#I hold onto the belief that the best is yet to come. That in the wake of heartbreak

[manoasha]

Echoes of a Heartbreak: A Poetic Journey In the quiet solitude of my room, where shadows dance and memories whisper, I sit and reflect on the past, my heart a mosaic of shattered dreams and lingering pain. Heartbreak, they say, is a bitter pill to swallow, yet it is in this very bitterness that we find the seeds of our own strength and renewal. “Sometimes, good things fall apart so better…

[iceunhie]

indirect kiss moments !

summary: you drink from their cup on accident = the realization that you may or may not have shared an indirect kiss. how do they feel about that? too flustered beyond belief, it seems....

featuring: part one (here) - kazuha, wanderer | part two - albedo, neuvillette, alhaitham

notes: not exactly established relationship, crush crush hehe, fluffy, my two anemo faves in one post.... loud gasp effect in the background (pls don't perceive this as my betrayal to the other anemos they'll have their turn soon i promise 🫡)

WANDERER — (in/ex)ternally flustered as fuck + has stopped working

wanderer doesn't think he has a heart, but the way the void in his chest thumps for but a flicker of a moment proves him quite wrong.

why, you ask? it's all because of you.

he resists the urge to snap, terribly so, but out of being flustered more than anything, not irritation. because there is absolutely no way for him to properly process these turn of events with even a hint of rationality. you seem to be promptly ignorant of the whirring of thoughts in his mechanical head. ignorant of his rather foolish situation of going irrational and borderline idiotic.

all because of a damn indirect kiss.

his eyes lift from where he's burning holes onto the cup you're holding—his cup, he corrects, and lingers embarrassingly long (too long) on your lips. he tries not to fight the way heat creeps up his skin, synthetic yet all too real (perhaps like his own, untouched feelings); he thinks he might be red in the face. horribly red, thinking that oh no, he’s faced with the egregious notion that he may be too (very) obvious with how his reaction to your simple action betrays his secret fondness for your existence. most troubling.

it's fine, he tries to rationalize, he's got to relax. it was but a sip of tea. tea he so carefully procured and offered with much reluctance that was more feigned than anything else. tea he only drank because he heard in passing about your preference for it, very, very sweet tea he wouldn't normally drink, he notes with faint distaste—the things he lets you get away with—

….and then you lick your lips to savor the taste.

if the traveler hadn't showed him a taste of an almost death, then he thinks this might just be how he falls.

[ spoiler alert: he ends up hastily getting up to leave after pouring you another refill, muttering curses that would certainly alarm the average civilian. fast as light; if only to hide the utter mess that was his face. red, breathless (even though he doesn't need to breathe) and disgustingly, horribly flustered.

you’d better do your best to calm his self-imposed brooding— he isn't going to tell you anything about what exactly made him fluster this much. best of luck. ]

KAZUHA — flustered, but smiling like a lovesick fool (wants to write endless haikus about this)

kazuha is drunk, both in love and on the sake that burns his throat in a pleasant blend of sweet and strong.

it all started with your request to drink from his cup. you ordered a different drink from him while the crew of the crux were celebrating beidou’s birthday. even now, the sound of laughter and drunken slurring fills the night, a slow and, if he has to be frank, tone-deaf melody of a simple happy birthday echoing in the air. of course, being as drunk in love (beidou’s words) as he is, kazuha didn't even hesitate at all to give you a sip.

…and it just so happens that you managed to drink at the exact place he drank from earlier.

small mercies come in the form of playing off the intense blush of his face and chalking it up to the effects of the wine and sake. kazuha isn't one to be flustered easily, but he must admit this one elicited no light reaction from him, no matter how much he may downplay its impact.

perhaps it was delusional, but was there not a tradition about drinking from each other's cups like this that could symbolize marriage….?

oh dear, the alcohol was getting to him, and fast.

[ spoiler alert: the next day, when you wake up with a sore headache and an achy body and an extremely clingy kazuha, try not to be confused when he mentions something like kissing you in the haze of his sleep.

the following week will also make you subject to two things: 1) an increasingly clingy kazuha (see above), and 2) dozens upon dozens of haikus left at your home, along with silkflowers of innumerable count you’d think he'd plucked the entire lot of them. you never did know why kazuha had become even sweeter (was that even possible...?) all of a sudden. ]

[९] 2024 © iceunhie :: do not copy or use my works.

[clairdelunelove]

badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

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holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

-

it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 

[formulawolff]

el tango de roxanne - t.w.

pairing: figure skater!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, angst, (slight) age gap relationships, (slight) casual friends to lovers arc, allusions to smut, toto being a jealous fuck, yadayadayada

song inspo: el tango de roxanne by ewan mcgregor, jacek koman, and josé feliciano (if you couldn’t tell by the title hehe)

a/n: if you haven’t watched tessa virtue & scott moir’s iconic moulin rouge routine… where have you been? anyways. this fic was inspired by a request & this routine! i highly recommend watching it hehe. also idc if 2024 is summer olympics… this is my au! let me be!

he couldn’t bear it.

not for one more second.

yet, he couldn’t muster the strength to look away. to avert his gaze from what was unfolding on the ice below, as you glided so beautifully across, your partner in tow.

fuck, you were so breathtaking in this moment.

the way your hair was pulled so neatly into an intricate bun, your features enhanced by makeup. the way your eyes shine as you face your partner, several feet separating the two of you. the way your ensemble sparkled under the intense lighting, the skirt fluttering ever so slightly.

this is where you shone.

like a star in the night, bursting to the brim with nothing but pure, bright light.

while he may excel in the paddock, the rink was your element. where you truly belonged. where you were as cool as the ice, calm and collected as the dramatic flair of the strings amplified your movements, the audience roaring in response.

as you move, it’s magnetizing, the austrian shifting in his seat as your partner wraps you up in his embrace, holding you tightly as the two of you sail across the ice.

his jaw clenches as he notices the way your partner’s hand grasp the exposed skin of your back and shoulders, the routine almost executed perfectly as the music continues.

fuck, how he absolutely despised the way your bodies molded together. the way he held you, lifting you into the air, or onto his thighs, keeping you in close proximity.

of course, he has to remind himself that this is strictly professional. that there is nothing romantic going on between you and your partner, jack probst.

well, not like he could really be upset either.

there was nothing going on between the two of you.

at least, that’s what toto wolff thought.

the two of you met at a cocktail party for the launch of the 2022 formula one season, at the mercedes headquarters in brackley. although you were quite new to the world of racing, you were a plus one, as your best friend invited you to tag along with her. since she was part of the marketing team for mercedes, she had an in.

although you were terrified beyond belief of the idea of mingling with engineers, investors, and well, the drivers, you had reluctantly agreed to come with. as a prominent figure in the realm of ice skating, you were aware that you at least had one thing in common with the racing world.

in order to be successful, every little aspect of the routine had to be executed flawlessly.

just like the engineers and mechanics had to prep the car in order to race, you had to ensure that you had the right skates.

just like how the pit crew had to time their stops perfectly without fail, you had to maintain rhythm with the music, so that the routine would flow.

additionally, you were very similar to the drivers.

you yearned to step foot on that podium, no matter the cost.

at that party, you happened to run into the team principal and ceo of mercedes, mr. torger wolff. the two of you struck up a conversation, the team principal complimenting your career, as well as your dress.

although your best friend thought he was flirting, you had brushed it off, stating that he was just being polite.

however, toto wolff was not being polite.

he wanted you, oh so desperately.

and he was patient. he was going to wait until you were ready.

even if watching your routine with jack absolutely tugged and squeezed at his aching heart.

even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away before that jealousy burned through, the flames licking at every part of his being.

there was no denying you had effortless chemistry with jack, as the media speculated the two of you had been an item for years.

however, what toto did not know was that you were in a similar predicament.

after that fateful night in brackley, the team principal reached out to you via email. you wondered how he even got his hands on your email address, but your best friend gave that away with little to almost no interrogation.

allegedly, toto was interested if you, completely allured and entranced by your presence. so, he approached your best friend, inquiring about your contact information. not wanting to give him your number right away, she simply provided him with your email instead, urging him to “slide into those dms.”

so, he did. the two of you hit it off immediately, emailing one another constantly. after a couple of days, he mustered up the courage to ask you politely for your number. with no hesitation, you gave it to him.

from that moment on, a friendship blossomed between the two of you. although he was a bit older, he had this charm that pulled drew you in, wanting to learn more and more about him. also, formula one intrigued you, as you wanted to learn more about the sport.

he showed you the ins and outs of racing, while you educated him on the graces and virtues of skating. a few months into your friendship, he invited you to a grand prix, offering an all-exclusive ticket for the weekend. all you had to do was say the word and it was yours.

however, there was only one thing holding you back.

if you went, you would miss a week or so of practice. which, wouldn’t go over well with jack. especially during the initial stages of the season.

and even more so, with the olympics quickly approaching, you would feel guilty missing so much time.

so, you ended up passing on his offer.

which, hurt his pride just a tad, but not enough to deter him from his end goal.

he was going to have you.

one day.

he just wasn’t sure when.

eventually, you accepted one of his many offers to attend a grand prix. settling on the 2023 monaco grand prix, where dutch driver max verstappen claimed victory.

somehow, someway, the two of you ended up in bed together that night.

you weren’t quite sure how, and neither was he, but you mutually agreed to never speak on it again.

no matter how much it was on your mind.

which, was almost every second of every single day.

on his end, it was nearly detrimental, consuming his every waking thought whole.

to make matters worse, that night in monaco awoke something that you had been trying to keep hidden for months.

you were hopelessly and utterly in love with the team principal.

even if he was twenty-five years older than you. even if his schedule was jam-packed with meetings every minute of every hour of every day. even if he could only call you every so often. even if he was a single father, recently divorced after nearly a decade of marriage. even if there was something unspoken between the two of you, the tension blanketing over like a thick haze.

what toto could never know was that you pictured him right there with you, gliding along the ice, his hands roaming your body. you could almost feel him murmuring in your ear how beautiful you were like this, blissfully lost in the music.

no matter the circumstance. no matter the soreness lingering in your muscles or the sheer terror of falling or missing a beat, that thought alone is what got you though the routine.

it never failed.

and tonight, it was not going to fail you.

despite the stakes at hand, you were a natural at this, showing no signs of fear as the final notes rang in your ears.

this was it.

the end of the routine, jack dipping your body as your head rolls back, dramatically falling.

there’s a beat of silence, before the entire arena explodes.

the sound of thunderous applause fills your ears, jack pulling you in for a tight embrace, clutching you against his chest. sobs rack your body, your shoulders shaking as the realization washes over you.

you guys did it.

you had performed with minimal errors. no major mistakes or noteworthy point deductions.

a flawless routine.

the endless hours put in memorizing the movements, the sleepless nights at the rink, the doubt that you could pull this off, were washed away, slipping from your memory as joy bubbles up within your chest.

“representing their home country, jack probst and ____ _____!”

the boom from the announcer drowns in your ears, jack saying words you can’t quite decipher. you feel his hand in yours, but you’re not here.

you’re somewhere else, somewhere far from the packed arena.

you’re dreaming of his expression right in this moment. how his thick brows are probably furrowed together, his tongue swiping along as his lower lip, knee bouncing ever so slightly. his fluffy brunette locks are probably a ruffled mess, as he probably had ran a hand through it a few times, anxiously awaiting for a glimpse of you before your routine.

jack rips open the foam padding to the rink, where you’re greeted by your coaches. they engulf you in their arms, shouting praises over the hum of the crowd.

meanwhile, toto wolff sits in the stands, hands on his knees as he anticipates the final verdict. his knuckles are nearly white as the denim bunches under his fingertips, his knee bouncing slightly as clips of the routine. replay across the ginormous screens all across the arena.

he's surrounded by you.

your stunning figure as it gracefully flows with the music, every movement absolutely exquisite. your breathtaking smile the moment you're finished, eyes shining like the stars as jack envelops you in his arms.

a pang of envy rises in his chest, yet he swiftly suppresses it.

this moment was not about his jealousy towards your skate partner. he shouldn't be feeling this way.

this moment was about you.

an olympic medal on the line, the future of your skating career at stake.

"the scores please," the announcer booms, blood roaring in toto's ears as he straightens in his seat, leaning forward, eyes scanning the rink.

it does not take him even a second.

you're sitting next to jack, your coaches on either side. although he was a distance away, he could sense your nerves, as your smile was tight-lipped, your hand shaky as it blows a kiss to the camera.

"_____ _____ and jack probst have earned in the free dance 122.60 points, bringing their total to 206.27 points. they are currently in first place!"

the crowd erupts into applause, jeering and screaming throughout the stands. your heart skips a beat as jack springs up, slamming the padding before wrapping you up in his arms against you once more, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs.

he lifts you, his voice shaky with the promise of tears, "we did it! we fucking did it!"

