#I’m in love with this fic guys

[liloinkoink]

one thing i think people get wrong about Martyn in the life series is he really isn’t loyal

like yeah, we all know him as the Hand, following the Red King as far as their shared grave, but that is… truly the outlier and not the norm with him

i mean, let’s take a brief look at other seasons. i can’t speak to Secret Life, as it came out when i was incredibly busy and i haven’t yet had time to watch it, but what about the others?

he won Limited Life because he’s a chronic traitor! he betrayed Scott, his ally for the whole season, so that he could win, and said he’d been planning it / wanting to do it the whole session. spent a whole season protecting and helping Scott, and laughed in his face to betray as soon as he saw a shot to do so

Double Life was a whole mess of Martyn and weird loyalties. just one example: he spent all of the first session hanging out with Pearl in favor of even looking for either of their soulmates, with no regard for how he’d been putting his soulmate in danger. when their soulmates dumped them due to being ignored all session and stormed off, he dumped Pearl just because. one session in and he’s betrayed both his soulmate and his day one alliance!

Last Life he teamed with the Southlanders and then made the Shadow Alliance in secret, so he was on two teams and never truly committed to either. he tried to kill Grian basically immediately when he got boogeyman, for example, and in the final fight he tried to lure Ren to himself by offering to team and then tried to blow Ren up

of course, i’m simplifying and ignoring a lot. he doesn’t earn the loyal reputation for nothing. he does a lot of things to help his teammates, like giving a life to Ren in Last Life, trying all season to win Cleo over for all of Double Life, or working to protect Scott for all of Limited Life. it’s not like Martyn doesn’t play the part of a loyal friend well, but, well.

the thing about Martyn is that he’s selfish. he’s basically always going to prioritize his own survival over anything else. he’s never going to roll over and die, especially not for another person. he’s good at looking loyal, because having allies will help you survive, and he knows making outright enemies is a bad idea. he knows he can’t make it obvious he’s a traitor, because then he’ll certainly be killed. but, when it comes down to the wire, he will generally bail at the last minute to save his own skin rather than protecting the people around him. when his loyalty is tested, nine times out of ten, he will not only fail, but do so completely without remorse

it doesnt take a lot to become Martyn’s ally, and once you’ve got a foot in the door, he will take his allegiances seriously (at least, to a point). but it takes effort to really earn Martyn’s trust. and, even when it looks like you have, there’s no guarantee he won’t yank the rug out from under you if he decides having you alive is more detrimental to his survival than seeing you dead

and yes, you can especially see all of this in Third Life. Martyn was absolutely not instantly ride or die for Ren—for a lot of the earlier episodes, he won’t say he’s on Ren’s team or that he lives at Ren’s base, and often tells other players he’s simply Ren’s employee rather than teammate and that he’s wandering or homeless. he trusts Ren so little due to Ren’s inability to keep a secret or stand up for himself that even Ren acknowledges in the third session that Martyn is probably going to leave him and find someone else. Martyn’s loyalty had to be earned, and it very nearly wasn’t. if Ren had taken a session more to grow a spine, Martyn probably would have left

but Ren became an ally that Martyn could rely on, who could stand up for himself and keep secrets. it became more beneficial to Martyn’s survival to have Ren around, so he stayed with Ren for the rest of the season, and committed hard to their kingdom. Ren earns Martyn’s trust by becoming a more dependable ally, and because of that, Ren earns Martyn’s loyalty…. probably

(half related, bc i want it in the post and i don’t know where to put it: after the execution, two sessions after Ren officially earns Martyn’s loyalty, Ren admits to being genuinely convinced Martyn was going to take him out of the series as soon as Ren gave him the chance!)

because yes, even here, even after Ren earns his trust and Ren trusts Martyn to execute him and they become King and Hand, Martyn was okay with killing Ren to save himself. Martyn has said he was going to betray Ren in the final session of Third Life. his entire plan was that when he and Ren hit the final 5, he was going to kill Ren. end Red Winter, usher in Red Spring. even the most loyal version of Martyn was a traitor!

now, you can decide for yourself if you believe he could have actually gone through with this—he and Ren were 6th and 7th out of the game, after all. maybe he wouldn’t have been able to steel himself. maybe his loyalty would have, for once, been too strong to kill Ren.

but it’s very possible that even the most loyal version of Martyn—the version of Martyn who has created this “loyal” image of Martyn in fanon—was only loyal because he died too soon to show his true colors

[marimbles]

a little R&R (redecorating and resentment) between escape attempts

[frownyalfred]

“This fic would be better if—” babe this isn’t your high school English class and my fic isn’t assigned reading. it’s something a stranger wrote on the internet without an explicit request for constructive criticism or suggestions for improvement. you are not grading my smut fic on a rubric (I hope).

if you cannot consume writing without needing to criticize it, that’s a you problem. stop leaving me these kinds of comments — and if you DO: for god’s sake, please make sure you’re actually objectively correct about the criticism you’re leaving.

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[lighteyed]

can it be easy this once? / steve harrington

summary: steve accidentally gives a stupid answer to your honest question. (best friends with benefits pining idiots to lovers, fem!reader)

unedited we die like men & title from the alcott by the national ft taylor swift hehehe enjoy

It started as a means of comfort after Starcourt, when he was bloody and bruised up but you took him home and got closer, closer, closer, until it turned into a mess of blurred lines and panting breaths, lips swollen for reasons other than being hurt, for better reasons, reasons that brought forth safety and relief for the two of you. You both tend to hunger for such things. It’d been good, easy, for a bit there. Lately it’d felt like the intimacy was threatening to choke you. Like you’d never met a form of  closeness you didn’t cling to. And God, did it feel like you were clinging. Craving an unwarranted change. Was it so unwarranted? You weren’t sure, you could never tell.

    The air in his room is hot and sticky with summer, the ceiling fan providing the barest relief, your bare skin providing the slightest bit more. You stare all around his room, taking in all the stark traces of him, though in truth it doesn’t betray much, just as he attempts to. It’s a plain room, plaid walls, matching curtains, his desk messy and cluttered, all the dresser’s drawers slightly ajar like he spent a touch too long shuffling through all his clothes to determine which outfit would be best, which, knowing him in the way you do, he probably did. You knew he wasn’t as secure as he liked everyone to believe. Steve Harrington tried his best, but sometimes you saw right through him.

     Other times he was harder to read. It was probably purposeful, layers of protection built around himself. Don’t love anyone, don’t let anyone love you, and you won’t get hurt. People can only hurt you if you let them. Steve wasn’t letting anyone anymore. Definitely not his parents, definitely not Nancy Wheeler, definitely not random girls who would inevitably end up disappointed with him. He swore it all off. He was a hopeless romantic who never wanted to be in love again. You understood it for the most part. Or you attempted to. It was hard when you were halfway (maybe more than halfway) in love with the guy, in his bed most nights, in his company most days, acting like a couple without being an established couple because he was too hesitant and you were too gentle to be pushy.

