#I’m not hitting my reading goal anyway so

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Illuminating ||

Jack Hughes x reader

-a ficsmas fic-

(not proof read)

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Jack likes to get pizza after a good game. Lately the Devils have been doing pretty decent, so Jack has been having cheat days

In fact Jack has been saying he’s done with the healthy life;

“I’m so done with those gross green smoothies.”

“so glad im not on that diet anymore.”

~

Tonight, the devils play the Canucks. If we lose we will get pizza, and if we win… we will get pizza. Tonight is a special night. It’s the Hughes brawl.

“Babe!” I yell for Jack. I’m making a green smoothie for him. Luke walks out of his room. “Ooo. Nice.” He laughs.

“Do you want one?” I offer.

“Hell yeah.” Luke takes the cup of green liquid that I set out for Jack. I really have no problem with it. I was going to make one for luke anyway.

“Jack!” Luke screams for him.

“I’m coming Lukey.” He barked back.

Luke, ironically loves the green smoothies, apparently they "cut the junk food out of his system."

“Try it. It’s sooo good.” Luke sips out again. He stumbles over a yoga block I was using for Pilates last night. “Oops. Sorry Luke.” I laugh.

“It’s alright.” Luke snarls. He sits in a recliner in the small living room. He turns the TV on. “Jack.”

“What.” Jack answered- in a ‘I’m annoyed’ kind of tone.

The Jersey house is always so chaotic. Luke always stretching and working out, or playing games on the living room set up. Jack doing whatever with Luke or causing trouble with me. I'm always in the room Jack and I share doing work. Sometimes late at night Luke screams in his room from playing Fortnite or watching a stupid play from the game before.

“Remember. Tonight Y/n and I are getting pizza.” Jack waves infront of Luke’s face. Motioning to see if Luke is listening.

“Yeah- alright- Jack! Jack! Move I can’t see the screen.” Luke moves his head to see the cartoon that’s playing. “Yeah I got it! You two lovers are gonna go on a pizza date! Now move!” Luke hits jacks hand out of his face.

“Okay bye Lukey.” Jack laughs. He grabs my cold hand and takes me upstairs to our room.

Tonight, I’m dropping the boys off at the rink, and I’ll be at home watching the live stream of the game. “I wish you could be there tonight.” Jack whines.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry bubs. I just have to much writing to do for the meeting tomorrow.”

I work for a large company in the PR field. Im in charge of sales tonight.

~

We're running a few minutes behind. Jack can't find his phone, Luke is in the car warming up and I'm calling Jack's phone to help my clumsy boyfriend find the stupid phone.

"Jack!" I yell from the door. Jack comes stroming down the stairs with a smile on his face.

He waves his hands up in the air. "Found it." he laughs. Jack runs out to the car and i zoom into the drivers seat.

~

Jack kisses me before jumping out of the car. Luke follows after, I wish them a goodluck and pop the back open for their gear, they set their bags off to the equipment manager and run inside.

~

I did lots of my speech, and collected data. I look up at the tv screen. Jack scored the 6th goal against Vancouver. 3rd period is about to end and I jump into the car again. Luke is hitching a ride from Curtis, apparently Lazar was going to take Luke home and make him babysit while Curtis and his wife go out- not that I have Curtis yeh idea.

-

“I’m so excited!!” Jack almost bursts out of his seat. The devils had an amazing win against the Canucks. Fortunately, this can make Jack really horny or really cuddly tonight.

Jack places his hands onto my thighs while I drive, Jack tells me directions to this new downtown place he never seen. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t just go to new York. It’s only 15 minutes away.” I whined.

“Because.” Jack responds. He plays with my hair and looks at me star struck. The starts shine in his eyes.

“Look of love huh.” I tease him a bit.

Jack blushed and halts his hands up. “Stop!” He screamed.

I look at him lol he’s crazy. “I wa showing to! It’s a stop sign.” I scoff. Annoyed but in love. I lower his hand and asked him to pony me to the next street.

“Park. We can walk. Please, it’ll be fun. Like one of your stupid rom-coms.” Jack smiled maliciously.

~

After parking in the street I double checked that my car was locked and nothing valuable was in sight. Jack grabbed my hand. It was so pretty out. The dark sky hover over us, but the street lamps shine a pathway for us- even better the stars above us made a beautiful view. We looked so happy and proud of eachother. The trees a little dead. Snow on the ground. The cobblestone sidewalk getting slippery and slippery up the hill we’re walking on.

“Right here.” Jack motioned his head to the right of us.

Of course, hack has the sidewalk rule down. He is on the left side if the right sidewalk and we’re walking at a slow place so I can browse at all of the trinkets the stores have for show.

We walk into the pizza shop and it immediately gets warm, and smells like garlic and cheese. “Holy pizza galore.” Jack laughs, he pulls my closer. I’m wearing low rider flared jeans, and a cute white sweater. Underneath I have a sexy lacy bralette and a black tank top to keep me warm. Jack has in his DREW hoodie and some grey sweatpants. I look cute, and he looks hobo-ish.

“Did you take-”

“Yes baby. I took a shower after the game.” Jack finished my sentence. He pulls out his wallet, “what do you want?” He points at the menu.

“Umm. Pepperoni duo with the fries and bacon.” I whisper in his ear. I feel like a fat baby when I order. That’s something Jack admired. He loves that I’m not scared to eat in front of him.

“Hey!” He starts up with the owner, “yeah uh I’d like two pepperoni pizza and the duo with the fries and bacon.” He hands the guy his card and pulls his wallet out to put his card away after.

My hand is on jacks back, “babe.” I said under my breath. Letting Jack know that he needs to tip.

“Right.” He whips his wallet out again. He slides in $20 into the tip jar and we wait for our order.

~

We walk around for a good spot to eat. Our pizza is blazing hot, and our loaded fries are bubbling form the cheese and bacon. “Here.” I stop. There are some benches at the coast.

“Look at NYC.” We stare at the beautiful city across from us. “Beautiful.” Jack replies and he smiles at me.

“How smooth.” I laugh and nudge Jack in the side. I kiss Jack on his warm lips. Jack pulls me into his lap. I sit in between his legs and my chest holds his food while mine are in my lap. We watch the stars and talk about life.

Jack puts his cold hands down my back to warm himself. My black tank top slides down as Jack slides his hands down my underclothes. “Oh” Jack mutters.

He lifts his chin up and kissed the top of my head. “How beautiful.” He mutters. He feels the Victoria secret bra o have on. “How beautifully done you are tonight.” He says in an old English accent.

I laugh and hold his other hand that isn’t in my shirt.

He picks me up and kisses me. I feel his tounge deep through my lips, his soft overgrown stubble scratching at me. I pull him closer. My arms wrapped around his neck, I’m on my tip toes as Jack pulls me up higher. Jack lifts me up all the way, he scoops under my ass. I hold in while Jack picks up our trash and walks over to the trash. My legs wrap around his torso. The stars illuminate above us, twinkling. Making this moment so special.

Just like the Rom-Coms we watch.

~

We danced for hours under the moon. Then of course Luke asked if we could pick up some Chinese food for him and as the best future sister in law I stop Jack from kissing me more and grab Luke his stupid food.

[cforbes]

How absolutely insane would it be to spend my December rereading tlat over a decade after I read it the first time ??

[intomybubble]

Ah

So Act 12 of A3 has been done for a long while now huh. I’ve been using yaycupcake for my translations and the site hasnt been updated with Act 12. Now looking at the more recent events, a lot havent been translated either… hopefully I can still read everything even if I have to hunt for event translations…

[dwaekkicidal]

Lessons

˚ʚfwb!Bang Chan x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: Just a regular session of your best friend helping you learn Korean <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fem!reader, nicknames; ‘honey and good girl,’ pvssy slaps, playful ass&thigh spanking, Chris calls himself Daddy once lol, rough sex, creampie (try to pee after sex pls <3)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: max and I spoke about this a few weeks ago and it was soo hot so I wanted to write something for it,,, but then I lost motivation for it for a while😭 anyways hope u enjoy <3

OH and thank you for 700 followers!! (im late so now so ~25 away from 800) :''') I have something planned for if/when I hit 1k hehe, Love u guys :>

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After you had moved to Korea, you made it your sole goal to be completely fluent in Korean as soon as possible. You knew the basics and some vocabulary that got you through day-to-day encounters, but holding an actual conversation past introductions was rather difficult. So, this is how you found yourself in your current situation. Your best friend and fuck buddy of 2 years giving you weekly Korean lessons.

And this? This was a normal thing between you both. Sitting in his lap practicing while he sits there explaining things and kneading your thighs mindlessly. It was a normal occurrence! The only difference is you usually wore sweats or some sort of bottom that would cover your legs more. Today was one of the hotter days of the week, so you disregarded the extras and opted to only wear one of his shirts, nothing else.

His hands rubbed eagerly up and down your thighs, squeezing the flesh like he does with soft pillows. Again, it was normal, but today he seemed to be restless with his movements. You couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he mindlessly squeezed the flesh of your inner thigh rather roughly while he translated a word you couldn’t figure out. “What is up with you today? You’re more touchy-feely than usual.”

“Sorry haha. Had a long day so I’m fidgety.. And you know I can’t resist you in nothing but my shirt.” You only hummed in response. You believed what he said, but you also knew that he wasn’t stupid and that the apology was not for his roughness as much as it was for how riled up he knew you were getting. He was never actually sorry about being physically affectionate with you, but you both knew how you tended to get very horny when his hands were on you so desperately.