"i can't believe it," you nuzzle into the crook in his neck, "i can't fucking believe it."

the rest of the night is a blur.

as the two of you stood on that podium, gold medals dangling from your neck as your national anthem played, you couldn't help but shake this aching feeling.

you yearned for him.

you longed to feel his strong arms around you, squeezing you against his chest as his husky voice flooded your ears, brimmed with his accent. to feel his hands glide along your body, their warmth sending shivers down your spine.

there were lengthy interviews, each one nearly draining your remaining energy with each journalist or media outlet. you didn't mind, as you basked in the afterglow of your gold medal win, a grin plastered to your face all evening.

before you knew it, you were in an uber, on your way to a new destination.

toto wolff's hotel room, a luxurious suite in the heart of the city. although every muscle in your body stung, exhausted from the events of the day, your mind is wide awake, buzzing from a torrent of thoughts swirling in your brain.

what would be the first thing that fell from those lips? would he embrace you first? what was he thinking in that moment when you won gold?

as you enter the elevator, punching the correct floor, your heart races, thumping against your rib-cage.

sure, competing in the olympics was nerve-wracking.

but facing the man you were helplessly in love with?

that was enough to make your knees buckle, your body swaying back and forth as the elevator ascended, palms clammy as you wiped them against your sweatpants.

surely he wouldn't mind that you were in sweats.

a shrill ding! rings in your ears, announcing your arrival. sucking in a shaky breath, you turn right, making your way down the hall. his room was not difficult to locate, as it was one of the first ones.

bringing your knuckles to the door, you knock, blood roaring in your ears.

he opens it almost immediately.

"hey," you beam, "i hope i wasn't too-"

lips collide with yours, his hands meeting with your waist, pulling you closer in to him. you melt under his touch, nearly crumpling to the floor as a shiver jolts down your spine. the kiss is fiery yet tender, as if lovers were reuniting after months of separation. it's a kiss of longing and love, bursting with passion.

yet, he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. there's a dusty pink hue tinging his cheeks, his chest heaving as he pants slightly.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have-"

"don't even," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, "come here."

he doesn't hesitate, his mouth molding with yours once more as he brings you in the room, nearly slamming the door shut. this time, the kiss is brimmed with lust, an insatiable desire burning deep within the austrian as a whine rises in your throat.

his tongue glides along your lower lip, your head tilting back to grant him access. his hold on your is nearly unbreakable, as if he never wanted to let you go ever again.

your hands roam, inching up the base of his neck, tugging on the roots of his messy brunette locks. there's a rumble in his chest as he guides you to the bed, your back meeting the mattress.

however, he breaks away once more, eyes locking with yours.

"do you have any idea how long i've waited to do that?"

"you didn't have to wait until i won a gold medal," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, fingers sweeping a strand of away from his temple, "hell, maybe if you did that sooner, i would have earned more points."

an airy chuckle fills the space, his lips curving into a radiant grin, "congratulations, little star. there's no one who deserved that win more than you."

"toto," you murmur, his eyes softening at the way his name drips from your sweet lips, "can i tell you something?"

"of course schatzi," his hand cups your face, thumb caressing along your cheekbone, "what is it?"

"i sort of have a method to my skating," you can't help but shrink a little as the embarrassment begins to wash over you, "it helps me focus."

"and that is?" his brows knit furrow.

"instead of jack skating with me, i picture you."

at those words, the austrian nearly collapses.

"you do?"

"i do," you nod, "lately, it's been the only way i can follow a routine without mistakes. it helps me get lost in the rhythm, the flow of the music as it guides us. um, well, as it guides me."

"oh my beautiful girl," toto's mind reels, his heart swelling, "you're always on my mind. lately i can't focus in my meetings or at the paddock or in my office. you consume me."

you consume me.

bliss ripples in your heart as you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "toto wolff, i'm in love with you. i can't hide it anymore. i can't deny it. i love you."

toto blinks, ensuring that this was no dream. that you were really here beneath him, in his bed at his hotel room. surely this wasn't heaven. surely this wasn't some sort of delusion or mirage.

yet, you were here, nothing but pure adoration swimming in the depths of your warm gaze, your lashes fluttering as his mouth ghosts over yours.

"and i'm in love with you, schatzi. what do you say? should we try to make something work?"

"i think we could make something work," the words are merely a whisper, "actually, scratch that. we're going to make something work."

"that's my little olympian. are you ready for sleep or can i show you just how much i love you?"

[heaven4lostgirls]

Can you pretty pleaaassse write for regulus black x reader angst

Where they were friends and got along really well and because they're both pureblooded there families arranged marriage for them. But then regulus gets paranoid and starts to think badly of you and thinks that you were only ever nice to him so that your parents would arrange marriage. And he thinks that you hold the same awful pureblood beliefs as both of your parents and he is afraid to say anything about it incase you tell his family that he doesn't really believe that muggles are lesser. Then regulus is quite distant and mean in your marriage and he eventually comes to his senses when he realises how upset you are and how much his distance hurts you and he can hear you crying yourself to sleep

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

warning: angst, regulus is a bit of a dick but he comes around ! miscommunication (i’m sorry✊)

summary: request above

authors note: hi! sorry this took forever, i’m really bad at keeping up with requests but i hope you enjoy this, i always say im hoping to get back into writing but it’s always touch and go, my mental health isn’t great a lot of the time and uni just piles on so much more, hopefully you guys understand ! 🫶🩷

regulus wasn’t used to people sticking around, he had been abandoned by the only person he ever truly cared about and left to fend for himself. which was why he assumed when news of his engagement to you was announced by his parents, at a shared dinner party for the sacred 28, you two would simply…co-exist. never fully acknowledging the others presence yet acquaintances at best.

what a shock to his system it was when he grew to know what a wonderful person you were, never abrasive or hostile like his parents, never boastful like most of the pureblood families he knew, instead you were the embodiment of everything he never knew he wanted, a calm to the raging angst inside of him he couldn’t quell after sirius had left, and that alone left him scared more than any of his parents threats to present him to the dark lord as a servant.

you two had formed a quick friendship due to the circumstances surrounding your fast paced engagement, you were set to marry next august and your engagement had only been announced in april. regulus had no problem performing his duties to his family, however this one came with little to no reluctance from either of you as feelings of love and respect blossomed from the friendship you two shared.

however, as time passed, regulus could slowly but surely feel his walls he had fought so hard to build up, crack. he couldn’t fathom why someone like you would feel so comfortable around him, how you somehow managed to worm your way under his skin like no one ever could, not even sirius.

except as time flew by, he had somehow found some of that “gryffindor courage” as james potter always declared, to tell you about his feelings, emphasizing that if you wished, he would never bring up again if you did not reciprocate and you two would still move forward together into marriage as friends.

to his surprise, you were much more welcoming to his feelings than expected, you two had shared a small kiss as you leant your forehead against his and claimed “i was just waiting for you to see me.”

since you two were already a couple in the eyes of the public, the only people he had really had to tell was your shared friends. as expected, they all reacted joyfully to the news and you both carried through the rest of your year no longer pretending to be in love, but actually falling into it.

however, at the beginning of your 6th year, you could tell something had shifted between yours and regulus’ dynamic. no longer was he patient and comforting, instead he was judgmental and fast to anger. some part of you knew it had to do with his parents but you didn’t have the heart to push your questions onto him.

as time passed you watched as he distanced himself from you, pushing away your touches, rejecting your offers to hang out, blowing you off when he would eventually agree. you could only handle so much of his behavior before you eventually broke when telling your friends.

“i don’t know what to do anymore, it’s like walking on eggshells whenever he’s around because im scared of him snapping at me for breathing too loud” you vent to your friends as you place your hands on your eyes to try keep the tears at bay.

“how longs this been going on y/n?” pandora asks softly as she shares a concerned look with lily. you blubber out as answer that sounds like “a couple of months” as tears leak past your palms.

“i can’t keep doing this” you emphasize to them both, “and you know i can’t break up with him because we still have to get married-“

“break up?!” lily questions surprised, “you can’t be serious y/n.” she says as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“i think you need to talk to him” pandora says again as she smiles softly at you as you look at her with tear filled eyes.

“…what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” you whisper, too afraid to say it out loud in fear of it coming true.

“oh love” lily coos as she drags you into a small cuddle with her and pandora, “you’re gonna need to ask him to know that y/n” she whispers as she rubs your back.

you sigh heavily and nod before looking at the both of them. “okay” you concede as you try and form some sort of a plan to confront regulus, your anxiety spikes at the thought of him not wanting your relationship anymore, you couldn’t imagine a marriage with the man you loved where his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

the next day, you planned to corner regulus at the library before dinner but as you walked up to his table, you heard the voice of not only regulus, but barty as well.

“reg, you know you’re hurting her by ignoring her” barty says with a sigh as you pause behind a bookshelf near the table to eavesdrop.

“you know better than i, that i can never be with someone who thinks the way she does…its disgusting” regulus says with a sneer but you can hear how disappointed he is by the statement.

disgusting? he thinks i’m…disgusting? what is he even talking about? you don’t think you’ve ever done anything remotely bad enough to be called disgusting.

“how do you know she thinks like them?” barty implores and you hear regulus sigh, “you’ve seen how she acts when the sacred 28 talks about the muggles” he says and you frown, part of being a child of one of the sacred 28 meant you had to act your part, regulus knew that better than anyone else. so why was he suddenly judging you and telling barty about your issues when he couldn’t even give you the time of day?

“i don’t know if i can marry someone like her” regulus says again and your heart drops. someone like her, you repeat in your head, every insecurity you ever worked through, comes back in tenfold from that sentence alone. you stumble on your feet from the flashes of tears and heartache from all your deepest points of sorrow.

you shake your head and straighten your back before reminding yourself, if he wants a true pureblood wife, that’s what i’ll be. quiet, docile,…perfect.

your wedding approaches faster than you can imagine, dress fittings, bridal party dresses and events all pass with a blur. never fully there, you encompass a state of numbness.

regulus and all your friends notice how you slowly fall into the facade you usually have in front of your parents, instead this time, it never breaks in front of them.

regulus waits for you to come to him, to seek his comfort like you have so many times before, but it never comes.

he spends his nights worrying about you, questioning if it’s something he’s done, you’re still sweet and loving to him, just…more hollow than you were before.

you embody the perfect pureblood princess and he couldn’t hate it more, he hears from people around you how you’re not sleeping, always coming to class in a perfect face of makeup everyday when you usually only used skincare, in beautiful dresses for hogsmead days when you used to use comfortable clothes.

he tries to talk to you, to question why you’ve somehow flipped the switch out of nowhere, but they go unanswered.

the day of your wedding, he can see past the makeup, your sunken in eyes and red eyes. he still places a soft smile on his face as you stare passively into the distance, never making eye contact with him while saying your vows.

the distance between the both of you grows larger as he starts to believe that this was the life you truly wanted, a prince and princess, a couple born out of need not out of love, arranged perfectly to fit the narrative of pureblood royalty.

however, one night he falls asleep later than usual and hears you cry into your pillow, small pleas of being good enough for him as your body shakes with small sobs. he resists the urge to reach out to you in fear of you not recieving his touch well.

he lies awake as he hears you say, “i’m not like i was before, please let him love me now, oh merlin please” you whisper with clenched hands and eyes that leak tears. his heart breaks at the thought of you existing to please him.

he had seen how his mother had done the same for his father, how she turned cold and abusive with no comfort and love from her partner, how she pushed her self hatred onto her children. how that pushed her eldest son to run away.

he spends the next week racking his brain for what he could’ve done for you to think that way before he realises that the summer after his 5th year, his parents had implored him never to give you anything more than the bare minimum because nobody could be trusted. he remembers pulling away from you and pushing you away in fear of you using him for his fortune.

the idea that his parents had made him internalize that you would never love him just for him, you were moving into this marriage not because of your shared love but because of necessity. his heart drops out of his chest as he realizes all of this must have translated to you and that he now had a lot to make up for.

he plans out meticulously how to get his wife back and slowly but surely, he does. it starts with small things, a single flower that you had told him once you liked the smell of on your nightstand, a pair of earrings you remarked look beautiful when window shopping. a handwritten letter telling you goodmorning and his favorite things about you in your bag before class.

your initial confusion morphs to anger at the thought of changing yourself all for him to want you to go back to the self he called repulsive. you don’t respond to his initial attempts to woo you, but as weeks and months pass, he doesn’t give up.

he speaks to you, really speaks to you, asking you about your day, how he can help you when you’re not feeling well, what you need whenever he leaves the house, small compliments about your cooking or how the colour of your dress matches your eyes.

you two start sharing small good mornings and good nights when going to bed, which then translates to small hand holding or shared touches between each other. the ice around your heart slowly but surely starts melting whenever he’s around, you quickly become accustomed to his quick kisses on the cheek whenever he leaves the room or house.

he holds you at night as he whispers sweet promises of never letting you down again, grasping your face to look into your eyes whenever he compliments you to let you know how much you mean to him.

your heart is now warm and full at the thought of his presence, no longer a shell of yourself, slowly but surely healing with his sweet actions.

