wears the color lavender a lot more often for the next few days after that party. Riven knows she likes that it riles him up, likes that she can do that to him, but it's getting to the point where he can't think straight whenever she's around him. And the teachers are noticing his lack of attention during classes, mainly swords training, which Musa has decided to add to her daily activities. Meaning, of course, that she has decided to make an appearance to each of his training sessions, sit on the grass just beyond the training grounds with all her friends, and bat her eyelashes his way as she shows off all the lilac and lavender her closet possesses. 

"You need to stop that," he mumbles to her as she comes to meet him at the boy's lockers after one of those training lessons.

"Stop what?" Her voice drips in innocence, sweet as honey. If he were facing her instead of stuffing gear into a bag, he knows she would be giving her best angel eyes and he would likely let her seduce him into a corner somewhere (or maybe let her strip him right here in the middle of the locker room… he's a man of few requests) and drop the subject altogether. 

"I just let Boris have a win because of you. Fucking Boris. The guy can't even walk a straight line without tripping himself."

"Not my fault you can't stop looking my way."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"No. No, I think it's the truth."

"Musa-" 

"Riven." 

He huffs in mild annoyance. "Seriously, as much as I want you to seduce me into every corner of this stupid school, I can't be letting Boris and all the other wimps of this school keep winning. The other day, Silva asked me if I needed medical attention. Medical attention, Musa! He thought I had hit my head or some shit because I kept tripping!"

"Who's to say you didn't hit your head?" She's laughing at his expense and as much as she loves her laugh, he's a man verging on the edge of insanity with her around him.

"Are you even hearing me?" He takes off his shirt and runs a hand through his hair miserably. 

"Oh, alright." He feels her run her hands up his back before they land on his should blades and she pushes against him, pulling herself to her tippy toes so that she can press a kiss at the top of his spine.

He shivers at the feel of her lips and she laughs against him.

"Tell you what," she says, her lips still brushing his spine. "I'll wear a different color on our date tonight."

"Date?"

"Yeah, you know, that thing couples go on so they can spend time together?"

"You're not as funny as you think you are, Musa."

"Oh, I'm hilarious."

"Did we plan something I'm forgetting about?"

He finally turns around so that he can face her, and she's forced to let go of him.

"No, we did not plan anything. But you've been training all week and I've been watching you train all week. And I've decided you need a break… and you're not wearing a shirt right now, which has reminded me that I need attention." She shifts her eyes across his whole form, stopping just above his waistline as her hands come up to his abs. 

"Well, then. No inhibitions there. Straight to it, are we?" But he has to chuckle at her statement.

"I spend all my free time living in inhibitions, Riven. Biting my tongue. Dealing with other people's emotions and what not. Mind fairy, remember?" Her eyes come up to meet his, but her hands stay where they are. "I know where to place my inhibitions and reservations, and it's not here."

He stares into her eyes, noticing the way they shine under the dim light of the locker room. He thinks they color resembles the darkest toffee, or maybe those caramel chocolates she so loved. It's another color that haunts his dreams. Has he ever told her that? 

"No, baby. You're right. Keep those inhibitions for the rest of this school." He leans down to kiss her, feeling her smile beneath his lips. 

She's doing things with her hands, making them dance across his skin as gracefully as he knows she can dance across a dance floor. He's just about to suggest that they go find that corner and she can continue to corrupt him, but before he can find the words, she's pulling away from him. 

"I'll see you at 8 when you come to pick me up," she says as she walks backwards, aiming for the exit. 

"Wha- You tease!" 

She laughs again, and damn it if the sound doesn't send his heart soaring. Fuck, he thinks to himself. Maybe Stella's bodyguard and Sky weren't the only whipped ones in this rather large group they had formed.

"Don't hate the player. Hate the game," she states with a wink.

"Where are we even going?"

"You'll see!" And then she just walks out the locker room, leaving him staring at the door and surrounded by a million pieces of gear that he was meant to have finished packing ten minutes ago. 

Hours later, he's standing in the Winx suite and watching Terra reorganize every plant in the living room as Bloom and Aisha argue about which Harry Potter movie was the best.

"The first one!" Bloom screams from the kitchen as she waits for her tea to boil.

"What? No! The first one had too many introductions and too little action," Aisha screams back at her from their room.

"You're just saying that because you don't appreciate true art."

"True art?! I'll have you know-"

He's just about to lose it when Musa finally walks out of her room. He hears her door open before he sees her and he has just about thirty second to thank the gods for finally putting him out of his misery, and then he turns around… and his jaw drops.

The dress she wears has long sleeves, a low cut V that leaves very little to the imagination, and hangs off her shoulders just enough so that he can see where the curve of her clavicle meets the lines of her neck. It's shorter than the lavender dress she wore to the party last week. That alone could have been enough to end him, but Musa liked to push her boundaries. She liked to test the water. True to her word, she was not wearing lavender. No, instead she was wearing black. 