“Mmmm.. Let me play with you a little while you read, okay?” You shake your head and push your study items away, pulling a laugh from him when you mumbled out ‘Fuck that, I need you.’

“None of that hahaha. Focus on the reading, honey.” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaning down and biting into your neck. You groaned and leaned back into him, grinding against him in an attempt to make him fold in your favor. He let the first few grinds pass as he left hickeys along your neck, but the second your hands cupped him through his shorts he grabbed your hips to still your movements.

“Hey.“ The commanding tone in his voice caught you off guard and had your hands immediately stop in their tracks. “Stop that. You’re going to finish reading this text and then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

“It’s not that serious, Chris. It's just a few paragraphs, we can do it after or just skip out this week.. Plus it’s your fault I’m this horny anyways.” The attitude in your voice makes him narrow his eyes, and then he grabs your chin and angles you to look back at him.

“Watch your tone. And I’m not gonna tell you again,” His hand grabbed both of yours and placed them on the table before moving to spread your legs open for him. Then, he finishes his sentence and enunciates each word with a harsh smack to your bare cunt. “Finish. Reading. The. Article.” The last one comes off harder than the others and it pulls a squeal from you, making your hands shoot down and wrap around his wrist while your legs slam shut against his hand. He grabs from your inner knee and hooks your legs over his, keeping you spread for him, and he pulls your book closer again.

You can feel the teasing smile on his face after he places a kiss on your cheek and then speaks against it. “You only have one article left, honey. The quicker you read it, the quicker I can bend you over and fuck you into the table~” You can’t help but whine and nod. Once you look down at the material again, Chris’ hands that were previously rubbing your inner thigh move back to rub along your wet folds. 

Then for what feels like the next hour, but was really just 20 long minutes, you slur out the words in front of you as best as you can. Chris’ left hand swapped between drawing circles into your clit and pinching your nipple, while his right hand shoved fingers against your walls. And every couple of minutes he would swap between kissing your neck to sucking hickeys into your collarbone. However, you weren’t allowed to cum and any time you mispronounced something or took too long to read a word, a stern slap was sent against your clit. As long as you continued to read well, he would pump 3 of his fingers in and out of you.

By the time you’re halfway through the material, your mind is foggy and you’re almost drooling on yourself from the constant edging. By the time you’re on the last sentence, your legs are shaking and you're slumped against him letting out quiet moans. Your neck and collarbone were so red from his incessant suckling, and you were desperate to get this over with. And then, when you finally finished, he stopped all movements to place a soft, congratulatory slap on your thigh and massaged your hips.

“Good girl… Now was that so hard?” With that, he hurriedly clears the desk before helping you stand and then standing himself. The chair you both rested on was kicked backwards and your whole world spun as he suddenly pinned you to the desk. You whined as his hand held a tight grip in your hair and pushed your face into the table. His free hand playfully squeezed and slapped at your ass a few times before you heard his shorts and boxers hit the floor.

You sighed out his name as he teased his tip through your folds, silently pleading with him to hurry it up. “Shhhhhh… ‘Atta girl. You did so well, baby. Now let me take care of you, yeah?”

He finally sunk in and nothing but low, whiny moans left your lips as you clenched around him. His free hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it in appreciation while he slowly sunk every inch he had to offer. Once he bottomed out he gave you only a little bit of time before his thrusts started, albeit slowly at first but quickly ramping up due to his own impatience. It doesn’t take long for him to change to an unforgiving and rougher pace, his hand still holding your head against the table.

“Fff-fuck.. Christopherrr-”

“Yeah yeah, baby. Daddy’s got you. ‘M nice and deep, just how you like it right?” You missed the way he smirked when you let out a desperate ‘Uh-huh’ in response, but you could feel the way it encouraged him when his hips slammed against yours with more eagerness. He keeps this pace up for a while until he feels you tighten around him, and then he changes to slow, deep thrusts that make your eyes roll into your skull. 

The hand in your hair slides on top of yours on the desk, intertwining your fingers, and he leans forward to place his forehead between your shoulder blades, “Mmmm keep squeezing me, Honey. Fffuck, juuust like that..”

When you’re tipping over the edge, he places a kiss on your sweaty skin and moans against it. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just how you like it, okay?” You want to nod, but everything hits you at once so you can only cry out against your desk.

As your orgasm starts to fade into overstimulation, he fixes his posture and focuses on his hip movements. A squeaky moan falls from your lips as he suddenly bottoms out and the hold on your hip tightens. He threw his head back and bit his bottom lip as he came, attempting to muffle his whiney moans. He rides out his orgasm by sometimes pulling out and snapping his hips harshly against yours.

“Fuck… If that’s how we end the studying session from now on, I might consider this payment.” He jokes.

You let out a breathy laugh and he starts to pull out slowly, pushing you into the table as he did so. You take the moment to catch your breath when you realize he’s gone quiet and there’s the light feeling of breath on your thighs. Your head snaps back and you realize he was kneeling in order to watch his cum slide down your folds.

“Hey!” you whine and place a hand on his forehead, pushing his face away only for him to resist, so you use your feet to push him harder. He laughs at your embarrassment and stands up, pulling you to sit up as well and lifting the shirt off of you. He uses it to wipe you down before throwing it into your hamper and grabbing one of his spare shirts from your dresser. He steals a kiss before covering you in the shirt, then drags you to the living room to watch a tv show together.

You two spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching tv and relaxing in each other’s warmth. It’s no surprise when soft snores are heard and you look down to see his sleeping face squished into your chest. You huff out a laugh before you snuggle him closer. Then, your eyes get heavy until they inevitably close, and you fall asleep too.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

[cupidbedsy]

𝗻𝗲𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ; 𝘯𝘩13 ୨୧

➪ summary: after another loss, nico begins to think the captain spot just isn't for him

➪ warnings: nico thinks he's a shitty captain, nico has negative thoughts, the 23-24 devils (real)

➪ word count: 1.7k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: this was so hard to go back and read, i felt so bad for him after this game. anyway, justice for nico next year fr

© cupidbedsy (sunflower-lilac42) ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

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One after the other the Lightning scored. Devils bounced back once, twice, three times but it wasn’t good enough. Would anything he did be good enough? Was he doing enough as captain? Was he pushing them as hard as he should be pushing them? Was he contributing to their loss? Was he the reason?

All those thoughts plagued Nico’s mind as he walked back through the tunnel both upset and embarrassed with his team’s performance. He wasn’t sure if he was mad enough to break something, most likely his stick, or if he was embarrassed enough to hide from the crowds and the fans on the internet.

He felt disgusting, beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead, and his hair greasy and sweaty as well. He could feel how he smelled as he took off his gear and threw it into the cubby. He attempted to calm himself, taking a deep breath just as she taught him but it wasn’t working. 

He felt annoyed, frustrated, and angry as he did post-game, all these feelings were sitting up front in his mind, ready to flow out of his mouth as he answered questions. 

“Disappointing, I’m embarrassed a bit, to be honest. We got outworked, outplayed in such a big game. The way we performed is embarrassing.”

“I wish I could answer that, just not good enough. I have to calm down here and think about it. I don’t have an answer right now.”

“I hope everybody thinks about what team they want to be a part of coming down the stretch. If we want to be a playoff team, we have to figure something out.”

He finished getting change, gears reeling in his mind as he put his suit jacket back on. He was the last one out of the locker room and with it being All-Star break, he was glad he didn’t have to look at anything even remotely hockey-related for a while. 

He saw her in the distance, pacing back and forth. It was an unusual look for her, usually, she was the calm one in the relationship. In reality, she was nervous about how to calm Nico down. From the moment the Lightning scored those two goals she knew how much Nico would be blaming himself. 

She locked eyes with him after two minutes of him just standing there staring at her, “You ready?”

He just nodded, running his hand through his hair again. She sighed and held out her arm for him which he took immediately, his hand intertwining with hers. She gave his hand a squeeze and he retaliated with one of his one, walking in silence to her car. Nico was in no state to drive so she opened the passenger door for him, allowing him to climb in. 

She took a deep breath after shutting the door and making her way to the driver's side. As she rounded the front of her car she looked at him through the front windshield, he looked disheveled. He looked sad, dejected. She hadn’t seen him look like this in a while, maybe even ever. She opened the driver's side door and climbed in herself, turning on the radio and adjusting her mirrors as if she hadn’t been the one driving before.

She played lo-fi music on their back to her hotel, Nico already had planned to stay the night with her. The car ride was silent besides the soft beats coming from the speakers and the raindrops hitting the car. She had the air conditioning on low, it was 70 degrees in Flordia. She had taken her jacket off, handing it to Nico who held it close to his chest. 

Halfway through the drive, she glanced over at her boyfriend to see that he had now taken his suit jacket off and wrapped himself in hers. Nico’s eyes were looking everywhere but at her, not even daring to risk the chance of their eyes locking again. He knew the second they did, he would blow a fuse or start bawling his eyes out.

When they got to the hotel, y/n pulled into the closest spot possible. They sat there for a few minutes, both of them debating on what they wanted to do. She looked at her boyfriend, eyes saddened by how he looked, “You ready to go up?”

He hadn’t spoken a word since he finished post-game, not wanting to say anything he would regret later, so he just nodded. They both exited the car and walked into the hotel and to the elevators. Nico reached for her hand when they got into the elevator and it started to move up. She gave him a soft smile, tightening her hold on his hand.