[sunflowerwinds]

this love | chapter one [h.c]

summary: your prince suitors have been driving you insane. after a scene you make at a ball, the king and queen have decided to put their foot down and have a knight look after you. knight meets princess. princess has conflicting thoughts about knight.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: isabel being the sweetest girl, lonely princess who is misunderstood, knight!hazel, charming!hazel, king and queen are not the best and it won’t get better from here ://, hazel is readers gay awakening (real.), no y/n!

word count: 4.7K

a/n: everything will kind of start next chapter with hazel and reader’s beginning dynamic. this is just introducing how shitty the reader is treated and the royals beliefs.

The royal life.

The poor desired what came with royalty. Wealth, status, comfortability, security, love, and even. Whatever that may be. You envied those who weren’t a part of this life.

The corset underneath your, while stunning, uncomfortable gown suffocated you while you danced with yet another new suitor who had traveled across the seas to Rockridge Palace. Prince Jeffery Williams had been the sixth — hopefully final— prince to attend yet another one of these balls that the king and queen insisted they throw for you and your suitor to get to know one another.

Prince Jeffrey would not stop talking about himself as you slow danced and it was driving you up the wall. He was somehow incredibly louder in volume than the live orchestra.

On top of his ability to talk about all of his successes, which you were sure were entirely made up, he had wandering eyes… and hands. You shouldn’t have had to move his hands from below your hip back up to your waist as many times as you did.

After the third time and disgustingly cocky smirk, you had enough. Out of impulse, you raised your foot to slam it down onto his boot-covered one. Jeffrey let out a squeal that made you smile to yourself but quickly put on a feigned expression.

“Oh dear, Prince Jeffrey. I-I must have two left feet.” You place a hand over your heart, gasping as if you didn’t deliberately harm him.

Prince Jeffrey folded over to hold onto his now throbbing foot, face turning a beat red as he forced out a chuckle. Every other maiden and man that surrounded you both had stopped their dancing to stare and gape at the scene.

“I feel faint. I must go lie down.” Prince Jeffrey excused himself, smoothing down the front of his deep navy blue tailcoat. “Until we meet again, Princess.”

“Until then.” You bow with the fakest of smiles before clearing your throat.

Jeffrey scurried away to his guest room in the palace, his own personal guard following right behind. The music resumed, much louder than before as you locked eyes with your mother from across the grand room conversing with Jeffrey's mother.

You could feel her anger radiating through her heavy breathing and sudden excusing herself from the queen of Jeffrey’s kingdom. Other townspeople moved themselves out of the way as your mother swiftly made her way towards you.

There was a slight chance you may have gone a tad far with the aggression.

“Oh, sweet pea,” your mother sing-songs as she approaches you, hands folded elegantly in front of her torso, “Is it time for bed then?”

You knew there was a hint of anger laced in her sickenly sweet words. It wasn’t to fool you, though, but the surrounding guests. There was no fighting her, at least, at that very moment.

“Mother, I do feel quite drowsy. Would it be alright to head to bed?” You plaster on the same faux smile, sucking in a deep breath.

“I would highly suggest it. Now, go on then. I must tell these disappointed guests that the ball must come to an end.” Her smile unknowingly dropped as she ended her sentence.

You nod your heavy head, turning on your heels to make your way out of the grand ballroom to your bedroom. As you keep your head down to avoid the wandering eyes and whispers of: ‘Where’s the princess going?’ and ‘What happened with Prince Jeffrey?’. You hear footsteps trailing behind you, turning your head slightly to see the one person who could stand to be around in this entire palace.

“What did Prince Jeffrey do?” Isabel, your handmaiden and only friend, questions who as she sped up to walk side-by-side with you.

You sigh, retracting the groan that was threatening to escape.

“He was a conceited and handsy idiot just like Walter, Arthur, Abraham, Edmund, and Bennett. I couldn’t stand him, Isabel. They are quite literally all the same.”

Isabel visibly frowns, nodding along to your words. You tilt your head up to glance at the dulled hallways of the palace. Paintings of your family line hung up along the velvet red walls — four-time great-grandparents in order down to you and your elder sister; Moira.

“Well, this has already been the sixth suitor. The King and Queen already said that you had to decide by your twentieth.” Isabel carefully reminded you, fiddling with the string of the front of her simple yet beautifully fitting dress.

“That’s just it. I don’t have any desire to marry. Especially to men like that.” You seethed, approaching your high bedroom doors.

The divine vine and floral gold design decorate the dark wood. You wrapped your fingers around the handle to tug it open, grunting softly at how heavy the door was. Isabel quickly rushed to your aid, pulling the door backward. You thanked her quietly before marching into your room.

“Is there anything I can do?” Isabel kindly asked you, only wanting to make sure you were feeling okay.

“If you could just help me get out of this ridiculous dress.” You let out a groan which caused the green-eyed woman to chuckle.

“Of course, princess.” Her tone was teasing as she approached you from behind to begin undoing the laces that were keeping the corset tight on your aching body.

You huff out a soft laugh at the words as you insisted multiple times that you hated being addressed as Princess by the maidens, knights, guards, and kitchen staff that lived in the palace. Especially Isabel. She was more than just your handmaiden and personal attendant, she was your friend that you cared for.

Once she unraveled the last lace, you breathed correctly for the first time since your mother and the other maidens forced you into the constricting dress. She patted your tense back with a sigh.

“Better?”

Nodding through a soft pant, you say: “Incredibly.”

You both chuckle as you gradually sit on your large mattress.

“Anything else you may need?” Isabel questions as she stands next to you on the bed, torso meeting your temple.

Your eyes soften at her question, calming down as you take in a deep breath. You take her soft hands in yours, shaking your head.

“You’re too kind to me, Bel. I think I should just lie down now. You should rest as well before I have to endure whatever my parents will say tomorrow.” You nod, your voice is equally as gentle to her.

Isabel nodded, not having much more to add to the conversation. It was now entirely too late for either of you. The sun had been set since the ball began, the darkness taking over the once bright blue sky.

“Well, we’ll speak more in the morning.” Isabel nodded curtly, giving your hands a single squeeze.

“First thing.” You nod, releasing her hands.

Sharing one more smile, you watch as she leaves your grand room. A lonely feeling settles in your chest as you begin to undress for the night. You knew in the morning you were going to endure your mother and father’s scolding and lectures about how to not ‘embarrass their lineage’ and how ‘childish’ you were.

If you were silent enough and held your breath, you could hear the voices from the ballroom; disappointed and angry with the event ending early. Maybe you had gone too far this time with Prince Jeffrey.

No, he was not appealing by any means.

Left in your slip dress, you slowly crawl underneath the silky sheets covering your large mattress. Once your head laid down on the sheets, you fell into a familiar exhausted slumber.

You were awoken from an empty dream by the morning horns, the sun's rays beaming in through the tall windows near your bed. You sat up quickly, pushing your frizzy hair out of your face.

Without any sort of warning, you hear your bedroom door swing open. Following in were three of your usual maidens who helped you get ready in the morning. Isabel then trailed in soon after, flashing you a quick smile as you appeared extremely tired.

“Morning, princess.” All three of the maidens speak in unison causing you to quickly put on that fake persona.

“Morning, Mildred,” you nod towards Mildred; tall and blonde. “Vivian,” her baby face and dark skin shine as she bows. “Beth.” Her fiery hair shone in the sunlight as she, too, bowed in respect towards you.

“The king and queen have called you in to share some crucial news in the throne room,” Mildred speaks up, eyes boring into yours.

Your brows furrow immediately at the different choice of words. After incidents like last night, it would be the same from either of the girls: “The king and queen are requesting your presence.”

News? What news could there possibly be?

“Well, I should get dressed then. Can’t have them waiting too long.” You nod slowly, removing your now warm bed sheets from your body.

Isabel rushed to your wardrobe as Beth scurried to your side to help you out of bed.

You were exceptionally privileged and you were aware of it. Especially in these instances where you could easily dress yourself and make up your room but the maidens did it for you. It makes you feel lazy and useless.

“This dress should be perfect. Not too tight around the waist and flattering.” Isabel approached you with said dress in the palms of her hands, grinning kindly.

You trusted her so you thanked her quietly, allowing them to take over.

Within minutes, your tossed sheets were made finely by Mildred and Vivian. Isabel and Beth helped you into the dress, making sure your undergarments were hidden by the other fabrics.

The fit was quite pleasant, you must admit. The front was a bit lower than you had thought but you had rarely been so comfortable in your wardrobe without it just being those undergarments.

Your natural hair flowed down and over your shoulders, a black ribbon tied to keep half of it out of your face. A few flyways escaped but you enjoyed how it frames your face. The girls clamored around you, hands on every part of your dress to smooth out wrinkles.

God forbid the princess appear imperfect in any way.

Once they had finished getting you ready, they left the room, leaving you and Isabel to walk down the beautifully decorated halls to make your way to where your presence was requested.

“Do you have any idea what this news could be?” You mutter softly, eyes locked on Isabel’s side profile.

“I’m not sure if it’s true but apparently in the late of the night, the king and queen discussed assigning a knight to look over you,” Isabel whispered as her eyes darted to the line of knights that were passing by the two of you.

The metal clanked as they walked in an orderly fashion. You assumed it was for training as they tended to take about two hours to train before standing in their assigned places around the castle.

“Look over me?” You asked in disbelief.

You weren’t a toddler that needed to be looked after. You already felt your blood boiling as you were approaching the grand archway of the throne room.

“That was all I heard passing by Linda and Nina in the kitchen this morning.” Isabel quickly whispered.

Linda and Nina were older women in the kitchen who, although talented in the kitchen, gossiped about you constantly. You assumed it was jealousy of either your title or your youth.

Your eyes darted from the high marble archways to the gold-lined thrones that sat both of your parents. Your attitude was already set in place as you walked up just a few feet from them. The stomping of your everyday flats echoed against the floors, revealing how irritated you already were.

“Father—“ You began with annoyance laced in your tone.

“No!” His deep voice echoed, cutting you off as he slammed down his staff.

Out of the corner of your eye, Isabel flinched at the loud sound. Your breathing was heavy as you maintained eye contact with your father. He didn't scare you as he did his overly dramatic actions.

It only increased the amount of hatred you had towards him. Your mother remained silent, glancing at your father before flickering her eyes back to you.

“I am going to talk. You are going to listen and not interrupt me. I have had it with this… humiliating attitude you’ve decided to put on.” Your father seethed, a vein on his neck protruding. “Prince Jeffrey is a guest in our kingdom and you embarrassed him. This temper is childish. You will be twenty by mid-July and you’re behaving this way. Moira had not been so stubborn about her suitors as you have.”

You felt your nostrils flare as of course, he was blaming you for the way Prince Jeffrey had reacted last night. It was never a man's fault, no. Only you and your temper. Throwing you and your elder sister’s differences in your face as well wasn’t unheard of.

“You must formally apologize to both Jeffrey and the Queen effective immediately.” Your mother intervened, her tone rather calm in comparison to your father.

You remained silent, simply nodding to her words. There was no point in arguing as you knew they were going to shut you down. You watched as your parents exchanged a look before shifting in their thrones.

“Now, because of your rather upsetting actions the night prior, your mother and I have chosen a knight to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” Your father sucked in a deep breath before continuing his words. “Dame Callahan will be your knight.”

Your eyes narrowed as you heard ‘dame’ instead of ‘sir’. There were very few knights that were women so you were automatically expecting there to be a man. You knew of Sir Callahan as he was a noble knight that you’ve known since you were a child but not Dame Callahan.

“Sir Callahan has a daughter?” You question, folding your hands in front of you.

This was certainly news to you. You weren’t even aware that he had a wife to begin with, let alone a secret daughter.

“Indeed. Now, she’s only had her knight status for a year but hopefully, you’ll adapt to her professionalism. Learn from her.” Your mother answers, her brows raising at you accusingly. “She should be arriving any minute now.”

As if right on cue, you hear the horns from the guards outside echo faintly. You turn your neck to glance at the hallway that leads to the main entryway doors.

“Well,” your father cleared his throat, “Let’s go and properly greet them, yes?”

Your eyes locked with Isabel who was already peering down the hallway where you all were headed. You approach her with a forced grin, locking your arm with hers as you take your time walking towards the grand entrance. Her eyes soften as she knows you are feeling a range of emotions about this whole arrangement.

“How are you doing?” Isabel hums, trying to keep quiet as the king and queen are just a foot behind you two.

“Other than absolutely infuriated,” you suck in a deep breath, tilting your head at the freckled woman, “Alright.”

Isabel nods, not knowing what to do now. You knew you were being short but you didn't want to say something you didn't mean out of anger towards the kind woman. You simply pressed your head to hers gently to show you were listening.

“I’m sure Dame Callahan won’t be as difficult as your parents are.” Isabel sighs, keeping her volume quiet. “You might even like her. Make a new friend that isn’t me.”

You gape at her words, nudging her with your hip as you both chuckle to yourselves. You cherish these fleeting moments of joy, holding onto them to keep for your worser days.

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” Isabel shook her head, her laughter fading as the front door guards were now holding the heavy wood open.

You glanced at Isabel once more before releasing her arm to walk past the guards in their uniforms of the castle's flag colors, watching as they bowed as you and your parents passed by. You nod in response before stepping out on the open staircase, the sun’s beams burning into your skin.