    He nudges you lightly, naked chest peeking up from his covers, naked everything else kept firmly underneath. “You okay? You’re quiet.” He sits up so he’s level with you, and you avoid eye contact by leaning down toward the floor to grasp for the shirt he let you borrow, a faded Spider-Man one he insisted was from middle school. You didn’t entirely believe him, but maybe it was just funny, and kind of sweet, to picture Steve sleeping in a Spider-Man shirt and keeping it a secret just for himself. You pull the shirt on over your head, and before you can do it for yourself, he reaches for your hair and takes it out from where it’s caught under the shirt. The familiarity of it makes you flinch. You can have sex with him all you want but God forbid he’s the slightest bit loving outside of that. It confuses you, the softness in the touches that aren’t in bed with him. If he holds your hand in any context other than bringing you as into him as possible while he slips himself in and out, you lose all sense of normalcy between the two of you. You can’t be normal when he’s holding your hand and stroking your cheeks and being kind, soft, adoring Steve, without being your Steve.

     “I’m fine, I’m just…” You reach for your shorts at the end of the bed. Steve watches you get dressed with his eyebrows scrunched together, confused. You’re not usually in a rush to leave after you have sex. Not that he wants you to. He likes that you stay until day sinks into night and he drives you home and waits to repeat it all again. Waits to see you, generally. And it’s not sex every single time. You drag him to see whatever’s playing at the Hawk and he makes you sit with him at Family Video on slow days when it’s just him on the clock and a single tumbleweed blows through the store instead of any customers. He drives you just about anywhere you ask and he lets you put on any cassettes you want in his car even if he hates what’s playing. It’s nice, the friendship part of all of it. If you had to give everything else up and just keep the friendship you’d be willing. He’d be willing. You consider it. “Nothing, just tired, probably gonna head home,” you smile at him over your shoulder before pulling on your socks and it’s half-hearted and he knows it.

    “What? You can sleep here, you know that,” he waves a hand around the room, trying to catch your gaze, but you avoid his eyes again. Descending light slants in through the curtains and envelopes him in gold. He glows, he’s so pretty. His hair is messy from where you heatedly ran your hands through it, but it still looks nearly perfect. The fact that he always looks so good infuriates you.

    “No yeah, I know, I wanna like shower and stuff too, and I left my new book at home and I wanted to do some reading,” you bluff calmly, standing up from tangled bedsheets and roaming the room in search of your sneakers.

   “That Stephen King scary clown book? I’ll take you home and you can come back and read it here, so you don’t get scared,” and he knows you won’t get scared and that you love horror far more than he ever could but he just really, really doesn’t want to be alone. Why would you go when everything’s right here? His parents aren’t home and something about you leaving makes him antsy and desperate. When you still refuse to look at him he feels himself, his confidence, growing smaller and smaller. “Did I- did I do something?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound as pathetic as it does.

   You whip around to face him, finally, finally, and touch a hand to his face. Relief floods through him at the heat of your fingers. “No, of course not, it’s all me, okay? I’m all sweaty and awful.”

    “You look beautiful, I swear,” he squeezes your hand and you feel like you’re drowning. It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me, it’s me.” He scoots closer, if that’s possible. “You’re one of my best friends, we tell each other everything.” You look up toward the ceiling, inwardly groaning. Best friend.

   “You do this with all your best friends?”  

    “Well, no, Robin wouldn’t touch me even if she didn’t like girls-“ He feels himself starting to grin, teasing smile lilting at his lips.

     “Steve!” You’re laughing a little and so is he as you push his arm back. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

    “What’d you mean, then?” He’s still smiling, that entrancing, deliberately pouty, lazy smile. Vaguely smirky. You don’t know if it’s deliberate, a ploy to distract you, con you into staying, make you less prone to saying what you want to say, but you press anyway, even though he’s making you want to lean forward and endlessly kiss the smirk off his mouth.

   “I just think, I don’t know… you’re not seeing anyone else, right?”

   “’Course not, why, you got other plans after this?” He grins again. You roll your eyes. He makes it so hard sometimes.

    “Steve,” you whine, “I’m so serious right now.”

    “Okay, okay. No, you’re the only one for me.” He means it. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you seeing anyone else?” He asks you like it’s the easiest question in the world for him to ask but honestly he’s shitting his pants a little. He’s not sure what’d he say if you said yes, I am, and I think we should end this, which is where he’s assuming the conversation is going. You’ve got we shouldn’t do this anymore written all over you in his eyes and he’s steeling himself for the heartbreak.

     “Does it look like I am?”

     “Does it look like I am?” He repeats back, and he reaches for your hand in that too intimate way of his, takes it all careful and slow. “What’s this about?”

     “I just, I just think, that, you know, I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re not seeing anyone, but we’re sorta… seeing each other, yeah?” You gesture between the two of you. He nods. He’s staring at you very intensely, waiting for you to get your words out. He’s still waiting for you to say you think this whole thing has been a very bad mistake, a miscalculated judgement on your part, you should go back to the way things were, so he’s not expecting what comes out of you next. “Shouldn’t we be, like, official, then?”

     And instead of throwing up all the ways he so badly would love for that to happen, he chokes out, because he’s stupid and speechless, “Official?” And the way he says it, like it’s a curse when it’s only his disbelief that you’d want that with him after all this time, makes you immediately go into panic mode.

    He quite literally sees the way you lose any sense of confidence in your question and he immediately tries to take it back as you stand from his side and start trying to force your words back in your mouth, too. “Fuck, forget I said anything,” you mumble, spying your shoes shoved under his desk where you’d comfortably kicked them off. You hasten to put them on as Steve scrambles up from the bed and starts dressing, matching your frantic speed.

    “Hey, wait, that’s not what I- I didn’t mean it like that-“

     “It’s fine, Steve, I get it, I totally do, this isn’t that for you, it’s fine-“

      “It is, it is-“ but you’re not hearing him, your mind is already elsewhere. It’s in your own bed in the quiet, alone with your thoughts and not with him, mercifully not with him. You need this one mercy, “I’ll drive you home, babe, c’mon, I’ll explain everything, please-“

    “I got it, it’s fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to explain, okay? I got it,” and you don’t just walk out of his house and down the block to yours, you absolutely flee. You take Steve’s heart with you.

      He’s pacing the floor behind the register at Family Video three days and three shifts later, practically clawing at the walls of the place, and Robin is pulling her hair out at the sight of him in distress this way.

     “What did you do?” She finally breaks, flipping her magazine shut.