They walked to her room, y/n swiping her card and opening the door wide for him. They stood in the entranceway of the room, both silent and looking around. She looked at him as she threw her keys on the counter and went to take his suit jacket out of his hands, her jacket still lying around his shoulders.

“You gonna go take a shower, baby?”

He nodded slightly, giving her all the strength he could muster right now. She sighed again and nodded, kissing him on his shoulder before rubbing his back. Before he could get far, y/n handed him the clothes that she had brought down for him. He smiled a very small, but grateful, smile at her before turning around and walking into the bathroom. 

She let him be for a few minutes, changing into her clothes before knocking on the door realizing that the shower wasn’t running yet, “Neeks?”

He let out a very soft and deep ‘hmm’ as he stopped whatever he was doing, “Is there anywhere specific you want to eat.”

He sighed, “I’m not really hungry.”

She frowned at his words, worry seeping deep into her brows, “I know, honey, but you got to eat something.”

He didn’t sound frustrated when he spoke, he knew she was right but he just wanted to go to bed, “I’m not hungry, y/n.”

She was slightly taken aback by the use of her name, he never called her that. She looked up at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes, “Okay. I’m going to order some food just in case you want to eat later.”

He didn’t say anything after that, turning on the shower. When she heard the water running she walked away from the door and sat on the bed, toying with the edge of her pajama pants. She turned on the TV, scrolling to find anything remotely interesting to watch. 

She ordered pizza, one of the simpler things to get delivered, and one that was open this late at night. She played along with the Game Show Network, Family Feud was on right now. She looked up when she heard the bathroom door click open. Nico stepped out, his gray sweatpants hung low on his hips and his t-shirt was clutched in his hands. He walked over to the bed, looking at the TV to see what was on.

He crawled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s hips, and laying his head in her lap. Y/n ran her hand through his now freshly washed hair. She almost cried herself when she felt her pant leg dampening from tears, “Honey…”

“It’s my fault, y/n. I can’t lead this team to the victory we need. I can’t do anything. I can’t fucking shoot. I can’t score. I can’t- I can’t-” His breathing picked up and y/n lifted his head from her lap, making him sit up so she could look at him face to face.

She cupped his cheeks and brought his face closer to hers, “Breathe, honey. It’s okay, just focus on me okay? It’s gonna pass, I promise.”

A few breaths later, his breathing regulated into its usual pattern, “I’m gonna need you to listen to me, Nico.”

He nodded his head but didn’t look into her eyes, “Look at me Neeks.”

He did, his eyes gazing into hers causing him to tear up again, “It is not your fault, you hear me? I cannot tell you how amazing you have been doing for this team. This team would not be the same without you. Remember when you got hurt back in October? They were not at their best.”

“That’s because-”

“No. It had nothing to do with Jack. Even when Jack came back they still weren’t playing well but as soon as you came back you went what? 8 and 2 in 10 games. You have done nothing but keep this team and their good spirits up. You are the core of this team, Nico. They cannot do it without you. So what people say differently. Screw what they say, hell even screw what Lindy says.

“You cannot bring yourself down because of what the team couldn’t do. Sure you can go on and on about how you could’ve helped them practice or given them advice but at the end of the day, they are in charge of their own performance. Do not let people bring you down because you are better than that.”

Nico held tears in his eyes, starting to slowly believe her. Those negative feelings that had hit him at the end of the game left his mind and he just buried his head into her chest, letting her run her hands through his hair and rub slow circles on his back. 

“I love you, and I am so so so proud of you.”

He sniffled, “Thank you. I love you too.”

She kissed his head and moved him to lie down under the covers of the bed. Nico let himself be fully encompassed in her arms with the soft noise of the TV still playing in the background.

𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗝𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗦 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

@blakesbearsblog @toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @prettyjoseph @nicole01-23 @auriesphantom @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43 @petite-potato4 @thehuggybearslover @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943 @dyslecticdutchman

© cupidbedsy (sunflower-lilac42) ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

[meat-loving-meat]

sorry I saw “trans allegory” and blacked out

what’s the most underrated piece of fiction you’ve ever seen? For me it is the Johannes Cabal books series about a Necromancer running a carnival. Honestly, I’m shocked it doesn’t have a cult following

[mryoyo000]

Wicked book and musical: on Glinda (SPOILERS)

I waited a bit to write this until hopefully the Discourse™️ has settled a bit but I wanted to say something about Glinda in the novel “Wicked” vs. the musical/movie.

SPOILERS

One thing I’ve seen people talking about regarding the book vs. the show is expressing disappointment regarding Glinda as Maguire depicts her, versus how she is changed for the show. Glinda in the musical follows a fairly typical kind of character arc, beginning as the archetype of a superficial, popularity-obsessed rich girl, who grows in depth and maturity over the course of her life (kickstarted by her relationship with Elphaba) and by the end has become, if not the primary heroine of the musical (which is Elphaba), a character who we see has earned her title as the Good Witch.

I said this in my precious post, but again it bears repeating that “Wicked” the book and “Wicked” the movie have not only completely different target audiences but also completely different goals as stories. I’m not trying to criticize anyone who saw the show or movie first, and felt disappointed by the novel—or really anyone who didn’t care for the novel in general—but I think that some of the criticism the book has gotten recently, after the movie came out, doesn’t take into account that in many ways, the book and the musical are completely different works with the same character names and broad plot outline.

So I’ve seen some people expressing disappointment that in the book, Glinda “regresses”, that she’s racist, that she’s not actually a good person, etc. And I can definitely understand how this rubs people the wrong way—whether in comparison to the show or even just to the Oz books or the 1939 movie in general. Glinda in pop culture is about as synonymous with good as the Wicked Witch of the West is with evil, and seeing her depicted in such an unflattering way is probably not what a lot of people anticipate or necessarily enjoy reading.

(In my previous post I already addressed a different criticism, which is Glinda’s comparative lack of presence in the novel—she’s the POV during Elphaba’s time at Shiz and then largely fades out of the story before a final confrontation. I maintain my stance this is what works for the book, which saves Elphaba’s perspective for the end after showing us all of the people she’s lost first.)

But it is true that in the Maguire book, Glinda’s “goodness” is a cynical punchline for a character who, in her reunion with Elphaba, has become this:

[Glinda speaking] “‘Yes, I had been at an orphanage on the shores of Mossmere, and for a lark I thought I’d go to the game park—they have dragons there now, and I’d never seen a dragon—so I was scarcely a dozen miles away when the storm hit. We had terrible winds even there; I cannot imagine how a ceremony could have been in progress in Center Munch. In Mossmere there were whole sections of the park closed to visitors due to the fear of falling trees and escaping Animals—’ ‘Oh, so they call it a game park, with Animals?’ said the Witch. ‘You must go, dear, it’s a lark…’”

and this

“Glinda turned yellow-pink. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I was fond of Fiyero and he was a good man and a fine statesman. But among other things, you will remember he was dark-skinned…’”

Knowing about Elphaba’s history with Dr. Dillamond and general involvement with the cause of Animals makes Glinda’s casual mentions of Animals in game parks that she visits even more unpleasant. And while it is definitely indicated that Glinda was in love with Elphaba, I don’t think her comments about Fiyero here are some sort of deflection to hide her feelings about Elphaba—this would be overly convoluted and anyways Glinda could have denied the suggestion of an affair without making a racist comment.

Glinda here is an archetype that I think many people are familiar with especially in current discussions about society and politics: the idea of the supposedly “benevolent” elite, doing lots of public charity and good PR, while actually aligned with the forces of oppression out of convenience and material benefit. Elphaba explicitly calls her out on this:

“‘You are working in collusion with the Wizard to render Munchkinland ready for annexation,’ said the Witch. ‘You have no agenda of charity, Glinda. At least don’t fool yourself. Or are you really under some rusty spell of Madame Morrible, after all this time?’”

Glinda’s “goodness” in Maguire’s telling is the exact opposite of Elphaba’s “wickedness”—one is rewarded and praised for her participation in the Wizard’s regime where the other is ostracized and eventually treated as a criminal for her attempts to rebel and resist. The book “Wicked” is in some ways a story about failure, and while Elphaba’s lifelong failures are the focus of the story, Glinda adds to that thematic focus—she is yet another disappointment in Elphaba’s life (in addition to Nessarose, and Boq, and her father, and so on) and one that stings in particular because she could have been better. She was better, at one point. And Glinda has failed herself, too.

In the quote above, there is a nod to the suggestion that Glinda and Elphaba’s fate and even their actions as adults may have been influenced by Madame Morrible’s spell. But Glinda herself says to Elphaba: “‘I’m no pawn…you do have some choice.’” In that very same scene, in fact.

I can’t blame people who dislike the novel for being quite cynical and pessimistic in its outlook of humanity, but at the same time that cynicism is what drives a lot of the characterization. Glinda in the novel is not the friend to Elphaba or hero that she is in the musical, and she isn’t meant to be. Viewing the book primarily as a political satire, Glinda fits in well as a parody of a particular kind of figure, and it’s both intriguing (in my opinion) and controversial that Maguire uses a character so strongly associated with goodness to make that point.

[elodieunderglass]

🎀

Fanfic ask game: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/769295248269705216?source=share

“🎀 how do you decide when something is done?”

That’s such a good question, thank you! I know where I’m going with my (recent) fics because they’re all mechanisms.