Rounding the corner of the gates was a person on a dark brown horse — borderline black. You feel Isabel’s tense presence along with your father’s looming figure and your mother’s petite one.

You fixed your posture, taking in one deep breath as you awaited her arrival.

“Oh, sweet pea, this dress was not the most appropriate choice.” You hear your mother utter as she judgingly ranks her eyes up and down your frame.

“I can’t change now, Mother, so it’ll have to do.” You snarkily replied, eyes locked ahead of you.

You didn't have to be facing your mother to know she did not appreciate your response. Letting it go for now, you, your parents, and Isabel begin to wave at who you assumed to be Dame Callahan. The stranger knight tugs on the maritangle causing the horse to stop in its tracks right in front of the impressive stone steps.

Callahan begins to make her way up the steps, giving you a better look at her.

It had to have just been you, but you took in how perfect her skin appeared as she grew closer. You could feel Isabel’s eyes burning into the side of your head, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction to Dame Callahan.

First, she greeted both of your parents addressing them with their assigned greetings. Her voice was velvety, charming almost. You waited patiently for her to greet you, hands flexing anxiously by your sides. She didn't appear knight-like as all she was wearing were a pair of black boots, a simple commoner-appearing outfit, and a leather belt that held her sword in that same leather material.

“Princess,” she addresses you before kneeling on one knee, gingerly taking her hand in her gloved one. You tense as she leans her head forward to place her lips on the back of your hand.

Her eyes peer up at you, her dark lashes highlighting her alluring blue eyes. You hadn’t uttered a word yet, completely forgetting all the words you’ve ever known. Dame Callahan releases your hand once she notices how eerily still you’ve become.

“Princess, I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” Callahan speaks again, adjusting the belt on her waist to respectfully smile at you.

Has she already let go of your hand? You thought to yourself. You feel a sharp bone drive into your lower back which causes you to inhale, becoming aware of what was going on. You caress the hand that she had kissed before holding your hands in front of your hips.

“I hope they were all good things.” You reply, regaining your proper posture.

“Yes,” Dame Callahan replies, a small chuckle leaving her lips. “Though, they surely forgot to mention your beauty.”

You blink. Did she just compliment you? It could be an out-of-respect situation. Kissing up to you as you were certain that your parents weren’t that kind with informing Dame Callahan about being assigned to you.

“Oh, well,” you nod, feeling out of your own body. “Thank you, Dame Callahan.”

“Of course, Princess.” She, again, responds with such a poised attitude.

You were feeling extremely conflicted about Dame Callahan. A part of you wanted to get to know her; starting with her first name. Another part was admiring her side profile as she spoke to your father and mother. Why were you admiring her in the first place? You weren’t entirely sure.

“Well, Dame Callahan could settle into her new manor as we prepare the welcome lunch.” Your mother spoke up which caught your attention. “Sweet pea?”

You blink and turn to your mother to see her waiting impatiently for you to say something. Dame Callahan’s head was tilted with furrowed brows as you seemed to be zoning in and out of the conversation.

“Oh! Right! I can show you where you’ll be staying.” You send Dame Callahan a short grin, afraid to stare at her for too long.

The new knight nodded, respectfully bowing at both of your parents and Isabel before stepping to the side to allow you to go first. You begin to make your way down the steps as the manor for the knight's living space is a tower away from the main palace. The hot sun beeped down on your skin, a cool spring breeze brushing past your flowing hair.

The whole walk to the manor was eerily quiet. Neither you nor Dame Callahan were making any form of small talk. All you could hear were the horses huffing a few feet away in the stables, the clinking of metal from the other knights in uniform, and the chirping of the birds in the surrounding trees.

Your shoulders brushed for a mere second as she walked alongside you. You could see from your peripheral stealing glances at you like she wanted to say something but not uttering a word. To be fair, you were doing the same thing.

As you approach the large wooden door, you turn to her as you pause right in front of the entryway. She, too, pauses her steps with you, eyes locking on your face.

Why was her stare burning into you more than the sun? It felt so intense.

“This is the knight’s manor. I will see you around the lunch hour then.” You say.

Out of fear of flushing in her presence, you avoid pouring your eyes into her bright ones.

Dame Callahan nods, and a crinkle between her brows forms. “Is everything alright, princess?”

“Yes, of course. I think I’m just hungry.” You nod slowly, a nervous smile forming on your face.

Could she see right through you? It sure seemed like it. Callahan simply nods, knowing better than to press on such a matter, especially with a princess.

“Right, yes. I’ll just…” She trailed off, pointing to the door.

Your eyes followed her finger before a wave of embarrassment washed over you. A nervous laugh left your lips before nodding and waving your hand towards the door.

“Until lunch then.”

Dame Callahan’s lips quipped into a smile that seemed endearing. She placed a hand on the iron ring and tugged the door open. She bowed ever so slightly.

“Until then, princess.”

The door shut with a loud clunk, flinching at the sudden noise. For the rest of the morning, all you could think about was the way she said ‘princess’ towards you.

Lunch-time arrived in the middle of an etiquette lesson with Mrs. DuBois. The bells went off causing you instantly slouch in your seat. Your back was killing you from how aligned you were forcing onto yourself.

“We’ll continue this lesson tomorrow.” Mrs. DuBois sharply tapped at your back to get you to straighten your posture. “Though, I do not understand the point of this. You slouch so much, you are becoming a hunchback, princess.”

You send her a tight-lipped grin as you smooth down your dress. Isabel was waiting patiently for you in the corner of the room so she could walk you out.

“Lunch calls.” You force a laugh out.

Mrs. DuBois, unamused, nods before turning her back towards you and Isabel. You frown at her obvious attitude before motioning with your head towards the door. Isabel got the hint and gave Mrs. DuBois a quick goodbye.

Once they were out into the hallway, you began to chuckle with Isabel at how stuck-up Mrs.DuBois was.

“She said I have a hunchback, Bel. How dramatic is that?” You scoff, shaking your head.

“I swear, she’s never once felt an ounce of joy in her entire life.” Isabel added on, rounding the corner.

You two are giggling when you walk into the enormous dining hall. You could smell the delicious stew the staff had cooked for you all. You caught sight of Dame Callahan already sitting at the elongated table.

Right in front of your seat next to your mother.

“She’s sitting right across from me.” You slow down your feet, growing anxious to approach the table.

Isabel furrowed her brows, following your eyes to see Dame Callahan already conversing with your mother. Unable to comprehend what was wrong about that, she asks: “Is that bad?”

“No. Not necessarily. Just…” You trail off as you approach the table with Isabel.

You couldn’t even think of a valid excuse for how you felt about her place at the table. Why was she doing this to your mind? Maybe it was the thought that from this point forward, she was going to be quite literally around every corner, near you around the clock from dusk to dawn.

Sure, Isabel was already that but she had been around you for years. Dame Callahan was new and a stranger.

“Oh! Sweet pea, we were just discussing what exactly Dame Callahan will be doing whilst being your knight.” Your mother looked over at the intimidating knight, an overly friendly smile on her face.

You glance at your mother before taking your place right next to your father, Isabel sitting on the other side of you. All of the bowls of steaming hot beef stew thankfully distracted you as you patiently waited for your father to signal that it was okay to eat.

By that, you meant ‘the king always eats first.’ Once he took his first sip, you began to dig in shamelessly.

“So, Dame Callahan,” your father started, voice deep and booming.

“Yes, sir?” She perked up, eyes wide with patience.

“Your father never mentioned your name.” He plainly stated.

You, too, were curious about her first name, eyes darting over to her sharp features that were highlighted by the sun peeking in through the large windows. Her eyes flickered to you, strangely enough, before uttering her name.

“Hazel, your majesty.” She nodded, a smile forming on her perfectly pink lips.

Hazel. It suited her, you thought. Its simplicity was beautiful.

“It’s a lovely name.” You confess, sending her the least awkward smile you could muster.

Hazel’s eyes locked with yours. Her smile matched yours; genuine and kind.

“Thank you, princess.”

You break eye contact first, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of her stare. You continue eating, eyes dancing from person to person as they add to the conversation. After everyone listened to how Hazel’s journey was to the kingdom, it was around the same time that everyone was finishing up their bread and stew.

“Well, I believe this is the first time you’ve not spoken during a feast,” your father speaks up, eyes locking on yours.

“I don’t have much to say, father.” You quip.

“You’re not always that way, sadly enough.” His tone was quite obviously degrading and meant to humiliate you.

You prod your tongue into the inside of your cheek, wondering why he was starting this right now. Hazel had just arrived and he was already trying to pick a fight with you.

“Oh, your majesty, it’s alright. I think I’ve talked enough for now,” Hazel quickly buts in.

You glance at her, furrowing your brows at her unexpectedly. She was looking directly at your father for just a moment before sending you a soft look.Your father hadn’t replied back to Hazel’s quick words but you feared he might. You straighten your back and clear your throat as you stand up, smoothing down your dress

“I’m feeling full now. May I leave the dining table?” You stare expectantly at your parents, hoping they would just let you this one time.

Your mother simply nods as you turn to Isabel who had already finished her meal. She took that as a hint to leave as well, nodding respectfully towards your parents and Hazel. Her familiar arms lock with yours as you walk down the hallway to venture to your room.

“She seems nice.” Isabel spoke first, looking at you for confirmation that you felt that same way.

You didn’t know what to feel.

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[quarterdollar]

SEVERELY obsessed with the character insight here. so obsessed that i typed a long-ass post of analysis, in which i support the argument that volo really isn’t a complete sociopath, he’s just a big emotional short-sighted hypocrite.

as we know, volo’s endgame goal is to subjugate arceus and recreate the world from scratch, implicitly so that whatever pain and heartbreak he’s experienced/witnessed no longer exists. this is of course an intentional parallel to cyrus’s desire to create a world without spirit in response to the emotional pain he experienced in his childhood. while we do not have a concrete explanation on what exactly the painful events volo experienced were like we do with cyrus, he talks about them enough that it’s clear that they impacted him significantly. that is to say i think he’s expressing his thoughts and feelings sincerely when he brings the topic up, he isn’t lying or trying to misdirect you in any way in regards to that.

i bring this up because a big portion of cyrus’s character that to this day flies over many fans’ heads is that he is defined by ironies and hypocrisies. he wishes for a world devoid of any emotions specifically because he is dominated by them—he confesses as much during his rant in the distortion world:

cyrus also famously has a crobat on his team, which evolves through high friendship, despite his steadfast belief that spirit—of which friendship is undoubtedly a part—is an ugly, vague, incomplete thing. in addition to this, usum all but explicitly confirms that the journal of a child who befriended a rotom was written by him. so, in conclusion, cyrus has a heart and is easily swayed by good emotions as well as bad.

so now we come to volo’s new dialogues in pokemon masters. i think that they have made it clearer that like cyrus’s emotional actions, his obsessions with history & preserving memories through photographs are meant to be genuine hypocrisy on his part, rather than intentional obfuscation of intent. think about it—a man who’s dominated by curiosity & love for history also claims to want to remake the world so utterly that all of that history is rendered completely destroyed. yet even in the depths of his post-defeat breakdown he still maintains that defining curiosity of his:

and now i ask, what is curiosity, if not an expression of love for the world around you? despite claiming to want to destroy the current world and all evidence of its existence, volo also still wants to know absolutely everything about it, past and present. it’s inherently contradictory. and this brings me to the recurring themes in his pokemas dialogue: how he not only appreciates photographs as a way to create a tangible record of history, but as a way “to capture and isolate the best moments”. those happy moments worth holding onto and looking back on in the future. see also the photograph of him and togepi in the original game, never commented on, taken for no apparent reason other than the fun of it—or more specifically, as these dialogues suggest, to isolate that moment in time in a tangible form. that is an act of love and of sentiment.

so, what’s the conclusion i’m getting at here? well, because of the ambiguity of his character in the base game. i’ve seen that volo is often interpreted as being a manipulative sociopath motivated solely by his desire for control. everything he does before the postgame is entirely a lie, absolutely none of the facade was genuine, etc. and don’t get me wrong, he is a control freak with a god complex! he does railroad the player into doing what he wants! he is not honest and he is not a good person. but, i think there is very much an intentional irony to him the same way there is with cyrus, in that his road to hell was paved with good intentions. he has the capacity for genuine kindness and i personally believe that his descent into villainy was spurred entirely by an earnest appreciation for the world around him and a desire to eliminate suffering.

as a closing statement, i want to bring up a quote from volo himself regarding calaba of the pearl clan:

i don’t think it’s that volo feels nothing for his pokemon or for the people around him—rather, i think he simply loves the world very, very much.