      “What? How do you know it was me?” He stops pacing. He hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

       “You’ve had three shifts and she hasn’t visited one single time. She always visits. And I know I didn’t do anything wrong, because I never do anything wrong, so, what’d you do?” Robin places her hand under his chin and stares at him expectantly.

      He huffs, his hands on hips. “Maybe she did something, Robin, did you ever think of that?”

     “Definitely not,” Robin retorts, waiting for Steve to be serious.

      He deflates. “Okay, it was me.”

      “I know that, now continue.”

      “We were, you know,” he tilts his head down and raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes.

     “Having sex, sure,” Robin bobs her head. A customer in the nearest aisle frowns and shuffles toward a different section further away from the two of them.

     Steve shushes her. “I wasn’t trying to say it so loud.”

    “Having sex,” Robin repeats, louder this time, not bothering to fight back a laugh at Steve’s exasperated expression, “continue.”

      “Well, after that, she started asking if, if I was seeing anyone, which of course I’m not, because, you know, I’m into her, obviously, so I told her I wasn’t, and she said she wasn’t, so she said maybe we should be official.” Steve hesitates to say the rest of what happened. He still can’t believe all he could do when you said the words was repeat them back to you with that stupid look on his face instead of giving you the biggest, loudest declaration of love in a big, messy, pathetic, devoted way, the way he pictures himself when it comes to you, messy and pathetic and devoted, and he replays that moment back to himself all day long, thinking of everything else he could’ve said to make you understand.

    “That’s what you want, isn’t it? She’s all you talk about all day long, you want to be with her, don’t you?”

    “Of course I do!” He snaps, dragging a hand across his face. “But when she said it I just couldn’t get the words out and she got, she got so sad and she left without me being able to explain anything and she hasn’t answered the phone which, yes, I’ve been calling, and I don’t know how to do this.” He’d never been good at school but he knew he’d get a Grade A in Pitiful.

    “Do what? Tell a girl you love her? You’ve been in relationships before, Steve.”

    “I know, but…” he sighs. “I’m different now, like, it’s not as easy anymore, for me, and I- I don’t want her to get hurt, and I don’t want to get hurt, it’s like, everything used to be my fault, and I wasn’t as good as I could have been, and I don’t want to break anything, I don’t want it to get fucked up, because it’ll be my fault, and I can’t do that again. Not to her.” He swallows, the words harder to come by than he would care to admit. “I’m a little… I’m a little in love with her, I think.” This is said quietly. It frightens him to say it out loud. He’s gone over it in his head, those words, so few of them, but they say so much, and it’s scary. He hasn’t said them to someone in years. The last time he did he got so brutally hurt he thought he’d never recover. But he had. So why was it still so scary?

    “A little bit?” Robin teases, but it’s all love for him, truly.

    “Alright, a lot in love,” he concedes. He wants to get used to saying it. He wants to say it to you. For real. Loudly. “I still don’t know how to do this, though. Not anymore.”

   “Come on!” Robin gets up from her stool and places her hands on his shoulders. “You’re supposed to be Steve Harrington. You were using those…” she pauses for a beat and then, “charms,” the word is said with the smallest hint of sarcasm but she persists nonetheless, “on tons of girls in high school and at Scoops! Now whip them out again for our very nice friend that you sometimes go to town with!”

   “When did any of those charms,” he says it with a matching sarcastic tone, “work aside from when I was sixteen and an idiot?”

   “You might not be sixteen anymore but you’re still an idiot, if that helps.”

    “It doesn’t but thank you for the encouragement.”

    “I’m just saying!” She exclaims, throwing her hands up and returning back to her seat. “Putting yourself out there is always gonna be scary, but you can’t let that stop you. You’d actually be an idiot if you let that stop you. Are you just never gonna see her again? No, because you’d go insane. It’s not like what you did was all that bad anyway.”

    “You really think so?” He perks up a bit, needing that confirmation that he isn’t a totally awful and irredeemable person. It’s easy for him to fall headfirst into that spiral of thinking. It was a trap set with the most accessible, perfect bait and he somehow always found himself walking straight into it without stopping to think if he was being fair to himself.

    “You’ve both been in bad spots, you reacted the way you did and she reacted the way she did out of what was most likely panic and embarrassment. She’s definitely not even mad at you. Probably just, again, embarrassed. If you explain I think it’ll all be okay, Steve, I swear.” Robin can’t take much more of this conversation circling around, as much as she loves Steve and wants to be there for him, she would love him even more if he acted on his feelings and allowed himself some happiness for once.  “So do you think you can you, like, maybe go tell her so she can keep visiting us at work? I need more company than just you and Keith and these customers with no taste,” she complains, glaring at the closed door that hides Keith, in all his absolute glory. The customer from before hears her comment and storms out. Robin rolls her eyes.

    “Right, yeah, tell her I love her, tell my best friend I love her,” he frowns, nerves creeping up the back of his neck. “Maybe you could just call her first and ask-“

     “Steve! I am not meddling in your love life like that when you already know everything there is to know!” She throws her magazine at him. “She said she wants to be with you, go be with her!”

    “Alright, alright!” He waves his hands dismissively. He begins to pace again, this time his eyes held to the clock. Robin groans. There’s still three hours left of their shift.

     You’re in your room wallowing, or doing what’d you call attempting not to wallow but failing at it miserably. You haven’t touched a single page of your book, mostly content to just listen to sad records and more or less stare at the wall. It was stupid, you knew, to behave in such a way over some guy. But it didn’t feel like some guy. It was Steve, after all. It all felt deeper than just some guy. You two had been through a lot together, more than most people have been, and if you’d just ruined your friendship with someone you always felt safe, felt at home with, over feelings you couldn’t control and probably would be better off not having, you were going to need some serious therapy.

     It probably was silly of the two of you to start this thing up anyway, you reason, fighting back your urge to do any further crying into a pillow. You try to focus on painting your nails a nice shade of dark blue but it reminds you of Steve’s old Scoops uniform and of that night (and all that nights that followed) so you stop in the middle of your second thumb and grab nail polish remover and start scrubbing away at your finished right hand.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” you mutter, the cotton ball in your hand soaked through with blue and your nails discolored and muddy. “I am ridiculous,” you say to yourself, shaking off your wet hand. Your room is filled with the smell of acetone and disappointment. You think about lighting a candle when your doorbell rings. You debate answering it before it rings again. And then again. And again, more frenzied this time.