Knowing with absolute certainty that his favorite color was black.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor, Riven." Stella's heavily judgmental voice snaps him out of it. She's leaning by the doorway of Terra and Musa's room, watching him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk on her face. 

"You're one to talk," he shoots her way. "You almost jumped that poor bodyguard during Alchemy class the today."

"Key  word there would be almost," she shoots back at him, no shame whatsoever in her voice. "You two, on the other hand, have actually jumped each other in the middle of almost every event we've been to since you started dating."

"That's not true! They were jumping each other even before they got together. I once-" 

"Terra!" Musa shoots her roommate a poignant look as her cheeks flush bright red. "We said that would stay between us, remember?"

Well, this is interesting, Riven thinks to himself. Honestly, watching these girls interact is like watching a train crash. A very synchronized one where each cart would willingly crash to try to protect the other carts, but a train crash nonetheless. There's always something interesting going on in this dorm.

"Oh, oops! There was no once. I never once saw anything. Nothing, nothing at all." Terra shuffles back to her plants, but it’s too late.

"No, no!" Stella commands. "Please do tell us what you once saw." 

"Yes, please do." Aisha encourages, eying Musa with a wicked smile on her face.

"Yeah, Terra. Come on, tell us!" Bloom's tea is forgotten as she makes for Terra, tugging at her hand and pulling her onto the couch where the rest of the girls go to join them.

"Well-" Terra starts.

"Nope!" Musa all but shouts. "Nope! Nope! Nope! I am not going to stand here and listen to you tell this story. We're leaving. Goodbye!" 

She's tugging him out the room as Stella's voice rings into the hallway, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

And as she pulls him through the hallways and into the courtyard, Riven gets a great view of Musa's dress from the back. The back is so very low that he's honestly amazed that it's able to stay on her body without completely falling off. The tip of the V that shapes the back of the dress reaches the bottom of her spine, and as his fingers accidentally brush the sleeves at her wrist, he notices that the dress is velvet. Soft. Warm. And so willing to bend and curve into the exact shape of her body.

In the darkness of the coming night, even her hair looks like velvet black. And when she turns those chocolate colored eyes to him, and the shadows make their color darker too, Riven remembers exactly why he loves the color black so much.

RED

Black has always been Riven's favorite color, and he doubted it would ever change. Well, he used to doubt it would ever change. Currently, he's having a lot of doubts as he watches Musa descend the stairway of Alfea's ballroom in a dress of red color.

The fabric clings to her body and flares at her feet, moving with her as though it was a part of her. Her hair is up and away from her face, and from all the way down here, he can see the bright red of her lipstick. It's the exact same shade as her dress.

A siren, he thinks. She is a siren. And he is just as big a fool as every other man in the stories of sirens, because he would lay down his whole life for a chance to be closer to her. He would follow her anywhere, and he does for the rest of that night. He doesn't even pretend to complain about the dancing. 

Later in the night, they're swaying back and forth with her hands tracing the hair at the nape of his neck and his hands at the back of her waist. He hasn't stopped looking at her since she approached him at the beginning of the night, and she hasn’t complained.

"I knew you would like this one best." She says softly, as if she knows he's in a trance and doesn't want to break him out of it.

"Mmm?"

"The red. I knew you would like the red best. It's my favorite color. Did you know that, Riven?"

He smiles slightly.

"Of course I know that. Why do you think I always have a red pen on me  when we're studying together?"

"You don't study, Riven."

"No, I don’t. But you do. And I like to watch you study." 

She laughs softly, still not wanting to break the daze they're in.

"You seem to like to watch me do a lot of things lately."

"What can I say? You're a little bit enchanting, my dear."

"I have the girls to thank for that, I suppose. They placed bets on what colors you would like best."

"Do I want to know who suggested what?"

"Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyways. Terra suggested lilac because she noticed how much liked the color on me. Stella said black because she assumed correctly that it was your favorite color, and Aisha sided with her because it seemed like the winning argument. Bloom said yellow because she wanted to go for something different."

"And red? Who said red?" He shouldn't entertain this game if he wants to live past this school year, but he figures he can manage one or two heart attacks. He's been through worse.

"I did." Her eyes sparkle up at him. He laughs at her answer, because he should have guessed.

"I should've known."

She beams up at him with her wide smile. "So, did I win? Is this your favorite color on me?"

His palms brush the bare skin of her back as he dips her, and then pulls her close to him as fast as he can because he craves her closeness like a drunk man craves liquor on his loneliest nights.

"You're my favorite."

And when her eyes glaze over and her gaze wavers as she gives him her shy smile, he knows for a fact that he is further gone than Stella's bodyguard or Sky or any other fool in this fractured world that claims to be in love.

Red becomes his new favorite color.