[tasteracha]

touch

word count: 1.1k

warnings: pregnant reader, pregnant sex (safely), reader x jisung

synopsis: you want your baby out, and apparently sex was the way to do it (inspired by the scene in friends where rachel is pregnant and overdue)

its been a week. an entire week since this baby was supposed to be out, and it just. refuses. to come out. 

you’ve tried it all. exercises, walks, castor oil, massages, none of it works and you’re reaching your last straw. you want it out, you want to hold to hold you fresh baby in your arms, you want to see your husband with light shining in his eyes, but most of all you want the back pain and bulging stomach to be gone. 

the only thing you haven’t tried yet is sex. your doctor recommended it, something about the release of an orgasm helping with the contractions and the chemical makeup of sperm helping the process along, but the idea of it freaked you out, at first. 

honestly, the thought of having sex itself wasn’t a bad one - you haven’t done much past heavy petting since you reached twelve weeks, a sharp contrast to the healthy sex life the two of you shared prior to that. you kind of ached for it, the thought of him inside of you and his hands on you makes you hornier beyond belief. 

but, that mental block was still there. the thought of somehow hurting the baby, turning the wrong way or twisting or somehow contorting your body in a way that was harmful makes you want to cry despite the way you were throbbing for it. 

you can’t do anything about it now, he’s still at work for the next hour and you refuse to sit and wait for him with nothing to do but ruminate on the thought of fucking him. so, you take a long shower, the water steaming around you in clouds, soothing your aching muscles. when you’re done, you dress in a robe, hoping that he’ll take it off of you soon. 

by the time you pad out to the living room, he’s home already and sitting on the couch, still in his work clothes. he smiles at you when he notices you there, turning the volume down on his phone where he’s been scrolling through tiktok. 

“have a nice shower?” he asks, looking back down but spreading his arm over the back of the couch like he’s expecting you to settle in next to him. which, you usually would, but not today. 

“let’s have sex,” you say instead, holding back a laugh when his head shoots up immediately. 

“i’m sorry?” his voice is high pitched, eyes wide like you just asked him to commit murder with you.

“i need this baby out, it will help, and im horny. have sex with me,” you demand, moving closer to him until you’re crowding him into the couch.

“you’re sure?” he says, placing a gentle hand on your stomach and rubbing a bit. he’s so gentle, and you usually love when he is, but right now his touch is like a flame to your skin.

“yes, it’s all i’ve been thinking about today. please.”

“well,” he clears his throat, flushing a bit as he bites his lip. “i looked up what positions would be best. for the baby, you know? just in case. you can’t be on your stomach, obviously, or your back because of the blood flo-“

you cut him off with a kiss, hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him up off the couch and flushed against you. 

“if you’re not inside me in the next five minutes, i’ll die.” you say against his lips, pressing your lips to his one more time before pulling back. he nods fervently, taking your hand and walking you towards your bedroom. he stops in the hallway by it to bring your hand to his mouth, pressing a long kiss there while he looks at you with shining eyes, before opening the door. 

he kisses you again once you stop by the bed, slowly untying your robe and letting it slide off your shoulders onto the floor. you’ll reprimand him about it later, but right now the feeling of his warm hands on you is enough of a distraction. it’s different than kissing him has been recently, knowing that it’s going to lead to something more has butterflies erupting inside of you like it’s your first time again. 

“lay on your side, baby,” he instructs, pulling away from you and guiding you to the bed; he helps you lie down, hands light on your body as he guides you. the urge to tell him that you can do it yourself is on the tip of your tongue, but you hold it back. he loves taking care of you, even before he knocked you up he loved taking care of you. it’s one of the ways he likes to show that he loves you, so you let him do it. and, selfishly, it’s usually so nice to be pampered by him. 

he places a pillow under your head, holding your head up with his hand while he slides it under, his touches as gentle as possible. you lay against the mattress, a snippy demand for him to increase his pace at the tip of your tongue. before you can let it out he spoons up behind you and you realize that he’s naked, his bare skin pressed up against yours. 

he doesn’t fuck you right away. he takes his time running his hands over your body, from your breasts down your curved stomach and further to your thighs, squeezing your soft flesh between his fingers. he stops around your core, hiking one of your legs up so he can have better access. 

“mm, you’re so wet already,” his voice is deep as he spreads you apart, rubbing at your clit in slow circles. 

“been thinking about you,” you breathe out. you’re already tongue-tied, gone for him even with just a few touches. “for weeks. months. need you.”

when he finally sinks inside of you, your body relaxes in a way it hasn’t since before you got pregnant - your muscles melt into the mattress and your lead lilts further to the side as you let out a deep sigh. one of his legs wedges between yours, locking you into him. his hand snakes around your body to rest on your stomach, rubbing a bit as he slowly rocks into you, his breaths tickling your ear. 

he takes his time with you, letting you fall apart on him over and over as he maintains his pace. despite this, you know he’s just as needy, just as desperate from the way his muscles are tense from holding back. when he finally comes, he releases deep inside of you, holding you close as he pants into your skin. you’re all but melted into the sheets, brow sweaty and hair a mess, but he holds you against him still even after he pulls out.

“anything?” he asks.

“no,” you sigh, letting out a long groan. “but it was so worth doing that.”

“...i heard doggy style is good for the baby, too.”

[tropicalszns]

"ITS COMPLICATED.."

gojo x black!fem reader

about

it’s complicated between you and gojo, after the nasty breakup a couple months ago you too haven’t been in contact, unless it’s to have sex of course.

contains

break up sex, ewb (exes w/ benefits), arguments, crying, angst a lil, guilt (both gojo and readers end), comfort (from friends), mean!satoru

w.c.

1.8k (1,849)

a/n

hope u guys enjoy, a little angsty but it gets somewhat better <33, reblogs and likes r appreciated! , could be read as a gn reader I think, not proof-read a little lazy, sorry!

“It’s complicated,” you told your friends as you sat against the comfort of the booth. You guys were dining at a restaurant to ease your mind off of the breakup you had to endure a couple months ago. You never thought in a million years you are going to have to make the decision that Gojo wanted to leave you for good. It was like you didn’t see the signs of him wanting to leave you, wanting to be with someone else. You can remember your last days like it was yesterday.

You both were cuddled up with him on his living room couch in his apartment. You held him close, you never wanted to let him go. You could feel something was wrong with him, he didn’t want to cuddle you anymore, no more late night kisses or playful banters. He just let you hold him. Instead, you jsut gaslight yourself into thinking it was just work, he’s tense because of personal issues but not you, why you? You wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, right? That’s what you had believed. You pressed your lips onto his forehead, “Are you okay, ‘Toru?” You asked with a frown, your hand still in his hair, caressing and gently itching his scalp.

He cringed, his nose scrunching from you calling him “Toru.” He wanted to tell you to stop calling him that, every single day it was “Toru” this and “Toru” that. He was getting tired of hearing your voice honestly. But he held himself back. He took awhile to respond, only replying with a hum. “Yeah.” He spoke up a little. He closed his eyes, wishing you would leave him alone, leave his apartment. Slight rage boiling up inside him. But he held back.

You knew something was up, but still holding this belief that it couldn’t be you. How could it be you? You gave him the world, the best girlfriend he could ever possibly ask for. Worked double shifts to surprise him on his birthday, yet he still didn’t look thrilled for it. For months he’s been looking so depressed with you but when he’s with his friends, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. What’s wrong?

That’s when the next day came, Gojo asked you to come over to talk. So you did. You knocked at his apartment door, he didn’t look excited to see you or have your presence near him. He crinkled his nose a bit and looked away as he held the door for you. He closed the door as you came in and you both sat on the couch. You both sat on opposite sides, the air was thick. You swallowed hard, fiddling with your fingers and biting your lip as you waited for him to speak. “I’ve been holding this inside for a while, and honestly, I thought I was going crazy, maybe it was work or something, but it’s not..” he let out a deep sigh.

“I want to break up.”

Your heart stopped, no- your world stopped. Everything around you felt like a blur, nothing was real. You were honestly waiting for the time your alarm clock go off, waiting to wake up and gasp from the bad dream and Gojo comforting you. But alas, you were struck by Gojo looking at you with a deadpan face, more of an uncomfortable look if anything. “Wha..” you uncomfortably laughed in the silence. “Jokes, right? You know these jokes make me scared.” You tried to lighten up the mood only to be let down with Gojo shaking his head. “Why would I want to joke about this? I don’t want us to be together, you’re just..” he deeply exhaled.

“I don’t know how to say it but, you’re just a bother to be around. I don’t like you— shit, I don’t love you anymore. You call me this frustrating nickname, Toru.. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on.” He continued, your heart aching and breaking at every single word. You felt tears swarm your eyes, blinking from the stinging of your eyes being open too long. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You’re such a fucking dick,” you sniffled, wiping your tears. “No, seriously, fuck you, Gojo. I tried my fucking hardest to make sure you were satisfied but I wasn’t enough?! If you were that tired of me you could’ve say so instead leading me on the entire time.” You retorted back, your nose twitching as your lips quivered.

“Maybe you should’ve tried a bit harder instead of being an annoying little pest the entire relationship. You’re acting like I didn’t try either.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. You furrowed your brows in confusion and frustration mixed together. You felt a pang of anger in your chest that won’t go away. “Are you kidding? Are you actually fucking serious?!” You yelled, swiftly using your hand to slap Gojo across the face. He was left distraught and conflicted. “I did everything for you, i did a party for you, I booked us flights, vacations, hotels, even got you the new car you’re fucking driving! And yet?! I’m not enough!?” Slow tears rushed down your cheeks, your voice sore and ran out.

Gojo placed a hand on his cheek where you slapped him. “I never even asked for any—” “Oh my god! Gojo, you didn’t have to fucking ask, that’s the point of gifts! Are you dumb!?” He was, and he knew he was regretting every word he said before. Instead of saying sorry and taking accountability for his harsh words, he averted eye contact from you. Nothing else was said after, so you got up and left his apartment with a slam at the door.

You immediately called your friends to tell them, venting to how much he wronged you and so on and so forth.

A couple weeks after the breakup, it became a regular thing for you and Gojo to have sex to ease the hidden tension you both had for each other. After your shift he told you to come over, relax you because of your shitty boss, and he did. He pressed gentle kisses on your skin, only to be reminded of the brutal words he told you during the breakup. He pushed it back in his mind and laid you down on the bed. You let out soft moans from his kisses, the way he easily took off your uniform, unbuttoned your pants,

“Tell me about your day, baby.” He cooed, seeing the way your boobs recoiled slightly in your bra as he took off your shirt. “It was.. It was bad. My boss was being rude to me for no reason.” You confessed, your hands on his soft and silky bed sheets as you leaned back a little. He unclasped your bra and slid your straps off your shoulders, letting it fall down on your lap. “Hm? Why?” He asked, kissing on your neck, leaving noticeable markings. “B-because..” You let out a soft gasp, your eyes refusing to look at him.

“He was upset at me for being late the other day, but I told him prior that I was gonna be late be.. fuck, because my car needed maintenance.. And I work in the afternoon times, I didn’t know it was gonna take long.” You ranted, your whines getting louder as Gojo laid your back against the mattress, flicking your bra and clothes away. Leaving you in only your underwear. “Sounds like he’s an ass.” He inferred. He stared down at you, stared at your body, he missed it so much. Even if you guys had sex now and again, it didn’t feel the same when you guys were together. When you guys were in love. He immediately felt the twinges of guilt and sadness rush over his body. He remembered how you slapped him that night, how you cursed him out, your tears. The thoughts of that night replaying in his head, he could almost cry. “He is, and I hate him so much.. I don’t know why but he always tells me I walk into work with such an attitude and I’m always sad, but I’m not.”

You were lying to yourself and Gojo knew too. It was like you both could see through each other. You felt tears immediately swell up in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away and sniffled. Gojo didn’t say much, or anything at all. He took off his shirt and pants, sliding you up before taking off his underwear. He didn’t want to do anymore foreplay, he wanted this to be over with.

He slid your underwear to the side and slowly slid inside of you. He put his hands at the side of you, thrusting into you at a steady pace. He took in your gasps and moans, his head down so he wouldn’t have to look at you. You only sniffled, wrapping your arms his neck. He couldn’t help but groan as he felt you tighten around him every thrust, it was silent in the room. The only noises really came from the bed creaking and your soft moans.

You spoke up with shakiness in your voice, “‘Toru..” you called him, you knew how much he didn’t like when you called him that. But it felt different now, he felt the familiarity of the name, when you called him that every second of the day, when you annoyed him, nagged him. He didn’t mind this time. “Hm?” He hummed, his thrust going a bit faster. “I miss you, I miss you a lot.. and I’m sorry for being so annoying, and slapping you that night— I’m sorry,” you confessed, your hot tears streaming down your cheeks as you cried. The guilt from that day, from when you would always annoy him, seeing the signs of his nose crinkling every time he saw you. It was all too much, you couldn’t even breathe. You held your face close to his shoulder, his hips snapping so slowly yet so fast. Thrusting so deep into you it was like you were saying things you didn’t mean to.

He didn’t know how to reply at first, but he eventually did with a hesitant and shaky response. “I miss you too baby, I miss you in my bed.. I’m sorry I’ve been such as ass, okay? There’s so much we could’ve done together, I’m sorry.” He confessed, panting as your tears wet his skin. “I love you, I will always love you.” He whispered, putting his lips in your hair as he felt his orgasm reaching. Your nails dug into his skin, your crying became louder, not even able to hear anything else around you besides Satoru’s, “It’s okay, I’ve got you”s.