    You open the door to a distressed Steve. His cheeks are red and he’s breathing like he can’t anymore. He’s not the multi-star athlete he was in high school, he realizes in this moment. “Did you- did you just run here from work?” You ask him, but he’s already too close to you, not answering your question, gazing at you because simply looking isn’t enough and has never been enough. He is gazing. He is flush with adoration. It’s hard not to bloom under that radiance. He makes you want to forget everything and go back to plush lips on hot skin and the quiet contentment that came alongside being with him in those first few months. You back up a little into your doorway but he steps up to you, following your steps. “Where’s your car-“

    “Forget that for a sec,” he says, and you stop talking out of surprise. “Just, just tell me if we do this it’ll be okay, and we won’t be terrible for each other, and we’ll be good,” because he needs to hear it, even if it’s ridiculous and he’s jinxing it before it’s begun he needs to know you’re right there with him. “Like, just tell me it can be easy this once. If you broke my heart I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it. ‘Cause I love you. I do. And I want this.” And you get it. He’s letting you get it. He’s letting you all the way in. You realize, flustered and basking in it, that he’s the first one to say those words. That you hadn’t even said them when you posed your first question. But he’s saying them out loud and it’s brilliant and beautiful. He is beautiful.

    It makes you want to weep, the love that swells here, out in the open. “Fuck, Steve, what type of girl do you think I am, breaking the heart of the guy I’ve been in love with since he started sneaking into my bedroom?” He smiles. He glows. It’s so beautifully Steve. Maybe it can be easy.

    When he kisses you, he proves it: the ease, the tranquility. He is fervent and burning. Everything is urgent with Steve. Especially kissing. He captures every bit of you immediately. His touch is light when he urges you out of your doorway and into your living room so he can shut your front door and quit giving the neighbors what he’s sure is the show of a lifetime. It is for him, at least.

[saeugen]

satoru getting jealous over something silly turns out to be worse than he expected.

what the hell?

satoru has to do a 360 to make sure what he’s seeing is real. he blinks. once. twice. thrice.

it’s still there.

a small pout slowly makes its way onto his pink lips, adorned with the glow of his saliva because of his nervous habit of licking his lips. seriously, can’t you notice him in distress?!

he thinks he might faint when he sees you bat your pretty lashes ever so innocently up at the man you’re talking to— bloody. geto. he gulps, hoping and hoping that you don’t find interest in his best friend. you’re both giggling about something, and suddenly satoru is counting all his flaws.

the strongest, confident and secure of his looks having a sulk because of you. he cant even call you his sweet girlfriend because you’re torturing him here. he crosses his arms like a big baby, turning his head away as thoughts overcrowd his mind.

who cares if you’re already his? geto has potential. plus, satoru did overhear a couple of students complimenting the two of you…

your precious white haired boyfriend snaps out of his delusions when suddenly you’re in front of him, geto following behind as he chuckles aloud. “hi, baby!” you say so sweetly satoru can’t help but smile.

“hi,” he huffs out, hands in pockets as he eyes you. you’re so cute he could eat you right up. maybe then youll get the hint to not flirt with his best friend right in front of him—

“so. me and geto were talking…” you start. satoru has to raise a brow because where is this going???

suddenly he’s overthinking again, and you notice when he’s licking his lips fervently. tilting your head, you frown a little.

“well,” you let out a small breath, and that only serves to make satoru more wary. “i was gonna apologise on behalf of the both of us for eating that chocolate cake you were saving, but… you okay?”

satoru blinks. once. twice. oh. this is even worse. he’s gonna pass out. he hopes he hits his head hard on the ground when he does.

“what????”

[surielstea]

Ensnaring Marks

Eris week day one: Bargains

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Rhys’ sister!Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel decide to take part in Eris’s coronation, only to end up in one of the new High Lords traps.

Warnings: Mentions of UTM | petnames (bunny, love) | reader is lonely

A.Note: I wrote this last year as a one off so it might be a bit… well, not good, but I promise the rest of the week will be better 🙏😭

4.3k words.

I sat on the hardwood floors, leaning against the base of the couch, Azriel seated behind me as he flitted through a chapter book. I had my head back on the cushion, waiting for his chapter to end so he could finally give me attention, this silence was beginning to grow deafening.

I stared at the elegant panes of his face, his sharp nose and his hazel eyes scanning the words on the pages rapidly. My eyes trail down to his hands that clutched the book, sickening scars trailing from his wrist down to his fingertips. The white marring was a pattern I've memorized, trailing my hands along the grooves when I got too anxious and occasionally a small kiss to his knuckles to remind him that he shouldn't be ashamed of them.

"You're staring." He grumbled and a small grin formed on my face as shadows curled through my hair.

"You make it hard not to, Shadowsinger." I tease, it was no secret that Azriel was the most attractive of the three Illyrian brothers, no matter what your type was— Azriel was quite the stunner. He closed his book and put it on the armrest beside him.

"What is it that you want then?" He arched a manicured brow and my grin widened as I pulled myself up onto the couch, swinging my legs over his lap as I lounged back.

"I'd like you to tell me something," I ask as shadows come to swirl around my ankles. "Tell you what?" He mutters confused.

"Anything you want, what's on your mind?" I tilt my head and he closes his eyes like he needs to sift through his thoughts before he can answer.

"Beron died." He muttered and I rolled my eyes.

"Old news." I wave him off, the event happening weeks ago.

"Eris's coronation is tomorrow. He asked me to come." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest like the invitation was a threat of some sort. My smile dropped.

"Will you?" My brows knot together and he gives me an incredulous look.

"He invited everyone from the inner circle, but it felt more like a mockery than anything," Azriel grumbled. He knew that talking bad about the people of the Court of Dreams got under my skin more than anything and I had a newfound urge to choke out a certain redhead.

"We should go." My eyes light up and he looks at me like I'm insane, but stays silent, looking down at my feet in his lap. "If he invited us as a joke, we should go." I snort and he shakes his head in protest. "It'll be funny! Not to mention the drama it'd stir." I giggle mischievously and Azriel gives me eyes that were a full lecture on their own. "Oh don't act like you're not a total gossip, shadows tell you every secret you want to know." I kick his thigh playfully and he grumbles under his breath as I remember the nights we would share wine and converse over whoever's tittle-tattle that shadows informed him on.

"I don't gossip, I tell the truth." He states and I snort at the ridiculous claim.

"You need a refresher on the definition then because you've just proven yourself to be a pot stirrer Az." I pat his shoulder and he shrugs me off. We stay quiet for a moment, my hum of laughter filling the silence as he mulls over my ludicrous idea.

"Okay." He nods and I raise a brow.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Okay, we can go to his coronation." Azriel hummed and I blinked, confused as to why in the hell he'd ever agree to such things.

As if he'd seen the shock on my face he supplied a reason, "I have to go there to talk about contracts and alliances the day after so why not just arrive a day early?" Azriel poses and I smile excitedly. "This isn't just some ploy to get me out of the house?" I ask with a chuckle but there is some truth to it.