They’re like a little clockwork item that I hand to you, and when you wind it up, it Does Something. It opens up to show you something inside, or it unfolds to be something else. Or it’s a puzzle box with something exciting. Sometimes it mostly just shows you how it’s made. Sometimes it’s a jack-in-the-box and the surprise is just that it goes “pop” and makes you laugh.

It’s important that the construction be witty. In addition to the overall mechanism working properly, it’s important to me that it be done in a stylish way. Even if I don’t pull this off, I know it’s done if it’s managed to meet the goal of the mechanism and also be a bit collectible and stylish.

This is how the jokes are supposed to go off in your brain:

Anyway, I know they’re done when the mechanism works!

Sharpe’s Daemon is a very quick character study set up so the last line hits like a punch: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58673878 It’s supposed to be satisfying and funny and make you go OH NO. I knew it was done because it does this! All the writing before the punchline is there to make the punchline happen. It was written with the ending in mind: once the ending was achieved, the fic was done, and ready to be served!

The absurdly ambitious Strange Pilgrims (Good Omens) is many things, but one of them is “two interlocking spirals, one black and one white. It is about how the universe, the depicted ship, and all the small things are also in this shape - the love between the characters being the same geometry as the underpinning physics of the galaxy etc etc etc” https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368694/chapters/46082842 so it SLIGHTLY bothers me that the earlier-written chapters are weaker and unbalanced it! Also, when they announced there was going to be a Good Omens season 2, I was so disgusted that I had to scramble madly to finish the damned thing early ( it initially had a shape that could support the development of a sequel. They would have been very pretty next to each other but MY 123k baby is a Pratchett love letter, not advertisement for some other guy.) that’s why it has the absolutely unhinged Choose Your Own Adventure multiple-ending mechanism, where you select a glitchy tarot card to get “your” ending, and you can choose to stop there or interlock it further. I have not seen that done before and I CAN SEE WHY PEOPLE DONT DO IT.

His Delicious Materials (Dungeon Meshi) https://archiveofourown.org/works/56658973/chapters/144024799 is a work in progress and actually has me puzzled because the intention of the mechanism may have changed! It was scoped as a gift, but - I am so touched by this - other people like it too, and I may have to do one route for the original recipient and another for the other readers. Like the person it’s for would enjoy a cuckoo clock, but the people reading it are going “oh this is a GREAT music box” and I’m like oh dang, it WOULD be a very effective music box.

Weasel Heart in Defiance (Dungeon Meshi but as an argument with Tolkien) https://archiveofourown.org/works/60074548/chapters/153284221 is going to be 125k in order to set up an ending scene in which - having spent 125k with these idiots in their silly world - you cry. And you go THANK YOU ELODIE I GET IT. And it sets off a Halfling Revolution in your heart. That scene’s already written, and the rest of it is just colouring in. That one is already done, basically.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello~ I don't know if someone has already ask this but I'll just ask anyway. What made you so interested in Jade? I'm not saying it's a bad thing or anything of the sort. I'm just very intrigued.

Also to feed into your J-word brain rot I present to you this, but picture Jade. Lol I saved this photo as hot damn Sebastain.

Hello, hello!! ^^ I’ve made a post before that explains my interest in Jade, but if I’m being entirely honest 💦 it’s all over the place and difficult to read because of how often I go all caps and keyboard smashing. I’ll try to summarize my thoughts here in a way that’s more digestible and calm.

I love many of the little details about his face: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, how his brows are arched, etc. I also have a visceral, near animalistic urge to tug on that black bit of hair he has sprouting out...

His manner of dress also resonates with me! Jade is usually well covered and in formal attire, and I think that makes it more exciting on the instances when he dresses down (whether that be going without his gloves or choosing something more casual to wear).

His intelligence. I've always preferred characters who rely on their smarts over their strength to achieve their goals, and Jade fits the bill. One particular example is how his UM is limited in scope and usage, so he has to carefully plan and strategize about how and when he casts it. It's nice that Jade can also loosen up and use his cunning not necessarily for nefarious deeds, but just to tease others.

He plays support and he plays it well. I also have a tendency to like "helper" characters (butlers, bodyguards, knights, etc.), which is another archetype that Jade slots into. He is highly competent as a vice dorm leader, personal assistant, and right-hand man (eel?) to Azul. Plus, Jade knows when and how to play to his strengths (especially when it comes to deception and disarming others) and adapt to any situation he is placed in. Jade has even earned the approval of the notoriously hard to please Vil!

He keeps you guessing, and you'll still never even see it coming. I think it's interesting that he appears more docile than Floyd, yet Azul warns his peers that Jade is the more dangerous twin since Jade won't telegraph his schemes or bad moods (unlike Floyd). I 100% agree with Azul; not knowing what Jade has in store or when it will hit you is much scarier--but also much more thrilling in a way, haha...

Similar to the last point but much more specific; I love Love LOVE those moments when he's smiling while saying the most horrendous things (the infamous "what I'd do to anyone that betrays me" line lives rent free in my head). I also adore it when Jade is lying to your face and overacting (like when he pretends he got dust in his eye in book 4). He's so dramatic while lying his heart out, it makes me giggle.

Jade works with many of the tropes I like to go for when I want comfort. Househusband/domestic life stuff, butler looking after you, etc. I have a habit of overworking and forgetting to take care of my needs, so it's easier for me to remember if I pretend like Jade's the one doing the self-care for me.

I appreciate that he appreciates nature. I don't get to touch much grass (not that I don't go outside, it's that there isn't much grass in the area I live in)... so I get very excited whenever I get to just enjoy nature in its purest form, taking in that fresh air. It makes me feel like we're kindred spirits.

The duality of eel. Overall, I'd say that the reason I like Jade so much is because he can be many things which typically run contradictory to one another. I think that makes for a fun character that keeps me on my toes ^^

NOT YOU USING “J WORD” TOO… 💀 It’s spreading… just like a bunch of spores…

Aaaah, it’s Sebastian!! It’s been years and years since I read Black Butler (I think I stopped around the Blue Cult arc?). He’s still just as effortlessly elegant as I remember him being… I guess that’s par for the course for one hell of a butler, huh?

Here, lemme just… *crudely draws on him* THERE WE GO, THE J WORD SSR FOR AN EVENT WHERE WE VISIT THE LAND OF CRIMSON LONG :>

Thank you for your question and the rot fuel 🥰

[vashs-ass]

TRIGGER WARNING // SA

Analysis of Vash and His Assault in Trigun

Now that I’ve finally finished the manga, I want to discuss why I believe the fifth moon incident in Trigun is supposed to represent sexual assault. Apparently this interpretation is somewhat controversial so I’m going to go over how I see it. If you have a different interpretation that’s completely fine, I’m not trying to say one is more correct than the other.

One other thing I will preface this with, is that I do not think Knives canonically SAed Vash. I think the situation is supposed to be metaphor for sexual assault.

So anyways, why do I think it’s supposed to represent sexual assault and not physical assault? In my opinion, Knives’ main objective is not to physically hurt Vash, his goal is to force Vash into preforming non consensual acts.

The symbolism in fifth moon is very heavy handed. This is the first time we see Vash be assaulted. Knives is depicted as completely naked. Yes, there is an explanation for this in the plot but I do think it was a deliberate choice.

Prior to the fifth moon incident, Vash has no memories of what happened at July. This is unusual because Vash does not have a pattern of shutting out distressing events in his life. He’s able to remember his childhood and Rem’s death in great detail. So something about what happened was particularly disturbing and violating to Vash in a way he’d never experienced before. Even Knives notes that this is unusual, apparently expecting the incident would have ‘after effects’ for his brother.

During this initial discussion Vash begins to recall some of the memories of what happened, or rather, what he felt. He describes the feelings surrounding what happened as ‘something horrifyingly sick’.

Now we will get into the meat of things.

The visuals of the actual assault are horrifying. Nightow uses some great body horror to amplify the severity of what is happening to Vash’s body. During this assault, Knives is constantly grabbing at Vash’s body, forcing it to do what he wants. This one particular panel I don’t see talked about much really hit me in the gut, with knives standing naked between Vash’s legs. This is kinda what solidified everything for me.

Knives is almost always seen holding a hand over Vash’s eyes and his heart. This is a very intimate gesture and I think this can have a lot of different reads depending on who you ask. For me covering his eyes further takes away Vash’s control over what’s happening to his body, Knives’ hand clawing at his heart representing his desire to violate Vash’s very being and take it for himself. To possess him. To objectify him.

He asks Vash how it feels, and Vash can be seen sobbing in what I think is emotional agony rather than physical pain. Having this happen to him again seems to have triggered the memories he had tried to burry.

Other people have pointed out that the angel arm can be seen as a phallic symbol. I’m not really sure where I fall on this idea but I thought I’d mention it at least.

I will also point out one more instance of assault after fifth moon because this is not the only time Vash is assaulted by his brother

I think this takes place towards the middle of the manga if I remember correctly. This scene (to me) represents the ‘loss of self’ victims often feel as well as the physical aspect of sexual assault. Knives briefly attempts to force Vash’s body into his. He stabs Vash through his arm, pinning him down in attempt to ‘merge’ Vash with himself. When it doesn’t work he rips it out of Vash which seems to cause him horrific pain.

The fact Vash goes on to use his angel arm to save people later on in the story is very powerful. It was once a reminder of the violations he had endured but he reclaimed it as well as his bodily autonomy.

After this there are a few other more minor instances of Knives violating Vash, but I won’t get into those because I feel I’ve made my point. If you have anything to add I’d love to hear it!