Now you’re here, sitting in the diner with your friends as they asked you about how you and Satoru have managed to still keep in contact even after the nasty breakup that you still refused to talk about. You sighed, sipping on your drink as you looked down at the menu below you.

“Listen.. It’s just complicated, alright?”

made by tropicalszns; please don’t copy, steal or repost onto other sites without my permission!

[callsigns-haze]

Prison for life..

Pairing: Acotar x reader Warning: This fic contains scenes of peril, violence, and suspense, as well as moments of light-hearted humor and camaraderie. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Amidst the eerie shadows of the dark woods, YN faces a terrifying encounter with a malevolent beast, only to be rescued by the timely intervention of Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, whose camaraderie and laughter serve as a beacon of light in the midst of darkness.

This is kinda a request by @callsign-magnolia, i didn't know what to write and the cutie helped me come up with an idea legit only like 2 hours back

Song I kinda used is Prison for life because 🎶I'm a feminist, obviously But I wouldn't really mind him savin' me And I know that I'm fine without a man But I think I would like his protection I'm just bein' honest, can't change what I like I'll never forget it, he told me one night If anybody hurts you, hah I'm goin' to prison for life🎶

As YN found herself amidst the grandeur of the Court of the Long Lost Gods, her mind was consumed with the weight of her impending speech. As the sole High Lady present, she understood the significance of this moment—it was her chance to make an impression, to assert her authority, and to inspire confidence in her leadership.

Yet, despite her best efforts, YN couldn't seem to shake off the nagging sense of doubt that gnawed at her confidence. She paced the opulent halls of the court, her footsteps echoing in the vast expanse, as she rehearsed her speech over and over again.

But each time she spoke the words aloud, they fell flat, lacking the conviction and passion she knew they needed to command attention. Frustration bubbled within her, a simmering brew of anxiety and self-doubt that threatened to overwhelm her.

"I am the High Lady," she whispered to herself, trying to summon the confidence she so desperately needed. "I am capable. I am worthy."

Yet, no matter how many times she repeated the words, they felt hollow, devoid of the strength and conviction she knew she possessed deep within.

With a frustrated sigh, YN sank onto a nearby bench, her hands running through her hair in exasperation. How could she hope to lead her people if she couldn't even find the words to inspire them?

But then, amidst the turmoil of her thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered within her. She may not have the perfect speech prepared, but she refused to let her doubts hold her back.

Rising to her feet once more, YN straightened her shoulders and squared her jaw, a newfound resolve burning bright in her eyes. She may not have all the answers, but she was determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead with courage and determination.

With renewed purpose, YN returned to her preparations, ready to face the court and deliver a speech that, while imperfect, would be filled with the sincerity and passion that defined her as a leader. For she knew that true leadership wasn't about perfection—it was about courage, conviction, and the unwavering belief in oneself, even in the face of uncertainty.

As YN continued to read over her speech, frustration bubbled within her like a pot left too long on the stove. With each stumble over her words, her irritation mounted, threatening to boil over.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with frustration as she reread a particularly troublesome passage for what felt like the hundredth time. "Why can't I get this right?"

Her fingers clenched tightly around the parchment, crumpling the edges as she fought to rein in her frustration. But try as she might, the words refused to cooperate, slipping through her grasp like water through clenched fists.

"Stupid, worthless speech," she cursed, her tone sharp with self-directed anger. "Why does it have to be so damn difficult?"

Each mistake felt like a blow to her pride, a reminder of her own inadequacy in the face of the daunting task before her. She knew she needed to impress the court, to prove herself worthy of her title as High Lady, but in this moment, all she could focus on was her own frustration and self-doubt.

With a frustrated growl, YN tossed the parchment aside, her patience worn thin by her repeated failures. She buried her face in her hands, feeling the weight of her responsibilities pressing down upon her like a leaden cloak.

But even in the midst of her frustration, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind—a voice that reminded her of her strength, her resilience, and her unwavering determination to succeed. And with that voice as her guide, YN took a deep breath, steeling herself for another attempt.

With renewed determination, she picked up the parchment once more, her eyes blazing with determination as she prepared to tackle her speech head-on. For she knew that no matter how many times she stumbled and fell, she would always rise again, stronger and more determined than ever before.

As frustration gnawed at YN's patience, threatening to overwhelm her, a sudden intrusion broke through the turmoil of her thoughts. Rhysand's voice, clear and unmistakable, echoed in her mind—a telepathic communication that caught her completely off guard.

"Having a bit of trouble there, YN?" Rhysand's voice teased, his amusement palpable even through the telepathic link.

YN's eyes widened in shock, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to process the unexpected intrusion. She hadn't seen Rhysand since the ball, and the sudden appearance of his voice in her mind sent a jolt of surprise coursing through her veins.

"Rhys," she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "What are you doing?"

Rhysand's laughter rang out in her mind, a warm and familiar sound that washed over her like a soothing balm. "Just thought I'd check in on my favourite High Lady," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "And it seems I've caught you at a rather... opportune moment."

YN couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the situation. Leave it to Rhysand to appear just when she needed a distraction the most.

"Opportune is one way to put it," she replied, her frustration giving way to amusement as she considered the absurdity of the situation. "I suppose you're enjoying the show?"

Rhysand's laughter echoed in her mind once more, a sound that warmed her heart and eased the tension that had been building within her. "Immensely," he admitted, his tone tinged with amusement. "But in all seriousness, YN, you've got this. I have every confidence in you."

His words were like a lifeline, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this struggle, and that even in her moments of doubt, she could always count on the support of her friends.

"Thank you, Rhysand," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. "I needed that."

With Rhysand's encouragement ringing in her ears, YN squared her shoulders and returned her focus to the task at hand. With renewed determination, she dove back into her speech, ready to conquer her frustrations and deliver a performance that would do justice to her title as High Lady of the Court of the Long Lost Gods.

As YN struggled with her speech, Rhysand's voice once again intruded into her thoughts, his suggestion cutting through the frustration like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

"Hey, YN," he murmured telepathically, his tone conspiratorial. "What do you say we ditch the speech altogether? I know a much more enjoyable way to spend the evening."

YN's eyebrows furrowed in surprise at Rhysand's proposal, her mind racing with the implications of his suggestion. It was a tempting offer, to be sure—escaping the confines of the Court of the Long Lost Gods for a night of freedom and revelry in the Night Court. But she knew she couldn't simply abandon her responsibilities, not when she had a duty to fulfill as High Lady.

"I don't know, Rhys," she replied hesitantly, torn between her desire for adventure and her sense of duty. "I can't just leave without giving my speech. It wouldn't be right."

Rhysand's voice was gentle but insistent as he pressed his case. "You've been stressing over that speech for hours, YN," he pointed out. "And besides, who's to say we can't have a little fun before getting back to business? Trust me, it'll be worth it."

YN chewed on her lower lip, torn between her sense of obligation and the allure of Rhysand's proposition. The thought of slipping away into the night, of leaving her worries and responsibilities behind—even if just for a few hours—was undeniably tempting.

"Is there any chance you can slip past the guards?" Rhysand inquired, his voice tinged with hopeful anticipation. "I'll meet you at the edge of the woods, and from there, it's a straight shot to the Night Court. What do you say?"

YN hesitated for only a moment before making her decision. With a sense of exhilaration building within her, she replied, "Okay, Rhys. Let's do it. Meet you at the edge of the woods."

And with that, she made up her mind—ready to embrace the adventure that awaited her beyond the confines of the Court of the Long Lost Gods, and eager to reunite with her friends for a night of laughter, camaraderie, and the promise of endless possibilities in the Night Court.

With a racing heart and a sense of excitement coursing through her veins, YN cautiously made her way through the corridors of the castle, her steps light and deliberate as she sought to evade the watchful eyes of the guards. Every creak of the floorboards sent a shiver down her spine, every shadow cast by flickering torchlight seemed to loom ominously in her path.

She moved with the stealth of a seasoned predator, her senses attuned to the slightest sound or movement that might betray her presence. Each corner turned, each door passed sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, fueling her determination to reach her destination undetected.

As she slipped through the castle's halls like a ghost in the night, YN couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of her surroundings—the ornate tapestries adorning the walls, the intricate carvings that adorned the doorways, the soft glow of candlelight that illuminated her path. Yet, even as she admired the grandeur of her surroundings, her thoughts remained fixed on the task at hand—the tantalizing promise of freedom that lay just beyond the castle walls.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of tense anticipation, YN reached the outer courtyard of the castle, her heart pounding in her chest as she surveyed her surroundings. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city below, while the distant sounds of revelry drifted on the night breeze—a siren call beckoning her to join in the festivities.

With a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure she hadn't been followed, YN slipped through the castle gates and out into the bustling streets beyond. The city was alive with activity, the air thick with the scent of spices and laughter as people moved about their business, unaware of the secret mission unfolding in their midst.

Heart pounding with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension, YN navigated the winding streets of the city with practiced ease, her senses sharp and alert as she sought to avoid any unwanted attention. She moved with purpose and determination, her steps quickening as the edge of the woods loomed in the distance—a beacon of freedom that called out to her with irresistible allure.

And as she disappeared into the shadows of the night, leaving the castle and the city behind her, YN couldn't help but feel a surge of exhilaration coursing through her veins—a sense of liberation that filled her with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. For tonight, she was not just the High Lady of the Court of the Long Lost Gods—she was a woman on a mission, ready to embrace the adventure that awaited her beyond the confines of her gilded cage.

As YN ventured further from the castle and deeper into the night, she found herself drawn inexorably towards the looming shadows of the dark woods. The dense canopy overhead cast the forest floor in a cloak of inky darkness, the branches overhead intertwining like gnarled fingers reaching out to ensnare the unwary.

With each step she took, the air grew thick with a palpable sense of foreboding, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Yet, despite the eerie atmosphere that surrounded her, YN pressed on, her determination unyielding as she ventured deeper into the heart of the woods.

The ground beneath her feet grew soft and spongy, the earth damp with the remnants of a recent rain, as she made her way through the tangled undergrowth. Shadows danced and shifted in the dim light, playing tricks on her mind as she navigated the labyrinthine pathways that crisscrossed the forest floor.

As she moved deeper into the heart of the woods, YN couldn't shake the feeling of being watched—a sensation that sent a shiver down her spine and quickened her pace. Yet, even as the darkness threatened to envelop her, she pressed on, driven by a sense of purpose and determination that refused to be extinguished.

With each step she took, the woods seemed to close in around her, the trees looming ominously overhead like silent sentinels guarding some long-forgotten secret. Yet, despite the sense of unease that prickled at the edges of her consciousness, YN forged ahead, her resolve unyielding as she ventured deeper into the unknown.

And as she disappeared into the depths of the dark woods, her footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night, YN couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through her veins. For though the path ahead was shrouded in darkness and uncertainty, she knew that it was a journey she must undertake.

As YN ventured deeper into the heart of the dark woods, a sense of unease settled over her like a heavy cloak. The shadows seemed to twist and coil around her, whispering secrets that sent a chill down her spine. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, seemed to reverberate through the stillness of the night, amplifying her sense of vulnerability.

With each passing moment, the feeling of being watched intensified, prickling at the back of her neck like a thousand invisible eyes boring into her very soul. It was a sensation that made her skin crawl, that set her heart racing with a primal instinct to flee.

Yet, despite the rising tide of fear that threatened to overwhelm her, YN pressed on, her footsteps quickening as she sought to escape the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded her. Each step she took seemed to echo louder in the silence of the night, a steady rhythm that drove her forward with renewed urgency.

As she pushed herself to move faster, to put as much distance between herself and the oppressive weight of the woods as possible, YN couldn't shake the feeling that something lurked just beyond the edge of her vision—a presence that watched and waited with bated breath.

With every fiber of her being screaming for her to flee, YN pushed herself to run faster, to outrun the suffocating darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she raced through the tangled undergrowth, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger.

Panic surged through her veins like wildfire, driving her forward with an urgency born of primal instinct.

Branches snagged at her clothing, thorns scratched at her skin, but she paid no heed to the pain. All that mattered was escape, escape from the unseen terror that hunted her through the darkness.

With each frenzied footfall, YN's mind raced with desperate thoughts. Fear clutched at her throat like a vice, choking off her breath as she fought to outrun the shadowy menace that pursued her relentlessly.

In her terror-stricken state, YN found herself calling out, her voice echoing through the eerie stillness of the woods. "Rhys!" she cried out, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. "Rhys, please, hear me!"

She prayed that somehow, someway, her telepathic plea would reach Rhysand, her friend, her ally, her beacon of hope in the darkness. She clung to the hope that he would hear her, that he would come to her aid and rescue her from the clutches of whatever malevolent force lurked in the shadows.

But as she ran, her footsteps echoing like thunder in the silence of the night, YN couldn't shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach—that she was alone, that no one would come to save her from the nightmare that pursued her with unrelenting determination.

With each passing moment, her strength waned, her limbs heavy with exhaustion as she pushed herself to the brink of collapse. But still, she ran, her will to survive outweighing the overwhelming terror that threatened to consume her whole.