Ever since Rhys left for Under The Mountain I haven't quite been the same. I didn't leave the house unless I was with another, the whispers on the street about the High Princess. Those long hours spent with Keir in the court of nightmares, hosting it while my brother was away. Hating who I was then, cold and distant, both inside the court of nightmares and dreams. It was rare I got out, much less left courts. I didn't like the rumors, the talk on the streets, the theories. Most of it was idle talk, some of it had truth— and it was that minuscule portion that scared me the most.

"Yeah, I'd like that." I nod and he offers me a gentle smile, slightly forced but comforting nonetheless.

"Do you want to invite the others?" He asks and I take a moment to think about it, but decided that if Mor knew she'd be pissed, Rhys wouldn't go, Amren doesn't care, and I'm pretty sure Cassian would rather chop his own hand off. "No," I shake my head. "Just you and I could burn that court to rubble." I intone, crossing my arms like we'll need to do such things. and he raises a brow— that apparently intrigues him. "Joking." I smack his shoulder and a warm grin came to his face, genuine.

"Are you?" He narrows his gaze on me and I look away mischievously.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face if I took his court." I give him a gleeful smile, something like pride shines in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind seeing the prince's face in general," I grumble afterward, and the pride he held swapped for something of the opposite. "It's not my fault he's hot!" I throw a decorative pillow at him which he swerves with an ease I envied.

"It's your fault you find him attractive." He pushes my feet from his lap dramatically and I giggle at his childish behavior.

"You have to admit, he could turn you." I tease with a smirk and he glares at me. "If he didn't open his loud mouth he'd be perfect." I sigh dreamily, leaning back into the couch, utilizing the entire space as he gets up to put his book away.

"That's always the problem with the men I date. So pretty, until they start speaking." I huff, standing up and following him to the bookcase like one of his own shadows. "Maybe I should go for the quiet ones." I hum. "I ought to practice on you." I wrap my arms around his bicep and he bristles, lightly shoving me off as I cackle.

"You're not funny." He mumbles, walking over to his desk where he has unfinished work to complete.

"Don't act like I'm some sort of monster for teasing. That's all you and Cass do to me." I roll my eyes as I watch him sit on his stool. "You actually get the ladies, it's easier to joke about when it isn't true." I sling an arm around his shoulder and this time he doesn't shove me away.

"You would get males if you left the house." He grumbled in retort and an idea blooms in my head. "That's the idea for going to the coronation." I grin and he grants me a sidelong glance. "Is that why we're going?" He asks and I shake my head. "No!" I squeeze his bicep. "We're good allies, meaning we're there to support him," I argue and he huffs. He could never say no to me, never has. "And also admire his perfect face." I quietly mutter but it's nothing the Shadowsinger wouldn't notice.

"Go pack your bag." He shakes me off of his arm. "Just for one night. We'll find a hotel on the border." He hums and I nod, following his instructions with a new task rather than talking his ear off like usual.

——

It was the first Friday of the month, meaning that family dinner was afoot. Morrigan had spilled her glass of wine all over the Shadowsinger in a dramatic movement of her hands so he had gone to go change, meaning I was subject to sit in the center of the dining room surrounded by couples ogling at each other, they were practically drooling down their chins— and adding wine into the mix, gods it reeked of arousal.

"Horny bastards," I mutter, standing up and throwing my napkin down onto my plate. I bunch my skirts in my hands and make my way toward the hallway.

"Sister! C'mon!" Rhys races after me, following me all the way to the foyer of the large house.

"What?" I look at him confused.

"Won't you stay for dessert?" He says hopefully and I twist my lips to the side.

"I don't know Rhys, I'm tired." I sigh out and his eyes soften.

"You're always tired." His voice was a whisper his words had my feet bolted to where they stood.

"I trained with Cass this morning, I'm actually tired," I stress and he nods in understanding.

"Let me at least take you home." He reaches his hand out.

"I'm fine." I shake my head.

"Please." He pushes his hand toward me further and I look down at it. "Alright." I accept, sliding my hand into his, mostly out of pity.

He doesn't waste time in winnowing us straight to the house of wind, my feet planted solidly on the marble tiling. "I miss you." He uttered and I looked up at him, detaching our hands.

"I miss you too." I offer him a small smile but it doesn't quite reach my eyes the way he wanted it to.

"I wish you'd come by more often." Something in his violet eyes glazed over and my heart cracked.

"It's hard." I rub my hands together anxiously before deciding it best to just cross my arms. "I should be happy." A frown forms on my face and I don't have it in myself to maintain eye contact. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Something's just, missing." I shrug when he doesn't say anything.

"Something or someone?" He prods and I glare up at him.

"My love life isn't our biggest problem." I shake my head.

"But it is bringing you trouble, therefore it's bringing me grief." He mirrors my stance and crosses his own arms.

"Well that's not something we can just fix, it's an internal problem." I muster the courage to look into his familiar violet eyes. The same color as our father's own but held all the love of his mother's gaze.

"I want to be there for Nyx, for you and Feyre too. But I'm selfish and It's difficult for me to be surrounded by something I want for myself." I confess and he releases a soft sigh, then pulls me in for another hug.

"We'll figure it out, promise." He reassured. I allow myself to sink into the warmth of his hug, how similar it was to our mothers. I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his wings around us and cocooning the both of us in our own little world of darkness.

"Thank you, Rhys," I whisper. "Feels good to talk again." We haven't really said anything to each other beyond small talk after Nyx's birth, and that's nearly a year ago now. I haven't been the same since the war and found it hard to open up since. It's been a long while since he even hugged me.

"I'll see you again soon, okay?" I back away from the embrace and he nods. "Sooner than next month's dinner?" He hopes with an easy grin coming to his face and I nod confidently.

"Sooner than next month's dinner," I assure.

"Good." He smiles before walking towards the edge of the opening where he winnowed us.

"Night, Sister." He flares his wings outward. "Goodnight brother!" I wave him off and he dives off the side of the house, I'd be worried about him if I didn't hear the steady beats of his wings a moment later.

I release a long sigh and retreat to my room.

————

I stood in front of my body-length mirror, gazing at the gown I wore. It was a deep blue as an ode to my court, I always wore colors of the night when visiting other courts, and today was no exception. The gown itself was beautiful, soft silk material that moved like water. It had a dipping neckline with curtaining sleeves that hung off my shoulders, the excess fabric draping from my back in two long pieces all the way to the floor where the rest of the dress dragged. The skirt was one long piece but had a cone-like figure, excess material swooping along the sides and attaching to my waist, forming a flattering silhouette. The dress was modest in cleavage though had a long slit ripping up all the way to my hip, the toe of my heel peaking out at the base.