[taesancult]

Taesan fingering you until you squirt all over his hand and you’re just too overstimulated that your legs shake even at the slightest contact of his fingers on ur skin !

YOOO my face went 🫨 while reading this… ur mind is so powerful like this mental image is so GOOD-

18+ stuff under the cut. mdni.

picture this with me… he LAUGHS when you squirt on him. i’m assuming we’re talking about meanie!taesan here since that was the theme of our discussion last night (he’d react differently if he was in a softer mood, probably more shy but)… anyways…

he would be overstimulating you, his fingers gliding in and out of your already soiled pussy. you would be telling him to stop, saying it feels funny, as he continued to hit that one sensitive spot in you over and over again. “d-dongmin, s-stop it’s too much, feels like i’m gonna pass out!” you’d whine as you have a grip on his hand. he was relentless as he wanted to see how far he could push you, he would tell you “you asked me to make you cum? i thought you wanted this?” he’d say with a smirk as he kept going. he knew if you really did have a problem you’d use your safeword, so he was confident you were just being “a little bitch” as he would say. squirting wasn’t necessarily the goal, but rather the goal was getting you fucked so dumb, but once it happens he’s elated. you would whine and complain that it feels like too much, him telling you to “be quiet, take it like a good girl.” once he saw the way your body reacted, the way your pussy would squirt for him, he was in shock, but so smug about it. he would shake his head, lightly laughing.

he would see the big mess you made all over his hands, maybe even on part of his body too, and absolutely degrade you for it. saying things like “are you kidding me? even your body is so dramatic. can’t take what i give you even though you beg and plead for it.” like he’s just so cold and distant sometimes in this role and it’s so attractive. in his mind, though, he finds it so hot how you reacted so aggressively to him. you would pout at him, saying “it’s not my fault! i told you too much!” you’d whine out as he would smile, not being able to hide how adorable he finds you like this. he’d gently trace his fingers along your thighs, seeing you flinch from just from the softest touch. your legs were still shaking for him as he lightly graced his fingers along your body, making his eyes go all dark from the power he has over you.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Top Shelf Love: Chapter 2

A/N: Has anyone else been watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs? Just Me? I haven't decided yet who I want to be in the final ever since my Canes have been eliminated... Anyways! All this to say that it's been fun writing this hockey fic while watching hockey, and I hope everyone enjoys reading this latest chapter :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Despite having played the Kraken in Seattle once last season, Cassian has to admit it’s pretty nice being on the home side of Climate Pledge Arena. Sure, playing in a place like Madison Square Garden most nights was a dream, one he held since he was just a boy, but there’s something to be said about all the upgrades and modernity that a newer arena has to offer.

Following the director of team services out of the elevator, they come to a set of frosted glass doors, the Kraken logo split between the two. As they step closer, the doors automatically slide open, revealing the locker room, and Cassian barely swallows down an impressed whistle. It’s certainly spacious, even for an NHL locker room, LED lights and the Kraken logo displayed on the ceiling. At least, he won’t have to worry about stepping on it here.

“Valdarez.”

Cassian turns just in time to see a tall man walking toward him, blonde hair cut short and beard trimmed to just a stubble along his cheeks. His grin is wide and easy, revealing the chipped upper tooth on the left side. It’s easy enough for Cassian to recognize the captain of the team, Fionn Donoch. He still remembers watching him lift the Cup back when Cassian was just a teen.

“Wanted to make sure I came down to meet you myself,” Fionn continues, holding out his hand for Cassian to shake.

“Are you sure you didn’t just want to come down and remind me who’s really in charge here?”

Fionn laughs good naturedly at the joke, slapping Cassian on the back. “You’re going to fit right in here. So, what do you think so far?”

Cassian glances around the locker room again, thinking back to the practice facilities he’d toured earlier. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice, all the fancy arena upgrades.”

“Definitely not the worst place to call home, right? Listen, they don’t have the ice down yet, but I can still show you if you want.”

At Cassian’s nod, Fionn leads the way out of the locker room. They pass through a glass lined hallway, Fionn explaining how during game days, it’s lit with blue LED lights, how fans typically line the other side, banging the glass and getting the boys going. Then they’re stepping onto the home bench and the arena floor, and Cassian gets to appreciate what the view will be from ice level. He turns slowly in a circle, taking in the stands, the scoreboards, the afternoon light streaming through the wall of windows.

He takes a deep breath in, and for a moment, he can almost hear it. The blare of the goal horn. The roar of the crowd. He can almost feel the cool bite off the ice against his cheeks. Can almost feel the surety, the peace that comes from having it beneath his skates, from the comfortable weight of a stick in his hands.

“Have you met with Miller yet?”

Cassian shakes his head of the daydream, turning back toward Fionn. “Yeah, I met with the whole staff earlier this morning.”

He and Fionn continue to talk shop, talk the system, before making their way together toward the garage and their cars. Or, in Cassian’s case, his rental car until he’s able to secure a new apartment and get all his things shipped out. He supposes he should check in with that realtor Eris connected him with again.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out,” Fionn tells him, offering another easy grin as he hits the remote of his car. “Even if it’s just food recommendations.”

“Thanks, but I’m actually meant to be meeting up with a friend after this. She’s going to give me the whole tour of the city and all that.”

“She, huh? Let me know if I need to pass her number along to the wife. I don’t think they’ve done dues yet for this season.”

Cassian chuckles at the teasing smirk on Fionn’s face, the implication of his words. But then he thinks back to Nesta. Thinks back to the photos of her Instagram, to those icy blue eyes and that damn expression on her face. He can’t deny there’s been a low, simmering heat in his gut all morning, sparking at the fact he finally gets to meet Nesta, finally gets to witness that fire in person.

“Only if I’m lucky.”

~ * * * ~

Large, looping letters declare Grumpy & Sunshine Books above the door, the window display to the left of the door decked out with an artsy display of flowers and hanging book pages. Cassian glances down at the phone in his hand, the Map displayed on the screen there, confirming he’s in the right place. With a nod, he pockets his phone and presses forward, stepping through the front door.

The scent of paper and ink greets him as soon as Cassian steps inside, along with something vanilla. A candle that he can’t see? There’s a table display of books immediately inside, and Cassian casts them a cursory glance, taking in more looping text and what looks to be a variety of cartoon characters on the covers. He weaves around shelves and more table displays, past a wall of vines and succulents and a pink neon sign declaring Most ardently.

And at the very center of the store, Cassian finds the register and the woman he’s looking for bent over a book behind it. Cassian had known Nesta was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen since he first saw her picture, but seeing her in person is another thing altogether. Seeing her standing there in front of him almost has him wanting to drop down to his knees right there in the middle of the bookstore.

Her hair is braided back in an intricate updo, but with her head bent down, a strand of golden brown hair tumbles down her temple and kisses her jawline. Deft fingers brush the hair aside and behind her ear absently, further revealing the sharp cut of her cheekbones. When she turns the page of her book, her lips part, eyebrows jumping, and Cassian thinks he might give anything to see her eyes properly, to see if they spark and flare along with whatever she’s just read.

He’d give anything to have those eyes on him.

“Reading on the job?”

Nesta snaps her book closed, her attention finally rising, and Cassian gets his first look at those blue eyes he’s so often thought about. They’re a similar shade to Feyre’s, sure, and yet so different somehow. They seem to burn with a silver fire that leaves the cool shade of them looking like a storm roiled sea, especially when that gaze narrows on him, her lips pinching into a scowl.

Cassian doesn’t let the reaction deter him. If anything, it only stokes the embers in his own chest, beckoning him into the flames. He closes the final few steps between them, leaning against the register counter with a smirk.

“Nesta Archeron,” Cassian greets.

“Cassian Valdarez.”

His name falling from her lips shouldn’t sound as sweet as it does, especially with the clipped tone she speaks it, but a zing of electricity still skitters down Cassian’s spine nonetheless. What would it take to have her saying his name again? To have her sighing it? For him to taste it?

“So you do know me, then?” Cassian drawls, daring to glance down at her book. A Calanmai Secret. “And yet, you couldn’t answer any of my texts.”

Nesta crosses her arms, leveling him with a hard look that Cassian is sure is meant to send him running. “Most people would take that as a hint. Yet here you are. In my bookstore.”

“Feyre said you’d show me around the city.”

“Feyre asked me to show you around. I don’t recall ever agreeing.”

“I’m starting to think you’re the grumpy on the sign outside,” Cassian chuckles softly, hoping to at least earn the hint of a smile at his teasing joke.

Instead, Nesta settles both hands on the register counter, leaning forward. “Buy something. Or get out of my store.”

Cassian tilts his head, taken back by the harsh reaction. He’ll clearly have to work harder to get her to smile or laugh. Challenge accepted. Already, he can hear Az’s voice in his mind, making a dry comment about his taste in women. Already, he can see the way Rhys would roll his eyes.

“Fine,” Cassian says easily with a shrug, stepping back from the register counter. “The historical section is…?”

Nesta merely points to a bookshelf to his left, so Cassian turns his attention toward it. He grabs the first book within reach, the spine a blue and green. He’s intent on striding right back up to Nesta and proudly purchasing the book, but then he catches sight of the cover. Of the shirtless man that takes up the cover, the model’s skin clearly oiled up so every ridge of muscle is on full display. A tartan hangs low on the man’s hips, and just above the man the title is scrawled, Highland Escape.