And as she disappeared deeper into the heart of the dark woods, her cries for help swallowed by the oppressive silence of the night, YN knew that she was in a fight for her life—a fight she couldn't afford to lose.

As YN's frantic footsteps pounded against the forest floor, her lungs burning with exertion, her foot caught on a hidden root, sending her crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, only to find herself frozen in terror as a pair of glowing eyes emerged from the shadows, fixating hungrily on their prey.

But just as the beast lunged forward, ready to strike, a strong arm encircled YN's waist, pulling her back from the brink of danger. Startled, she turned to find herself face to face with Rhysand, his expression a mixture of concern and apology.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he murmured, his voice laced with regret as he helped her to her feet. "I should have been here to protect you."

Relief flooded through YN as she leaned into Rhysand's reassuring embrace, grateful for his timely intervention. Yet, even as she sought solace in his presence, the danger still lurked just beyond the edge of their sanctuary.

With a fierce battle cry, Azriel and Cassian emerged from the shadows, their weapons drawn as they faced off against the beast that threatened to tear them apart. Their movements were fluid and precise, their years of training evident as they fought with a determination born of necessity.

As the clash of steel rang out through the forest, YN watched with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she prayed for her friends' safety. With each strike, each parry, they seemed to gain the upper hand, driving the beast back with a relentless fury.

And then, with a final, decisive blow, the creature let out a guttural roar of defeat, retreating into the darkness from whence it came. Panting with exertion, Azriel and Cassian turned to join Rhysand and YN, their faces weary but triumphant.

"We've got you, YN," Cassian said, his voice filled with reassurance as he clasped her shoulder in a show of solidarity. "We'll always have your back."

With a grateful nod, YN allowed herself to be enveloped in the warmth of her friends' embrace, knowing that no matter what dangers lay ahead, they would face them together, united in their bond of friendship and unwavering loyalty. And as they stood together in the aftermath of the battle, YN couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the strength and courage of those who stood by her side, ready to protect her at all costs.

As the tension of the moment began to ease, YN let out a long sigh of relief, her heart still racing from the adrenaline-fueled encounter with the beast. With a rueful shake of her head, she couldn't help but let out a half-hearted chuckle as she muttered, "I am never going out with you guys AGAIN."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of their shared ordeal softened by the hint of levity in her tone. And then, as if on cue, Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the forest like a chorus of joyous relief.

"Oh, come on, YN," Rhysand said between laughs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Azriel nodded in agreement, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Besides," he added, his voice tinged with amusement, "where's the fun in staying out of trouble?"

Cassian grinned, slinging an arm around YN's shoulders in a gesture of camaraderie. "Exactly," he chimed in. "Besides, what's life without a little excitement?"

Despite herself, YN couldn't help but smile at their infectious enthusiasm, the tension of the moment dissipating like mist in the morning sun. With a playful roll of her eyes, she leaned into their embrace, her heart lighter than it had been in hours.

"Fine," she conceded with a mock sigh. "But next time, let's try to avoid getting eaten by giant forest monsters, okay?"

The laughter that followed was like music to her ears, a symphony of friendship and camaraderie that filled her with a sense of belonging unlike anything she had ever known. And as they stood together, basking in the warmth of each other's company, YN couldn't help but feel grateful for the bonds that united them—a bond that transcended danger and adversity, a bond that would endure for a lifetime and beyond.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@kmc1989

@djs8891

@hardballoonlove

@callsign-dexter

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@rosiahills22

[writerswhy]

Self-care for the Soul: Hinamori's Edition

(Or, my 2am rambles on Hinamori that briefly touch on nonviolence while I lightly express some fandom guilt ft. one mention of Frankenstein and some Tobiume hc 🫠 Thank you @bleachbleachbleach for your encouraging words on this post! <33)

TL;DR: Much of Hinamori’s external life has been chosen for her. She thrives at exercising a form of internal non-violence of the spirit, where despite the lack of tools (as a Rukongai ghost) and later in spite of the master’s tools (the Seireitei), she asserts her power through choice - choosing to love, defend, create - through which she fights back against the institution that created and enabled the violence inflicted upon her. This is in her nature, always has been since she befriended Hitsugaya to rescuing Hisagi.

"Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings." -Victor Hugo

Sometimes I feel like such a fake Hinamori fan because I worry that my interpretations discredit her character, which isn't what I want at all! With regards to Aizen and forgiveness, I get a sense that the popular belief is that it is in Hinamori's nature or best interest to come to reject everything about their relationship, that she would even hate him, want to enact some form of violence on him. And that's all fine! I mean, anything is believable if you come at characterization from the lens of “what would make a character do XYZ?"….but I just can't help but feel like this is us (or at least me) moving on without her - which is how Hinamori canonically felt post-Winter War (and I would go so far as to say she's been feeling like this for a long time, since before leaving for the academy).

Like, would it help Hinamori to hate everything about him? To reject all of him? What is she, someone who deeply values her relationships and what she gets from them as much as she gives, choosing to leave behind by doing so? So much of her (external) life happens to her: she has to enter the academy because her powers awakened, she was pre-selected to join the 5th division for a plan that started decades before her and would be put into motion a few decades later, and of course both stabbings.

Given this, I think Hinamori is someone who appreciates making a choice of what she's given, often internal, often against the status quo, and gains exactly what she needs. She chooses to befriend Hitsugaya despite the village's rejection of him (and finds herself a lifetime partner); she stays behind to give Hitsugaya a proper goodbye even though it'll make her late to the academy on her first day (to keep Rukongai close which feels especially important given Seireitei wants to neglect, forget what's outside their walls); she chooses to save Hisagi against his orders (and years later she can look back and know she's brave); she chooses to defend Renji despite Byakuya's authority and Kira's acquiescence (and realizes that to stand up for what she believes in she may be the only one in the room left). And if she chooses to hold close the fond memories she created with Aizen and the lessons she learned from him, she'll know that under all his power laid her power too.

These choices she made are all born from her internal character and I think that's something she tries to hold onto (even when it feels like everyone is moving on without her, that the narrative is moving on without her, that fandom sometimes moves on without her).

And it's not because of the naivety or delusion that's so often attributed to her. It's this instinct to create, to save, to love, despite the lack of tools (and then in spite of the tools). I don't think it's far-fetched to believe that she, an artist who spends her free time reading (about history and fantasy, about the past and the future) would try to create what she needs, imperfect as it is. Hinamori has always been a "be the change you want to see" type of person.

Unlike Hisagi who fears his power in his own hands, Hinamori fears her power in the hands of others. In a way, it's a rejection of the Seireitei. In a way, it's a rejection of the institution that created and enabled the violence inflicted upon her.

——

(Another reason why I feel like a fake Hinamori fan is because I don't think she needs bankai to tie up her arc or to prove/reclaim her power. Like I mentioned above, I think Hinamori does a pretty solid job of reclaiming her power outside of Seireitei's tools. Bankai feels almost like a resignation to me. It's hard to explain without needing 2000+ words and referencing Frankenstein, the internal/spiritual nature of nonviolence of a solider, and elaborating on Hisagi and Kaname because these two are very much part of the same conversation.

But anyways! My Tobiume hc plays into all of this. It's pretty much the same as the rest of the fandom's - some iteration of a phoenix + forest (I love the seagull cry when Tobiume releases and this imagery of being rooted deep in the earth with an expansive sky to soar above this middle space where the man-made sits), but I hc that she's never really been able to see Tobiume. That Tobiume always wants to keep just out of sight, perched high in the trees or a shadow over the sun to keep her wondering because Hinamori is an artist (who once had no brushes), a life-long learner (who once had no books), and I think it’d be neat if her inner world was something she created out of imagination and hunger for somewhere beyond her body and something beyond the constraints of their society. Another poem I associate with her is "Cherry Blossoms" by Toi Derricote:))

[ruinofchimera]

Hi, I'd like to know your opinion. Why do you think Peter betrayed the Marauders and blamed Sirius?

By the way, I hope you are very well.

Thank you for the perfect cue. Time to roll up my sleeves and dissect the bane of the Harry Potter fandom: Peter Pettigrew.

Why did he betray the Marauders? I like the phrasing. Because behind it, the real question to ponder is lurking. Did Peter ever betray his friends, or did he just betray the Marauders, the twisted idea of inclusion that he never really had? Oh, don’t get me wrong—there’s no denying that James and Sirius were practically the poster boys for friendship. No argument there. We’ve all heard that tear-jerking speech from Sirius: “I’d rather die than betray my friends.” And fair enough; Sirius had every reason to be an emotional wreck—he was talking about James, the only person he ever truly gave a damn about. Sure, we don’t know everything about their golden years, but what we do know makes it painfully clear: James and Sirius? They were a two-man act, a bond so tight it was as if they shared the same heartbeat.

But where on earth did this idea come from that someone else—anyone else—was ever part of that special bond? The books paint a pretty stark picture if you care to look. There was the alpha pair leading the charge, while the other two trailed behind, playing supporting roles. Look at how they chose Pettigrew to be Secret Keeper in the first place—not because they thought he was capable or smart, but because they figured no one would suspect him. Translation: “We don’t think you’re much good for anything, Peter, but hell, no one else does either, so maybe that’ll save our skins.” And yet somehow, fans cling to this rose-colored myth of brotherhood. Four souls, brought together by some unshakable bond of loyalty. Let’ get real here. There’s a very good chance that Peter didn’t even see James and the gang as friends. He was just along for the ride, hanging around like a dodgy uncle at a family reunion.

People love to reduce Peter’s Animagus form to a symbol of cowardice and betrayal, but they miss the real significance of what a rat actually represents—survival. And at his core, that’s exactly what Peter is—a survivor. Strip away all the noise, the grand ideals, and lofty heroics that everyone around him seemed so fond of, and what you’ve got left in Peter is raw instinct. He wasn’t guided by some deep-seated belief or conviction. No grand moral compass pulled him one way or another. He’s the embodiment of the quintessential “baby boy” trope—the “please take care of me” type. (Sorry, Regulus, but the Chalamet fancast isn’t enough to hold the title. Hand over the badge.)

What Peter craved more than anything was protection. It didn’t matter whether it came from James Potter or the Dark Lord himself. The man just wanted someone bigger, stronger, meaner to pat him on the head.

Pettigrew was already used to playing second fiddle to James and Sirius, who were so full of themselves they practically had their own gravitational pull. So when Voldemort strutted onto the scene, another powerful, arrogant tosser demanding followers, was it really such a massive shift for Peter? Hardly. It wasn’t life-changing. It was just a change of scenery. He did what he was best at: finding the biggest bully on the block and pledging his allegiance to survive. Sirius and James had been grooming him for it for years without even knowing.

It’s easy work, bashing Peter. Man’s got a face like a rodent and a spine to match—hardly the makings of a tragic anti-hero, is he? Sorry, Peter, but “pretty privilege” isn’t swooping in to save you like it did for Slytherin Skittles. If Pettigrew had even a hint of good looks, we’d have a library of fanworks trying to paint his redemption. But with a face like that? Not a chance. Instead, we get a convenient scapegoat for the fandom to rally against, letting the poster boys soak up all the angst. The sacred friendship betrayed! A tale for the ages, and people can boo-fucking-hoo about it for eternity.

As you can see from my lengthy ramblings, I’m doing just fine—so no worries in this department.

[miyamiwu]

I follow 3 different YouTube channels for their fun Blue Lock reaction videos, but this guy’s reaction was so real man:

He fucking cried 😭

Are we cooked? Are we cooked? (sobs) Oh fuck, this be—I swear. I don’t wanna put it on anything, like, I don’t wanna swear to something but, like, I’m not joking—(ugly laugh-cry)—not joking. I’m not joking. This U20 game better be better than anything from Jujutsu Kaisen season 2. It better be better than Zoro vs King, Gear 5 Luffy, Tengen vs Gyutaro. It better be better than all that. I’m not doing this shit, bruh. I’m not.

I feel you, man😭. People had very high expectations for Blue Lock season 2. “Anime of the Season,” “Peak Lock,” and whatnot, but 8Bit so far has not yet delivered anything that has met those expectations. Now, we’re all hoping and praying that they’re “saving the budget” for the actual U20. And with how the first few episodes are just delivering the bare minimum, we’re desperately holding onto the belief that U20 is going to be amazing and that all this disappointment from PNGlock would be worth it.

I’m trying to be positive here and look at the good side of the anime, but we really shouldn’t have to be settling for crumbs just because the studio is rushing to release the season when they’ve just released EpiNagi earlier this year.

Like, it’s fucking ridiculous that it’s come to the point we get hyped over the smallest movement in a sports anime that’s supposed to be full of it 😭😭😭

There should be some balance here. They can skimp on the budget on the pre-U20 episodes, but it shouldn’t reach to levels where they’re left with nothing but panning PNGs, underwater filters, and slide transitions. It would’ve been more acceptable if they have given us quality like that in Clean Freak! Aoyama-kun, a mid soccer anime with mid animation, because that show at least has some actual movement.