I was putting in a pair of silver dangling earrings when Azriel made his appearance known at my doorway. He released a low whistle and I smiled, turning around to face him. "How do I look?" I ask him. "Like the princess you are." He hums, pushing off the frame and extending his scarred hand towards me. "Do they know we're leaving?" I ask, grabbing my bag. "I don't think they'll notice." He shrugs and I slip my hand into his. Shadows twine up our connected arms and I smile at the temporary binding. "Ready?" He asks and I nod with a grin.

He steps into the shadows and pulls me along with him. I squeeze his hand tighter as we walk through the abyss of darkness. It takes a moment to know if I was even awake or not, but by the time I regain consciousness of where I was we were already back in the real world and now in the autumn court.

"I still don't understand how you do that." A shiver runs down my spine and I let go of his hand. "Here," He takes my overnight bag then it disappears into the shadows. Apart of me wonders where it's gone but I know he wouldn't tell if I asked. "Come on." His hand slips back into mine as he pulls me towards the venue of the autumn lords coronation.

At the entrance, we were greeted by two guards with bright red hair and faces that were nearly identical. Eris was a fool to think these two men could hold off Azriel alone. "Court and name?" The guard with a clipboard asked and I rolled my eyes at the extravagance of it, this isn't a wedding. "Night Court. I'm probably titled the Shadowsinger." Azriel hums, his hand squeezing mine a little tighter as the guard flips through the list, going all the way to the bottom where our section resided. "You're here, and the girl?" He glances at me carelessly. "I'm the princess of night, I don't know what the lord would put me down as." I crease my brows and lean over to peer down at the clipboard. Spotting the names put down as high lord of night, high lady, lord of bloodshed— and "Bunny." He glances up at me and my stomach twists. "Section B, seats four and five. Proceed." The two guards step aside. "Enjoy, Bunny." The other guard teases me with a malicious smile and it takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

"I forgot how much I hate Eris." I huff.

"I forgot he calls you that." Azriel chuckles and I playfully bumped his shoulder. "He clearly doesn't know that bunnies are animals of Spring not Night," I grumble, picking apart the idiocracy of it.

"What sort of a nickname is owl though?" He defends and I roll my eyes, continuing my march down the long corridor, chairs passing each side of me.

"We're awfully close to the front," I mutter as Azriel sits down in the seat we were told to. Second front row and nearly center.

"Eris's motives are always a mystery." He sighed as I sat next to him.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," I mutter. "I mean, is this rude of us?" I whisper.

"He's the one that invited us." He shrugs.

"And it was funny at the time, maybe we should go." I offer but before he can reply the music is starting and people immediately settle. Theres nobody to the right side of me, but people sit beside Azriel. Meaning the rest of my family was supposed to be lined along my right.

Royal coronations aren't nearly as fun as mating ceremonies. The best part of them was admiring the venue and all the dresses others came in. I was nearly asleep until Eris finally came out, on the dais with a priestess.

He wore a dark green tunic, nearly black. His dark red hair was stark against the cream-colored background of the manor walls. His golden eyes were practically glowing with power and I was intent on staring right at them as the ceremony went. The golden irises trailed over the crowd, across his mother, Lucien, and his other brothers who were some distance apart, a group of advisors who used to work under Beron huddled in the back, and then finally me. Our eyes locked right when the golden leaf crown was placed atop of his head and I swore it was pure power that shone in his eyes as he became High Lord. Finally high lord.

He didn't tear his gaze from mine. Not when he accepted the crown and definitely not when he sat on that throne, the one that looked as if it could swallow me whole but when he sat in it he was the one to dominate it, an absurd amount of manspreading at play as he lounged back in it. The flawless picture of a careless king.

A smile curved his lips as everyone stood to cheer. Azriel and I stood, but we did not clap, and he didn't look away even for a second as everyone bowed, and I kept my chin held high.

——

The chairs were cleared out and something like a party began, an extravagant ball morphed from a coronation. A long line of men women and children alike filed down the side of the wall, all leading up to the dais where Eris sat and answered any questions the civilians might have had. Who knew the next time they'd get the chance to speak with a high lord?

"We should probably go," I say, sipping from my wine glass. "I wanted to say something to him but there's not a chance I'm waiting in that line." I huff and Azriel hums in reply, sipping from his own whiskey. The autumn court had the best liquor and the best food. The court was always in harvest and the vineyards were always in fresh bloom. I would visit all the time if it weren't for the male that now ruled this place.

"We can go to the inn if you're feeling tired, if not I'd like to eat more." He plucks a grape from a bowl and pops it into his mouth. "I'm going to find a bathroom or whatever place I can be alone in for a moment." I excuse myself and he nods, bidding me a goodbye.

I failed at finding a bathroom but after trying a few doors I managed to find an empty room, the one for holding the guests' coats, but it was quiet nonetheless.

I release a deep sigh and shuffle through the coats, curiously passing time until the Shadowsinger is ready to go. The door of the closet swings open and I freeze as someone enters, getting caught for stealing when I was actually just hiding would be mighty embarrassing.

But I wasn't met with a guard I was met with a worn-out high lord, his head back against the door with the top of his shirt buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. "Running from your own party?" I scoffed and he startled, whipping his head to me.

"Hello, Bunny." He gave a foxlike grin.

"Don't call me that." I cross my arms but his smirk only broadens.

"It's fitting," He leans closer and flicks my nose. I flinch back but there's a lot less room in this closet with both of us in here. "Is that why you call me it then?" I stumble back as he comes closer.

"Do you know what a fox's favorite thing to hunt is?" He questions and I take another step back, my body pressing flush against the cold wall.

"I don't know, mice?" I raise a brow.

"Hm, would you like me to call you mouse instead?" His long legs close the distance between us in one stride and I'm looking right up at him. He reaches towards me and brushes his hand along the column of my throat, his thumb coming to my bottom lip.

"No," I swat his hand away but it comes right back to where it was.

"Because you're a bunny, and you're all alone with me in here, caught in my snare." His smile is malicious if not a little seductive. "I want a bargain with you." He hummed, his eyes flashing something like mischief in his eyes.

"You have nothing I want." I cross my arms in front of me.

"I have plenty of what you want." His thumb caresses against my jaw. "Your little family needs my alliance to succeed in their peace treaty," He hums knowingly. "Tamlin will go down in a feeble attempt at a fight but he'll give in. But me? With my army and skill set, it'd be war." He purrs and my skin alights with his warm touch. We would win, with the Night Courts allies we would win. But war means death no matter what, and that's the last thing we need. If I can avoid that and make sure he stays true to his word with a bargain I was willing to risk anything.

"What do you want from me?" Bargaining with Eris is tricky. He's beyond smart so any loophole he could find in whatever I make him do must be eliminated.