“This… is not what I meant.”

Rather than direct him toward the historical fiction section, Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, her lips tugging up into a smirk. And, oh, there’s a real challenge blazing in her gaze now, that fire that had called to Cassian even in photo form sparking in her blue eyes. It’s beautiful, that look on her face, daring him to play.

He glances around the bookstore again, this time with fresh eyes. The greenery on the walls, the different table displays, the pink neon sign with an Austen quote. Of course. He’d heard of bookstores like these, ones that specialize in romance novels.

When he looks back toward Nesta, she has that same daring expression on her face, her smirk already starting to grow as though she’s won. As beautiful as it is, as beautiful as she is, Cassian refuses to back down. Heat flares through his chest as he fights back a smirk of his own, more than ready to keep this game of theirs going. He clears his throat and turns back to the shelf, sliding the book in his hand back into place. He takes his time reading the different titles along the spine before finally settling on a different book, tugging it free and sidling back up at the register counter.

“I’ll take this one,” Cassian tells Nesta with a grin, sliding the book across to her.

Nesta hums, glancing down toward the book he’s selected. Viking Bride. Cassian waits for the mask to slip, to see a hint of a reaction take over her face, but she’s nothing but cool and silent as she rings him up. The transaction complete, she tucks his receipt into the cover of the book, sliding it back over to him.

“Have a nice day,” Nesta offers, her tone mockingly sweet.

Cassian reaches for the book, his fingers brushing along Nesta’s own until she snatches her hand away. “You know, I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

Nesta snorts and rolls her eyes. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Oh, yeah, Nes, you’re a real ray of sunshine right now.”

“Don’t call me that.”

There’s no stopping Cassian’s smirk at earning that reaction, a little tidbit he tucks away, even as he continues, “but it’s not really fair, is it? I mean, you don’t even know me. This is literally our first time ever meeting. What could I have possibly done?”

Nesta’s face falls, a new emotion flashing through her blue eyes. It’s certainly the cool, haughty mask slipping away, but not how Cassian wanted. He frowns at the sudden change, but before he can even begin to attempt to decipher what that emotion is, what that expression could mean, Nesta turns away from him.

“If I give you a tour of the city, will you leave me alone after that?”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta doesn’t know what she expected. She knew, in the back of her mind, that despite never responding to a single one of Cassian’s texts, that that wouldn’t be the last of things. But she can’t say she expected him to show up at her bookstore. Didn’t expect him to stride in with a smirk and an easy confidence, to almost proudly buy a viking romance novel.

She wants to hate that he still looks as good as the last time she saw him at Feyre’s engagement party. His hair is loose, dark curls hanging around his temples and tumbling down to his shoulders. His eyes are a hazel as bright as Nesta remembers, a maze of greens and golds that seem to spark with a flickering flame. And that cocksure smile has no damn right being as attractive as it is.

She wants to hate the way he didn’t back down from her ire, from all the quips she threw his way. Instead, he only seemed to rise to meet her, seemed to enjoy it as though it was a game between them. She wants to deny the way his fingers brushing against hers sent a shiver ricocheting up her arm and down her spine.

And he doesn’t even remember her.

She’d felt stupid that night in New York, but she feels even more stupid now. She certainly hadn’t expected an apology or anything, but this is like a slap in the face. And on the heels of that churning feeling roiling through her gut is anger. It burns red hot through her veins, flaring like a wildfire that licks between her ribs.

“If I give you a tour of the city, will you leave me alone after that?”

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, that cocksure smirk finally slipping. “You want me to leave you alone?”

“What are you doing here?”

Nesta’s attention snaps toward the new voice, finding Emerie standing just inside the door, her brown eyes narrowed on Cassian.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Cassian answers easily despite Emerie’s clipped question. He holds his hand out toward her to shake, but Emerie doesn’t take it. “I’m Cassian.”

“I know who you are,” Emerie tells him airily, stepping behind the register counter.

She reaches out as she passes, fingers curling around Nesta’s wrist and squeezing lightly. It’s a silent question out of view of Cassian’s eyes, to check that she’s alright. Nesta meets her best friend’s gaze and offers the smallest hint of a nod.

“You do? Are you a hockey fan, then?” Cassian asks, unaware of the silent conversation happening without him.

Emerie snorts at the implication. “No. There’s only one hockey fan in this bookstore, and it’s not me.”

“I feel like you don’t like me either…” Cassian comments quietly, tilting his head slightly. “Is everyone the grumpy on the sign? You might want to consider a new name if there’s no sunshine.”

“Gwyn is the sunshine, and trust me when I say you’re lucky that you don’t have to deal with her.”

Nesta has to press her lips together to keep from laughing at the way Cassian’s eyes widen slightly in horror. It’s certainly not a misplaced expression. Gwyn was one of Nesta’s first friends when she first moved to Seattle, and while the redhead is one of the kindest people Nesta has ever met, she’s also the fiercest. Beneath all the bright smiles and easy laughs there’s a viciousness that can and will be released, especially when it comes to those Gwyn cares about.

“I don’t know. You said there’s one hockey fan, right? And I’m guessing it’s this Gwyn. Maybe I do want to meet her. We can talk all things Kraken.”

“Gwyn’s a Nashville fan,” Nesta informs Cassian. “They’re her hometown team.”

And dedicated to her hometown team she is. Nesta doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the first time she and Gwyn went to grab dinner at a sport’s bar, the first time witnessing the way Gwyn ranted and shouted at the large television on the wall.

Nesta waits for Cassian’s face to drop again at this newest tidbit, but what she doesn’t expect is for his grin to grow wider and stretch across his face, for the golds of his eyes to glint. He looks like a child that just stepped foot into a candy store, like this is exactly what he was waiting for, and it has Nesta frowning in confusion.

“My brother plays for the Preds. Azriel. You know, if she wanted, I could probably get her a signed jersey.”

“Gwyn would absolutely lose her mind,” Emerie comments under her breath.

“And what’s the price for this signed jersey?” Nesta dares to ask, squinting suspiciously at Cassian.

Cassian shrugs a shoulder, all faux innocence. “Well, you clearly don’t want to give me a tour, so how about just dinner? You can give me a list of your recommendations then.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“A dinner for a jersey. Sounds like a fair trade to me. Don’t you think, Nes?”

Nesta sighs, shaking her head. “Fine. One dinner and in exchange, you’ll get a Nashville jersey signed. By the whole team.”

Cassian’s smile twists into a smirk, gaze flickering and darkening as he holds his hand out across the register counter. “It’s a bargain.”

Nesta already knows she’s going to regret this, but she reaches forward, sliding her hand into Cassian’s. His fingers curl around her own with ease, his grip surprisingly gentle. His hand is so large compared to her own, practically swallowing hers whole, and the callouses slide against her palm when she pulls her hand back. She has to forcibly shove down a shiver before it can skitter up her spine in reaction.

“Let’s go, then,” Nesta says, gathering up her things where she stored them beneath the register.

She and Emerie share one final look before Nesta leads Cassian out the door and back onto the street. Thankfully, it’s a short walk to one of the local restaurants that focuses on PNW cuisine, a good introduction for Cassian to the city and area.

“So, I have to ask,” Cassian begins once they’re seated at a small table near the back of the restaurant, the waitress vanishing with their drink order.

“Ask about what?” Nesta asks, not even bothering to look up from the menu even though she already knows what she’s going to order.

“About the bookstore.”

Nesta’s gaze flicks over the top of the menu in her hands, eyes narrowing. “Some people like to read, meathead.”

Cassian tips his head back and lets out a booming laugh, earning a few curious looks from the other tables. “Did you really just call me a meathead?”

“I’ve seen you play, seen you fighting other players on the ice.”

“Are you watching my games, sweetheart?” Cassian asks, leaning across the table to smirk at her, those hazel eyes of his glinting in amusement again.

Nesta rolls her eyes, leaning forward as well to sneer, “you wish. I told you, Gwyn is a Nashville fan. I occasionally watch a game with her.”

Cassian hums, and Nesta bristles at the way he continues to eye her. Something about those hazel eyes is almost unsettling, as though he’s looking through her in a way no one ever has. It takes everything within her not to shift in her seat, to simply turn her attention back to her menu.

“History.”

Nesta looks up again with a frown. “What?”

“History,” Cassian repeats, leaning back casually in his chair. “That’s what my degree is in.”

“I thought hockey players got drafted at eighteen? That’s what Gwyn has always said at least.”

“That’s true, but not everyone joins the NHL right out of the draft. I played for my college team for two years before I was finally called up.”

“And what? You magically finished your degree in two years?”

Cassian laughs again, this time a low chuckle that’s surprisingly warm, that practically wraps itself around Nesta’s limbs. “Lucky for me, there’s this really amazing thing called online classes.”

“Oh.”

Nesta doesn’t know what else to say to that, but thankfully, she’s spared when their waitress returns to their table, ready to take their food orders. When she steps away again, Nesta no longer has her menu to use as a distraction, has nowhere else to look except at the man sitting across the table from her. The low light of the restaurant cuts shadows across his cheeks and jaw, the candles on each table flickering in and deepening the hazel of his eyes. The large span of his hand is on full display as he curls his fingers easily around the bottle of wine he ordered, filling Nesta’s glass before he fills his own.

“You never answered my question,” Cassian tells her, setting the bottle back down. “About the bookstore.”

“I told you, some people enjoy reading. Myself included.”