And before you say, “Just don’t watch the anime if you’re gonna complain,” let me grab you by the shoulders, look into your eyes, and ask you:

Are you seriously contented with this kind of “animation”?

Complaining is not always bad. Complaining is not always negative. Complaining is not always toxic.

People complain because they want a change for the better. Is wanting something for the better that bad?

If nobody in history ever complained, then the word “accountability” wouldn’t exist in our dictionary.

I admit that non-fans hating on Blue Lock animation just to ride on the hate train is too much, but as someone who loves Blue Lock, how can you not feel any pain or rage in seeing the half-assed work being done on the show?

Anger is just one way of grieving and coping. And people get angry because they care.

The fact that the fandom is raging over the animation quality is proof that Blue Lock is loved.

We’re angry with the animation because we care.

So let’s just hold each other’s hands and not fight one another. The problem is not between us fans, who just want the best for Blue Lock. The problem is with the studio.

This isn’t the first time 8Bit has done a disservice on the show, and I doubt it will be the last. They can’t keep getting away with this.

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

I know the answer could possibly be a spoiler but

Is Janus meant to be a villain or not??? I'm assuming they are because they literally admitted to MURDERING clones we didn't see because they were "genetically inferior" (obvious disgusting behavior) and have generally been an extremely toxic presence in the lives of the other characters. but you've been giving kinda mixed signals?? I know there's nuance but I'm. Worried. Because I've seen commewnity artists reveal some very ableist and/or abuse-endorsing behavior/beliefs under a friendly facade and it's concerning me. I don't think YOU would do that, but a surprising amount of people completely missed the message of the first pokemon movie so. Idk I'm worried.

Firstly, if anything I create comes off as ableist and/or abuse endorsing that is ENTIRELY unintentional and does not reflect my views at all. Apologies if you feel that way but know it was never my intent to give off that vibe.

Under a read more because this got a bit long…

To put it very simply, Janus is not meant to be a villain. Janus was never meant to be an antagonizing force and if they come off as such then that is a failure on my part. I’ll do my best to address your concerns but again apologize if my explanations don’t clear it up 😔

Please keep in mind Janus stems a lot from the original translation of the first movie, where Mew does see clones as inferior beings. I won’t deny that originally this was Janus’ mindset when first introduced. This isn’t a view current Janus holds and I need this to be understood. They’ve grown since their introduction.

Though yes Janus did hold this view, it’s become very complex given their nature. Janus is parent to all life, even clones. They weren’t happy about the clones existing, but this stemmed a lot more from humans and their intentions which, more often than not, have never been good.

On an semi-related note, despite being more aggressive towards human made clones due to what corruption humans could pass onto them, Janus was shown to be (at the very least since they had not gone through any development yet) tolerant of Mnemosyne, even respecting their desire to live peacefully and offering to train them so they would be prepared when the mittens came.

Apologies if I am wrong, but I’m a bit confused as to what you mean by them being an extremely toxic presence. While admittedly Janus is not the traditional kind and bubbly many seem to expect from Mew characters, they haven’t gone out of their way to be an extremely toxic presence. If anything they’ve taken a more neutral/passive but positive leaning position. They’ve helped Mnemosyne, they’ve helped Calliope, they’ve helped Bellatrix, they’ve begun to put forth the effort to actually be in their son and granddaughter’s lives despite their rough history. Janus is trying to be better.

Unfortunately Janus is a character I fear I will never be able to portray correctly because they have a viewpoint that no one could ever hope to experience/understand. They’re old, older than time itself. Their perception of time and morality are complicated, yet at the same time they’re so detached from the mortal experience that they’re like an infant when it comes to their understanding of the complexities of life. However they’re allowing themself, through becoming involved in those complexities via the Mirage Island crew, to grow and learn.

I understand if you hate Janus for what they did and do not forgive them, I’m not asking that of you. All I ask is that you understand Janus is a deeply complex character, but they were never meant to come off antagonistic towards the Mirage Island crew, especially at this point in the story.

[iwriteaboutfeminism]

I've been unsure about the concept of "Blue MAGA," which is basically the idea that a portion of Democrats are speaking about Biden in a similar way to how Republicans talk about Trump, ie, the idea that Biden is the ONLY person the party can rely on.

I'd seen some of it, but wasn't really convinced it was widespread enough to deserve the title.

I'm starting to feel differently.

I'm seeing lots of comments online that feel very "head in the sand" when it comes to objective reality.

There are more and more people now who are steadfastly overlooking the objective reality that Biden is LOSING the swing states and that his lead in blue states is getting smaller, and still trying to convince people into the belief that the candidate currently losing SO badly is in fact, instead, the ONLY one who can win.

I understand that the feeling under these actions is fear- the valid fear of another Trump presidency.

I understand that one response to a fearful situation is to hold tight onto something or someone familiar, hoping it will protect you.

The fear makes sense, and the impulse to grip tighter makes sense, but that doesn't mean it's the best option.

Might I suggest that the candidate who is losing the swing states probably doesn't have the best chance at winning enough Electoral College votes to win another 4 years in office?

Might I suggest that putting ALL your eggs in Joe Biden's basket - a basket that American voters have ALREADY said they DON'T have faith in- is likely to lead to an electoral blood bath?

It is NOT realistic to expect Biden to win, even against a candidate like Trump.

And after years of observing behavior in Republicans that demonstrated a baffling loyalty to an objectively bad candidate, it is not better in any way to justify similar behavior toward your own candidate.

Democrats are constantly wondering why Republicans seem incapable of dropping Trump, yet many are now clinging to Biden with the same zeal. They DON'T have to be equally bad or bad in the same ways for blind devotion to them to be harmful.

If you want a Democrat to win, if you NEED a Democrat to win, you need Biden to step aside for another candidate to run.

[lucy90712]

Can you do something like comforting Jude after losing the league

WC: 2.0k

It's been an up and down season but it has all come down to the last game. For Dortmund to win the title they really need to win this game as otherwise it's out of their hands. I believe in the team but I must admit I'm quite nervous for the game as it's a lot of pressure and Bayern always seem to pull out results when they need them. As much as I'm nervous I've been trying to keep those feelings suppressed and seem calm on the outside as I know Jude is way more nervous than I am and I want to try and keep him as calm as possible. All day he's been pacing around the house completely in his own world which I understand but I wish he would just sit down and talk to me so I can maybe help calm him down. 

Jude so desperately wants the team to win the title as it would mean so much to the club and he would love to win with them before moving on to another team. Knowing that he's injured and can't play I don't think is helping as he's just going to have to watch everything from the bench hoping the team can do it without him. It's the worst possible time for Jude to be out and I know he's beating himself up over it as he's been playing while not fully fit and that's put him out at a vital point of the season. Jude has been so important for the team this year but they can do it without him and they will have to. 

He left before me to get to the stadium early with the team like always but I too left early as I couldn't bare to sit around at home anymore and I wanted to see Jude before the game kicked off. When I arrived I made it in easily as the security know who I am so they let me in no problem and I headed towards the locker room while texting Jude to get him to come out. He was waiting for me outside by the time I made it up the corridor and when he saw me he put his arms out which I ran into to give him the hug he clearly wanted. Jude has never held me so tightly which told me all I needed to know about how he was feeling without even asking. I let him hold onto me for as long as he wanted before pulling away and giving him some last words of encouragement and some kisses that I hoped would make him feel at least a little bit better.

The game had not long started when news came that Bayern had scored and were already 1-0 up meaning the team had to win if they wanted to keep first place. It only got worse a few minutes later when the team conceded a goal but luckily the fans still seemed hopeful and kept cheering which motivated the team. Things got worse with dortmund conceding another goal before half time but afterwards things got slightly better with them getting one back. While all of this was going on I was watching Jude sat on the bench biting his nails which I've only seen him do before his first game at the World Cup so I knew he was incredibly nervous. I sat with my fingers crossed so tightly it was hurting but I didn't care it would be worth it if they won. Soon everyone's prayers were answered when it was announced that it was now a draw in the Bayern game. The fans went crazy and the belief that this could be the year was felt by everyone but you could tell there was still nerves in the air as anything could happen.

As the clock ticked on the excitement was only building in the stadium that was until everyone spirit was crushed. Bayern and Musiala got a last minute goal putting them back ahead and giving them the title. The fans tried to keep believing but it was clear that despite a miracle there was no way they were going to win the title this year. The atmosphere changed so quickly from excitement to pure despair that yet again the team were second best. Just before the end of the game a consolation prize in the form of an equaliser came but it wasn't enough although they were on the same points Bayerns goal difference was better giving them the title. It was hard to believe it until the final whistle came but then it really sunk in as I watched all the players drop to the floor. 

I was mostly in shock until I saw Jude sit down on the pitch with tears in his eyes seeing him so upset just broke me and I couldn’t stop tears leaving my own eyes. It was so hard to watch Jude so upset but I knew that he needed me so I wiped the tears from my eyes and did my best to stay strong. As soon as I was allowed I ran onto the pitch and straight to Jude to sit down on the pitch next to him. I took hold of his hand to let him know I was there and because I didn't want to smother him if he just wanted to sit and be alone. He clearly wanted some comfort as he rested his head on my shoulder so I held him while he cried into my neck. After a while I got him to look up and wiped the tears from his face but they were quickly replaced my new ones. 

"I'm sorry I know how much you wanted it but you did all you could you have worked so hard all season" I said 

"But we could've done better just one more win at some point this season would have been enough even a draw" he said 

"If it were that easy you guys would have got those results in the first place it just wasn't meant to be but that doesn't take away from everything you have achieved this season" I said 

"You're right it just hurts that we lost it so late on" he admitted 

"Don't think of it that way think about how you pushed until the very last seconds" I said trying to cheer him up

He simply nodded his head and got up from the ground to go and talk with his teammates and thank the fans. He pulled me up with him and we walked around together still hand in hand like we have been since I sat down with him. Of course there were lots of cameras around which I was very aware of as I tried to stop them filming Jude as much as I could. As we walked around Jude noticed one camera that was coming towards us and he put his hand over the lens and pushed the camera away a bit. I mouthed an apology as we continued walking because I didn't want for people to hate on Jude for doing that but I didn't really mean it as they shouldn’t have been trying to film him in this moment. It was clear that it was hard for him to try and thank the fans but he still did it as the team would be nowhere without the fans and he really does appreciate them. 

The entire team stayed out on the pitch for quite a while but eventually they headed inside to shower and change and I went back to the car to wait for Jude. While waiting I got my phone set up with a playlist of his favourite songs as that sometimes helps cheer him up although I don't think it will work in this situation it's worth trying. I also ordered some of his favourite food as I don't want to cook and I thought he would enjoy it especially now he doesn't have to be quite so strict with his diet. Just as I ordered the food the door of the car opened and Jude put his bag in the back before getting into the passenger seat. He looked so defeated but he still gave me a smile and a kiss on my cheek. 

When we made it home Jude went upstairs to change into comfier clothes and I collected the food so it was ready for us to eat as soon as he came back down. We ate and then I laid down on the sofa and encouraged Jude to lay on top of me which he did straight away and cuddled as close as he could to me. I played with his hair with one hand as while he held the other twisting my rings which he always likes to do with his favourite being the promise ring he gave to me on our anniversary as it has an engraving on the bottom of the band. He hummed as I continued to scratch his head and he even had a real smile on his face which made me happy as I was worried that I wouldn't be able to get him to smile for a few days. 

As he was smiling I wanted to take advantage of it so I stopped playing with his hair and started tickling him which had him laughing and trying to get away from me in seconds. He hates being tickled but it always makes him laugh in a way that just fills me with so much joy. I was planning to tickle him for a bit and then stop when he seemed like he'd had enough but all of a sudden he flipped the both of us over and started tickling me instead. I'm extremely ticklish so every second was torture but Jude was happy so I let him torture me for a while. It felt like an eternity but eventually he stopped tickling me and left me resting on his chest where he instead started assaulting my face with kisses. Seeing Jude happy again was such a relief I remember after the World Cup he was feeling down for weeks and I didn’t want that to happen again as it was a tough time for both of us. 

At some point we both settled down and there was silence again as this time I laid on Jude’s chest as he brushed through my hair with his hands. It was quite obvious that the longer we were in silence the more Jude’s mind was able to drift and the smile he had started to slowly fade. I had to do something but I felt like I had exhausted all the options I had thought of and all I had left was trying to talk to him but I don’t know if that’s going to work. 

“You know I’m so proud of you” I said 

“Thanks babe” he muttered 

“I’m serious I couldn’t be prouder to be able to call you my boyfriend you are just so amazing” I said 

“And I’m incredibly lucky to be able to call you my girlfriend I don’t know what I’d do without your support and your pretty face is a bonus” he teased

“Well I enjoy looking at your pretty face too” I said 

We teased each other for a while longer before we both started to get tired so I suggested we go to bed. He carried me up the stairs and we got into bed together where any normal night we cuddle slightly but not too much as Jude gets too hot when we cuddle. Tonight however he pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me tightly. After the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours I was exhausted but I stayed awake long enough to know that Jude was sound asleep and when he was I gave him one last kiss before settling down to get some sleep myself.