"I want you," His long finger trails from my ear to my lips where his thumb swipes over the bottom one.

"Me?" I scoff with a raised brow.

"Yes, you." He nods.

"Specify," I command him.

"I want you at my side for three days a week, and I'll sign your brother's little peace treaty." He nods, and my stomach drops to the floor. To give up half my freedom to ensure war won't break out— if he even would. I debate my options. I need Rhys or Amren to make this decision for me. I try to think of what they would do, and how they would approach the situation.

I know deep down they'd both sacrifice themselves and a lot more to ensure the safety of our family. So I think about my terms. "Why?" I ask.

"Does it matter?" He hums with a smile. "It's a yes or no." He shrugs.

"So if I agree to this, you'll never call out a war against my court?" I ask. He nods. "You'll sign the peace treaty and stay true to it?" My brow raises and he dips his head again. "You won't hurt any of them?" My voice is a little more soft. His nod repeats. I go quiet, thinking it over.

"Three days a week, whatever days you want." He hums like that gives me any sort of flexibility. "But you have to be by my side." He crosses his muscular arms that strained beneath his tunic.

"Deal," I mutter and his eyes glow in the dark of the closet. I gasp as ink begins to carve up my thigh. I move it out from my skirt where the slit is, revealing a deep maroon color swirling from the back of my knee all the way up and along to my inner thigh. I've never seen a bargain's ink another color than black, I suppose the cauldron liked the high lord. His pale hand came to my golden skin and brushed over the new tattoo, right along my bare thigh. When I realized what he was doing I moved my leg back under my skirt. He looks back up to me with a smirk curving his lips.

"Your neck," I reach up and brush the back of my hand along the new ink forming there, disappearing beneath his shirt. "Mine is a lot easier to hide." I hum.

"Who said I was going to hide it?" He arches a perfectly manicured brow. "I want yours on display when you're in my court," He grabs my wrist before I can pull my hand away from his neck.

"You're a fool if you think I'm ever letting it show." I snarl.

He smirks. "When your brother asks about where you got it, what you bargained to earn it, what will you tell him?"

I swallow thickly, keeping eye contact with his golden irises.

His smile widens when I don't reply. "I'll see you tomorrow, Princess," He mocks a bow and I narrow my eyes on him, about to retort but— cauldron-willed, bargains were unbreakable. I had no other choice. "Tomorrow," I whisper softly, mostly to myself but I know he heard it. How in the hell was I ever going to explain this mark to Rhys?

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Comment an “🧡” to be added to the Eris Week tag list.

[janumun]

God, you guys have no idea what this hug has done for me. It has watered my crops, cleared my acne, jumped me in my bed while I slumbered unaware, took me by the throat, body slammed me against the wall and fucked up my insides like Sylus’ big, thick, un-lubed cock. But that’s alright because I love the pain.

Sylus fuc/kers, you can bet good money I am working on another Sylus fic, smut ofcourse, based on this card for the good of my heart, soul and 🐱 ✍🏽✍🏽

The fic is now out and it can be found here ♥️

[laurrelise]

someone talk with me about an AU where delores is a real girl who somehow survived the initial apocalypse and spends it growing old with five and keeping him sane

someone talk with me about delores being five’s age when he discovers her body in the rubble and thinks she’s dead before he notices the small rise and fall of her chest before he pulls her out and desperately tries to help her breathe normally again and watches the life fill her eyes with tears in his own that he’s finally no longer alone

someone talk with me about delores being an only child to parents who she wasn’t close with leading her to become dependent on herself until she meets five and learns to trust other people before finding out about his huge family and doing everything in her power to help him not only because she cares about him and wants him to be happy but also because she wants to experience the family she’s never had

someone talk with me about how delores never had powers but survived for the 40+ years in the apocalyptic wasteland of the future due to her seriously genius mind (and five’s help) and lives to help five figure out how to save his family

someone talk with me about young five and delores searching for anything they can find to survive before they stumble upon a half-broken mannequin with a surprisingly intact polka-dotted blouse that five says would suit her so she puts it on out of boredom from looking for materials before five looks at her with the most genuine, in-love eyes she’s ever seen and she decides to keep it just for him

someone talk with me about five always making sure delores has a comfortable place to sleep, to rest, to eat, etc

someone talk with me about five explaining his childhood so nonchalantly one day once he realizes that he can trust delores to her surprise, and she asks why he suddenly had the strength to tell her and he looks her in the eyes and says “believe it or not, you’re stuck with me, and i’m stuck with you, and i want you to know who i am when we’re kicking this apocalypse in the ass”

someone talk with me about teenage five teaching teenage delores how to defend herself with the training he was given during his childhood but reassuring her that he’ll always be there to protect her if something were to happen (to which she reminds him that she appreciates it, but knows she can defend herself with the spite and sheer willpower she has to survive)

someone talk with me about five and delores having a makeshift wedding and five’s vows being along the lines of “even if the rest of the world was alive, i don’t think i could ever hope to find someone that makes me as truly happy as you do, and i will be eternally grateful that of anyone i could get stuck in this goddamn apocalypse with, it was always you, and it will always be you”

someone talk with me about the handler showing up from the commission to recruit five as a temporal assassin and delores as a case worker because they’re both dangerously smart and incredible at surviving in harsh conditions (also, the handler approached them separately to see where their loyalties lied and they both firmly explained they wouldn’t go anywhere without the other)

someone talk with me about delores getting fed up with the handler repeatedly making moves on five despite him clearly being uncomfortable until it bubbles to a climax and she punches her square in the jaw, which results in an ER trip and zero regret (plus five falling even harder in love with the woman who endlessly sticks up for him)

someone talk with me about five and delores plotting an escape plan to get back to 2019 which all goes well, except five had once again messed up the math (or so he thought) and he and delores are placed back in their 13 year-old bodies, but she confesses that she doesn’t mind seeing the boy she fell in love with all those years ago once again

someone talk with me about delores learning to trust and love the hargreeves just as much as five, as they learn to love and trust her just as much

someone talk with me about five always keeping track of dates and specifically remembering the exact times of significant events for himself and delores, like the moment she looked at him for the first time, the moment he knew he was in love with her, and the moment they decided they were going to stop at nothing to keep each other alive and stop the world from ending

someone talk with me about five and delores, the 58 year-old couple that they are, snuggling up on elliot’s couch together because they can’t fall asleep without the other one there to remind them that they’re safe and out of harm’s way (mostly)

someone talk with me about how delores has never been the type to step down, and she continues to stand her ground and be brutally honest when shes upset or wants five to listen to her, and he admires her bluntness (and frankly, needs it) due to his impatience and expectations of honesty at all times

someone talk with me about delores knowing exactly when five needs his time alone and stepping away to help his siblings as much as she possibly can, usually by encouragement or (again) brutal honesty hidden behind a kind and genuine smile

someone talk with me about five reminding delores of his love for her whenever it’s too quiet or he thinks she’s gone too long without him showing it, in every way he can think of, like letting her know that he would’ve lost his mind in the apocalypse without her (which.. he kind of did?), finding little things that remind him of her and bringing them to her, and holding her hand whenever he sees frustration or discomfort bubbling behind her eyes