“Yeah, but I remember Feyre talking about how you went to law school, that you’d be terrorizing courtrooms and making everyone regret going up against you. So, what happened? How do you go from lawyer to bookstore owner?”

The urge to lash out, to make a snapping reply that diverts the conversation, claws up Nesta’s throat. She rarely talks about it, about him. The reason she made the move to Seattle in the first place, leaving a gaping wound as big as the distance between them with her sisters. The reason the dream she thought she had, the dream she swore she always wanted, shattered between her fingers like glass, shards cutting deep and leaving her bloodied. The reason she retreated and fell back into the shadows, that Emerie and Gwyn had to pull her out.

There are days where it all still feels so raw, no matter how much time has passed. Days where a sickening feeling will churn through her gut as soon as she opens her eyes. Days where she can still hear his voice, still feel his hands. Days where the voice in her mind morphs into her own worst thoughts, into her mother’s clipped, cool tone.

“My life fell apart, and I decided to open a bookstore with my friends,” Nesta finally answers with a derisive drawl. “Happy?”

Cassian’s face falls, lips tugging down in a small frown. “What does that mean?”

Nesta doesn’t want his pity. It’s the one thing she hates most, people looking at her with pity in their eyes. As though they feel sorry for her, as though she’s weak. When she finally walked away, finally got out, she swore to herself that she would never be weak again, and she’ll be damned if she starts now.

“Last I checked, I don’t have to tell you my whole life story. I answered your question, did I not?”

“Nes–”

“You get one dinner as part of our bargain, remember? Do you really want to ruin it?”

—

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[brucewaynehater101]

The brainrot is hitting hard today…

On the topic of the Drakes, I usually prefer the unconventional but loving parent type (Bruce x the Drakes is my favorite rarepair) but the idea of a de-aged Toddler Tim having no idea what to do when Jason or another Bat does the “ur a baby I’m gonna pick you up” move because his parents stopped picking him up once he started walking is so heartbreakingly wonderful to me.

even with de-aged Tim fics in general, i prefer when he’s a feral raccoon, but just that specific scene is so addicting.

a whole fic exploring the personality of a three-year-old Tim with limited parental context and his dynamics with Jason in particular is mwah.

and then a week later, he’s deaged again but as a 6-year-old and the family has to deal with a brat with too much time on his hands and too little supervision.

3-year-old tim as a victim of neglectful, bordering abusive, parenting

6-year-old tim as a consequence of neglectful, bordering abusive, parenting

also, bonus if 3 y/o Tim just cam saw the graysons fall and only recognizes Dick after Nightwing does something flippy. “Flippy Dick” being his first words since deaging (i think i saw the nickname in a good parents!drakes post ironically)

Yes! I do adore the angst of the Drakes loving Tim, wanting the world for him, and failing. The black and white "Drakes are bad parents" is great for healing and comfort, but the grey area is where I feel a lot of people are with their own parents. The Drakes trying but never being enough is so intoxicating to read. There's usually only bad parents and good parents for the Drakes.

I also love when the Drakes and Bruce share parenting Tim while the kid fights that at every turn. It's hilarious.

For Kid Tim fics, I can't really stand when he's turned into a "so cute but so sad" version. That child is a gremlin. Therefore, I love when authors hint at angst/abuse, but Tim doesn't realize that something is wrong. For him, that's normal. Why would he know the difference?

The nickname "Flippy Dick/Dickie" is cute and I adore a chaotic 6 year old Tim. A lack of supervision for children (who have issues with impulse control due to their brain development) equates to Tim doing whatever the fuck he wants and not respecting authority. He gets to make decisions for himself because that's how it's always been.

On the same note, fics that have Bruce noticing Tim's lack of supervision and then forcing restrictions on Tim freak me out. Yes, a child should not be making such decisions and should not be alone at such ages. However, Tim, in these AUs, has years of experience doing so. Forcing him to follow Bruce's rules without choice disrespects the systems Tim has built up to protect himself. He should have continued autonomy. The goal is to support him. They should allow Tim to slowly integrate himself into the Wayne family as someone ensures he's getting food regularly, has an adult to rely on, and has all his needs met (however Tim chooses to meet them).

If Tim chooses to relinquish his control over every aspect in his life for some help and relief, then absolutely. Despite this, Tim will need to be treated as closer to an equal than a child due to his experiences. He is still a child, but he's been making choices for himself for a while. He should have the respect and autonomy to continue making decisions in regard to his own being.

I guess I got on a rant, lmao. Anyways, de-aging fics that highlight Tim not being able to hide his chaotic nature as well are amazing

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

It just hit me that the boys all have graves somewhere... Do you think they've gone there? Has Julie? How do they feel about how and where they were buried?

sorry this took so long to respond to! I'm not sure if you meant it as a writing prompt or just a point of discussion.... but i wrote 2500 words on it anyway. Hope you enjoy!

Special thanks to @weneedglitter for her math and naming assistance :)

Send me prompts to help me reach my 2024 writing goal!

It’s sort of an accident, at the beginning. Reggie doesn’t mean to be looking.

He doesn’t really mean to be looking for anything, even if he sounded really suspicious and like he was a total lying liar face when he told Julie and the guys he was just “going for a stroll.” But honestly, it’s a coincidence more than anything that his stroll takes him to the bike rental place on the beachfront that used to be his house. And it’s a coincidence that the pimpled teen working the counter has that day’s mail laid out in front of him for all the world to see. And it’s a coincidence that in said pile of mail is a letter from Evergreen Cemetery addressed to “Archibald Peters or Current Resident.”

He doesn’t actually read the letter (his invisibility these days is spotty at best, and he doesn’t think committing felony mail theft would be much smarter of an idea than making an envelope float in mid-air anyway). He doesn’t know that the letter has anything more to say than “Hey you, know any dead people? Send ‘em our way!”

He doesn’t know it has anything to do with him.

But he goes home anyway— because home is Julie’s house, now— and slides Carlos’s laptop out of its super functional hiding place under his pillow, and looks up the address for Evergreen Cemetery.

And then he poofs into the kitchen and says, “Ray? Will you drive me somewhere?”

The car ride is quiet, mostly because Ray said, “You wanna tell me where we’re going?” when they got in the car, and Reggie said, “Mmhmm!” all high-pitched and obvious, and then never elaborated, and so trying to make other conversation seems rude. He just gives directions, and hums along to the radio, and Ray drives them to the cemetery where Reggie’s pre-ghost body may or may not be buried.

That’s the weirdest part of all of this. Not the mail theft or the bike shop or the idea that Reggie’s parents might have put him somewhere other than the Peters Family plot in Orange County where his grandparents and Great Aunt Barb are buried, but the fact that there is a body, very much dead and scientifically identifiable as his, lying under six feet of dirt somewhere.

He has a body. Now, currently, in most ways even an alive one. And yeah, he’s worked pretty damn hard to get this one, but it still feels really weird that there’s just another one… out there.

“Reggie?” Ray asks as he slows the car along the gravel driveway of the cemetery. “What…?”

He doesn’t finish his question, which is probably a good thing because Reggie’s not sure he has an answer. “Could you…?” he asks instead, staring down at his hands in his lap so he won’t have to look Ray in the eye. “Um. Would you maybe mind going in there and asking if… or, uh, where…” 

He trails off, unable to finish his own question either.

Ray makes a soft sound, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and nods once before giving Reggie a comforting pat on the knee and getting out of the car.

He’s in there a long time. Long enough for Reggie to get all squirmy and start to feel bad for dragging him into this.

He can only imagine the conversation going on in there: Hi, can you please point me to the grave of a seventeen-year-old who died twenty-five years ago? No, no, I’m not related to him, nor do I have any legitimate connection to him that I can offer you as an explanation for why I’m asking. Please do not ask any follow-up questions.

Jeez. What was Reggie even thinking bringing Ray all the way out here, just on a hunch? As soon as he gets back to the car, Reggie should just tell him to take them back home.

But it’s only a few minutes later that the office door opens and Ray emerges, a piece of paper in one hand. He shakes hands with an older white guy— the manager, Reggie guesses, or whatever the term is for people in charge of the little office at a cemetery— and then heads back over to Reggie.

He gets back in the car, shuts the door, and sits heavily in the driver’s seat without buckling his seat belt or shifting the car out of park. Reggie opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. Shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Ray hands him the piece of paper. “You tell me what you wanna do, mijo.”

It’s a list— of names and plots, next to a handy-dandy little map of the cemetery. Three are highlighted— Reginald Peters. Alexander Mercer. Lucas Patterson.

Reggie shivers, the edges of the paper crinkling in his tight grip. “These are… Jeez. We’re all here?”

“Seems so.” Ray puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It was sort of a long shot, but I figured I’d ask while I was in there.”

Reggie stares at his name— at his friends’ names— just three lines on a list of ghosts.

He points at the plot number next to his name. “Guess we’re going here then?”

It’s not a far walk. Reggie leads the way, squinting at the map, while Ray follows politely behind. Ray doesn’t berate him or even comment when they get lost, and Reggie only gets them lost three and a half times. Eventually, they find it: a modest tombstone in a far corner of the graveyard, neatly kept with a still-fresh bouquet of lilies propped up against it.

The tombstone reads:

Reginald Alastair Peters

August 18, 1977– July 22, 1995

Beloved Son

Loving Brother

Cherished Bandmate

“Oh,” Reggie whispers, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the last line of lettering. He can’t imagine his parents choosing to spend extra money on that particular engraving, not without some serious coercion, but the only other option is…

“Someone’s been here recently,” Ray says, voice reverent and yet too loud, all of a sudden, in the otherwise silence. He reaches around Reggie to pick up the flowers and place them gently atop the headstone. “So your parents might still live nearby.”

“Maybe,” Reggie whispers, though he highly doubts his parents had anything to do with the bouquet. With effort, he tears his gaze away from his grave and down to the map in his hands. “Um. Can we–?”

He cuts off, swallowing against the lump in his throat, and instead points wordlessly at the plot numbers for his two best friends.

“Of course.” Ray puts a hand on his shoulder– warm, solid, reassuring– and takes the map with the other. “May I?”

Reggie lets it go with relief and wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. The walk between graves will give him a good chance to clear his head, and he’s way too distracted to follow a map without getting them lost way more than three and a half times.

But Ray only takes a few steps before he stops and frowns down at the map. He looks up again, turns a slow circle, and walks just a few feet before stopping again, the map falling to his side. “Oh. Well.”

Reggie goes to see what he’s looking at, and his breath catches in his throat.

There’s a good bit of space between them, but the next tombstone over from Reggie’s belongs to Alex. He continues down the line, and sure enough, the next one down from that is Luke’s.

They’re all distinctly different– Luke’s is the biggest of the three, Alex’s has a Bible quote snaked along the side– but they’re all adorned with fresh flowers, and they all have the same phrase tacked onto the end of their epitaphs:

Cherished Bandmate.

Cherished Bandmate.

Cherished Bandmate.

A cold feeling seeps through Reggie’s bones, not unlike the time he and Luke were playing hide and seek and he won by curling up inside the refrigerator.

“I think I wanna go home now,” Reggie says slowly, feeling shivery and stuck and ghostly in the worst way as he stands at the point of the triangle of his and his best friends’ graves.

“Of course,” Ray says, his voice muffled like he’s speaking through water or from very far away. “I’ll go get the car.”

But Reggie’s already poofed out.

***

He doesn’t intend to bring it up again. Because he’s not entirely sure Luke and Alex would want to know. And the last thing he wants to do is assume his friends are at the same place on the same journey regarding their life, death, and rebirth as he is.

He doesn’t want to hurt their feelings if he’s wrong about his theory. He doesn’t want to make them sad if he’s right.

But apparently Reggie’s not as good at concealing his own feelings as he’d like to think– even though Ray doesn’t say anything, and Julie at least seems convinced by Reggie’s “we were running errands” story, less than two days has gone by when she informs him that the jig is, in fact, up.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch in the studio, eating a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream very slowly because Ray made him promise he wouldn’t drip any on the sofa cushions.

Alex is out skateboarding with Willie. Luke is out “chaperoning” (read: mooching off of) Carlos and his friends’ laser tag party. Julie was ostensibly doing homework, which is why Reggie had taken his ice cream out to the garage, but now the doors open and Julie bounds in to join him, plopping next to him on the couch with a warm (if slightly mischievous) smile.

“Hey there, you,” she says expressively, poking him in the arm.

Reggie blinks, slowly drawing the spoon out of his mouth. “Hi, Julie.”

“We both know I’m not very good at beating around the bush,” she says, hands in her lap, “so I’m just gonna cut to the chase. The boys tell me you’re sad, and while at first I tried to convince them that maybe just not everyone thinks the 2002 Scooby-Doo movie is as funny as they do and that’s why you were a little quiet during movie night, the more I thought about it the more I agreed that you haven’t been your usual amazing chipper self… lately… So, uh. You know. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know,” Reggie says, nodding, because he does know, and clutches his bowl of ice cream to his chest for some comfort. “I, um… I’m not… sad, I just… Okay, so you know how your dad and I ran some errands the other day and I came back early because I didn’t wanna have to listen to his sad Dad Rock the whole drive home and he didn’t have a single good CD in the car?”

Julie nods.

“Well, I actually sorta made all that up. We went to see where the guys and I are buried.”

Julie’s face falls, her eyes going wide. “Oh. Wow.”

“And I didn’t say anything,” Reggie continues, “because I didn’t really know how I felt about it yet. And I didn’t know how Luke and Alex would feel. I didn’t know if they’d wanna know.”

“Of course we would, bro.”

Reggie felt the spark alighting in his chest a split second before Luke spoke, so the sudden arrival of his friends doesn’t startle him. He ducks his chin, staring into his ice cream so he doesn’t have to see if they’re mad at him.

“Reggie…” Julie puts a hand on his knee. “You didn’t do anything wrong– this is a really complicated situation to navigate. It’s just… we didn’t even know you were looking.”

“I wasn’t,” Reggie promises, but he doesn’t know how to explain himself beyond that. He sets his bowl down on the coffee table and slowly raises his eyes to meet his friends’ gazes. “We’re all together. The three of us, our– we’re not buried with our families.”

Luke’s and Alex’s faces go through several expressions before settling on twin looks of determination. “Good,” Luke says. “That’s how it should be.”

“Will you go back with us?” Alex asks. “Take a look all together?”

In the moment that Reggie hesitates, Julie takes his hand in hers and gives it a warm, reassuring squeeze.

Reggie takes a deep breath, feeling it whistle through live, healthy lungs, and reaches out his other hand. Luke takes it and offers his hand to Alex, who joins hands with Luke and Julie to complete the circle. When the ghosts who aren’t quite ghosts anymore poof out, they carry Julie with them, until all four members of Julie and the Phantoms stand solemn but supported in front of Reggie’s grave.

They take it in. The epitaph. The flowers, a bit crumpled from yesterday’s rain but nowhere near wilting. The edge of Alex’s headstone just visible in their peripheral vision, and Luke’s just beyond it.

“We are all together,” Alex says in awe. 

Luke shakes his head. “Why would our parents–?”

A voice behind them says, “I insisted.”

They spin around. Reggie didn’t hear anyone approaching, and yet standing just a few feet back, dark sunglasses obscuring his expression, is Trevor Wilson, three bunches of fresh wildflowers tucked in the crook of his arm.

He nods toward the grave behind them. “They were gonna take you halfway across the state, and the Mercers wanted Alex cremated, and I wasn’t even invited to the funerals but I pitched a fit. Told them I’d pay for everything– the plots, the services, the upkeep– if only they’d keep you all… intact. And together.”

Reggie’s heart does an Olympics-worthy gymnastics routine inside his chest. “You added the bandmate line?” he guesses.

Trevor shrugs a little sheepishly. “I snuck it in on the paperwork. Don’t think Luke’s dad ever forgave me.”

“Yeah, well, my dad can–” Luke starts to say, and then trails off, shoving his hands in his pockets so it’s a little less obvious that they’re curled into fists. His voice is strained but sincere when he says, “Thanks, Bobby. For doing all that.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

With some hesitation, Trevor steps forward and past them, to lay one bouquet at the foot of Reggie’s headstone.

It feels right, for them all to be there together, paying homage to the people they once were.

Reggie’s glad he found this place, even if it was sort of an accident.

--

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[pocketfullofr0ses]

Who Runs This Blog… and Why’re They Kinda Hot, Sexy, and Cool asf?

Who am I?

I don’t want to give many clear cut answers because this blog is moreso the abstractions of my sexual expression BUT here is what I will give:

Young 20-something girl in the world! History major who is going into counseling 🕺

Lurker turned poster on Dec. 4th, 2024!

Given all this- I DO NOT WANT TO INTERACT WITH MINORS! EVER!

I also don’t want you to DM me unsolicited pictures. Not to be a cunt, but I don’t care and you’re probably small anyways :)

Why did I start posting?

I think that sex positivity is cool! Within our current social scape, the media has become increasingly hypersexual. I don’t think that this is a good thing, but I also recognize that this isn’t a change that I could have much impact on. So, I think that changing sex focused dialogues to normalizing the odd intricacies that are normally left to be pent up is healthier than swimming with your shame- especially in a world that will inherently profit off of your objectification anyways.

What’s the goal?

I want to become more comfortable with the things I used to keep solely in the dark. I think that by taking the radical approach to write about my fantasies and store them here I’ll enable myself to partake in the darker sides of kink in a healthier way!

So, this kinda means that my blog is a little more for me than it is for you- but if you enjoy my ramblings then that also makes me very happy!

Cool, so what do you like?

First off, kinda personal 🙄. Jk, but I think I’m still in the realm of exploration! I’ll still list my interests, but keep in mind this is never a stagnant thing for me and is in no particular order.

Forced Intox (I’m not a heavy drinker but I’ll hit a blinker!)

Dumbification

Patriarchy/Trad Wife-esque things

Hypnosis 🌀

Classic Dom/Sub dynamic, I typically lean submissive though

Force Masc (Sooo, while I may feel super comfortable in my female identity, there is something about force masc content that just does it LOL)

Transformation in the sense that my partner could control how I look/dress

Praise/Degradation (but I’m sensitive LOL)

Breeding

Perhaps CNC

Corruption, make me worse!

Probably other stuff, idk lol

Fun fact about me is that I hate bodily fluids and excrement. Just in general. Keep that away from me.

Anything else?

I would like to be clear that I have a very loving partner and am in a monogamous relationship! I am open to conversations, but I will not return your advances. Sharing similar feelings on erotic topics doesn’t mean I want to hear how you’d enact them with me- it’s odd you’d assume consent is implied just because I think the same thing is hot lol.

Thanks for reading my rambling!! Feel free to check out my posts 🥳