[comatosebunny09]

you're good at this—playing all coy and social as if you aren't a clump of nerves ready to burst.

like your legs aren't bouncing beneath the table, and you haven't knocked your knees against its underside a few times, almost spilling your wine.

like you haven't bitten your lips to hell, and your teeth aren't stained with the pretty rouge of your lipstick because of it.

no one's the wiser to your plight. to the quiet war waging in your head and the anxiety spilling like lava into your extremities.

you'll never get used to this things, no matter how many you attend—these parties, these galas, these socialites, this acting.

none of it is you.

not the form-fitting gowns, the kohl clumped to your lashes, the facsimile of a smile you've worn all evening until your cheeks ached.

but through the chaos, one thing remains a constant: him.

him and the hand he has clasped around your thigh to tether you. anchor you back to earth. all big and warm and reassuring, and he's angling himself a little closer until your nostrils fill with the scent of cured leather and peeled mandarin. and, fuck all, he’s warm even from this proximity. so hot, you feel the pressure of his body slowly seeping into your own.

his eyes gleam like the sunset in your peripheral. silently, they ask if you're alright beneath a slightly raised brow, above a customary smirk—a mask he dons during these gatherings if only to make the time fly by. not meant to tease you, he promises. he reserves something genuine for you.

he knows you're not alright, which is why he rubs all gently at the notch of your knee—an attempt to bring you back when you feel your mind slowly disconnecting from your body.

- at an event with sylus. you're clearly nervous. you always are. so the pair of you bid an irish goodbye, and he'll murder anyone who has the gall to stop you.

- watching him sneer at the partygoers blocking your exit is low-key a turn on.

- the night concludes with you both settled on your couch in your living room.

- and, of course, kissing ensues. because why wouldn't it?

- and he's a little handsy, so deft fingers creep up the expanse of your thigh because, of course, the slit of your dress would beckon such actions.

- and sure, yeah. you're into it as he gently pushes you back against the sofa. slots himself between your split legs as your fingers rake through the riot of his hair.

- and he hums all nice and low into your mouth, very much enjoying the sticky grind of your lips together.

- this is sylus. he's always gentle. always takes care of you, treating you like aged porcelain preserved in a museum.

- so why the fuck are you so nervous?

- you’ve made out a thousand times before.

- sex, however.

- well, fuck.

[saetoru]

al-haitham’s the kind of guy who tilts his head slightly for a kiss before you even lean in to give him one. he just knows it’s coming. expects it. trusts it’ll happen.

he’s yawning when he sits at the table for breakfast, hair slightly disheveled from sleep. he sits down and when you place the mug of coffee in front of him, his head angles a little for that kiss you place on his cheek.

he’s drowned in endless paperwork at the akademiya when you stop by to visit, chuckling when he gives you that look of despair at the all the work he has to do. you don’t even manage to walk up to him fully before he’s leaning in and waiting for the kiss to the top of his head.

he’s shirtless in the bathroom, brushing his teeth at night when you walk in to brush yours too, bumping hips with his as you giggle. you don’t even have to turn before he’s tilting his head so he’s exposed and ready for that gentle peck you leave at his jaw.

“have you ever noticed how demanding you are for these,” you chuckle one day, pressing a kiss to his cheek to prove your point.

he grunts, leaning in and burying his head into your neck as you greet him at the door after a long day. “what makes you say that,” he mumbles.

“you’re ready for one before i’ve even come close,” you grin, “what if one day i don’t kiss you?”

“you’d stop kissing me?” he asks, squeezing your hips as he nuzzles into your neck. something tells you he already knows your answer.

and he’s warm. he’s close. he’s here and he’s everything all at once. he’s all you need and everything you’ve ever wanted. he’s the messy hair of your mornings and the pouty lips of your afternoons and that shirtless back of every night. he meets you halfway—maybe even takes the first step so you don’t have to.

he leans in for that kiss before you do. because he needs you, wants you, loves you—and he never lets you forget it. so you turn your head, press your lips against the side of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he sighs in content.

“no,” you hum, falling in love all over again, “no i’d never stop kissing you.”

[livfastdieyoung69]

(wait…i have to pick?);*!

(can’t i just have both of you?);*!

[reddamselette]

valgrace except leo schemes with everyone and their mother to throw jason a bonfire party with close friends and family. they sit snuggled close to each other, curled into one another’s side as everyone shares stories about and first impressions about the son of jupiter.

annabeth mentioned how she threatened him with her dagger at first, piper and their mist filled memories, thalia with baby jason antics that had her hair turn gray at a young age.

after the night ended and they all go their separate ways, leo and jason snuck out somewhere else to share a kiss under the stars.

leo's first impression of jason was how beautiful he really is and seeing him made him believe in love at first sight.

[slyzia]

A Stop For A Drink

Second art to this series! (Yes I’m making it a series I wanna draw more of them)

After drawing this part, I really wanted to write a fanfiction based off of this, I’m not a writer if at all but I’m so curious! Anyways they take a stop to get a drink and Gary just wants this to be done with already. (Probably because they’re still on their way to the location idk where I haven’t decided yet + they’re taking forever) It was a hot day too so he let it slide.

Days have been becoming colder for us southern hemisphere people so make sure you take care of yourself and warm up! As for the northern ones stay hydrated and enjoy your summer breaks! I forgot to say last post but happy pride month and I’ll catch you guys next time, smell ya later!

[britcision]

Okay but I’ve been possessed by the need for Bruce to go find the Fentons for intel on Danny

And instead of useful intel on their son (he did not need the propaganda), they clock him, recognize him as related to Jason (possibly by being forewarned) and just

FAMILY BONDING! Hello Fellow Dad, clearly you are here for our Parents Of Halfas Support Group!

Most specifically Bruce trying to insist that he hasn’t failed Jason, and Jack just cheerfully clapping him on the back with all his might and booming boisterously

“Of course you failed! Your son died! There might never have been anything you could do to prevent it, but that won’t stop you feeling like you’ve should have!”

I just want Jack Fenton to emotionally nuke people as casually as he offers them ham

[lavaflowe]

Commission for @xxtheturtlefromhellxx !! It’s from their super cool fic you guys should totally read ✨✨✨✨