#and then dealing with learning to trust in grant

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: What do we have here? Did we forget a couple presents under the tree? Merry Christmas Nyxy, happy Boxing day- I hope you don't regret it. That's it folks, we made it to the end of Smutmas! Did you like it? Or were you all too burned out on smut on the heels of Kinktober? Would you like to see this or a similar event next year? Above all, remember the biggest lesson learned here- don't lick doorknobs.

CW: Smut, religious trauma, pretending to be a priest, belly bulge, loss of virginity, anointing oil used as lube (Don't do this)

Summary: Vox is owed money and the price of business is high. He's not a businessman anyone should keep waiting. So when Father Francis does just that, Vox finds a rather entertaining way to pass the time while he waits around the church.

You make the perfect thing to pass the time with. Sweet, innocent and pure- you take every one of his lies at face value, trusting the new priest taking your confession in the place of Father Francis. The cost of forgiveness and absolution for your sins is high but… the new Father wouldn't lie to you, would he?

Vox straightened his suit as he stood from the pew. Parishioners milled about still, lining up to speak to the priest as if he could somehow grant them salvation into heaven’s pearly gates if they but only had a few more moments of his time. 

The idea alone had Vox scoffing, but he did what he did best and put on a showman’s smile. There would be people who notice him, remember him, but that was the price he paid for being him.

“Father Francis!” Vox held out his hands, palms out, and spread in greeting. Nothing to see here, folks, just a friend greeting the father. “It’s so good to see you.”

Father Francis greeted, wrapping Vox in his arms in a tight hug. The preacher patted Vox’s back, whispering in his ear, “Wait in the confessional box.” 

Vox nodded, walking confidently over to the booths. He made a point of admiring the ornate craftsmanship; the details carved deep into the wood while he also looked around to see if anyone was watching him. 

As soon as the coast was clear, Vox opened the door closest to him and stepped inside. The dim light inside was just enough to see by, not illuminating much in the way of details.

There wasn’t much inside the small booth, all things considered. The bench was simple and hanging on a small hook inside the door was a spare set of robes, much like those that the good Father wore on a typical day. 

“Mr. Vox?” Father Francis poked his head inside the door. 

“Do you have the payment?” Vox asked, keeping his voice low. 

“I need to make a run to the hospital. A parishioner’s father is not well, I- It’s urgent, Mr. Vox.” The man stood just inside the small booth, looking sheepishly at Vox. 

“You’re not trying for a delay, are you, old chap?” Vox made a show of looking at his nails, not wanting Father Francis to have any more attention than Vox deemed necessary. 

“No!” Father Francis repeated the word, softer as he looked around sheepishly. “Not at all. I’ll have the funds. I just- we don’t think he’ll make it more than a few more hours. It’s vital that he has his last rites. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Sure,” Vox waved his hand as if he was batting away a bug. “I’ll just wait right here. You won’t be long, will you?” 

“Make yourself comfortable in the chapel.” 

“Oh,” Vox laughed. “I’ll be waiting right here.” 

“No, no-” Father Francis laughed awkwardly as he reached for the door. “Someone will mistake you as a preacher. You-” 

“Good!” Vox said, a smile blooming on his face. “All the more reason for you to hurry back.” 

~~~~~<3

Vox sat, passing the time, playing what amounted to dress up. The last thing he wanted was to step out of the little box and have to deal with socializing. Instead, he put on the robes, dressing himself in the garb of Father Francis’ role. He admired the feel of the robes, how different they made him feel, only to freeze in place at the sound of door hinges squeaking. 

Someone stepped into the booth on the other side of the wall. Vox looked back and forth in a panic, hoping to find some sort of hint, something to tell him what he should do or say next. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Your soft voice carried through the wall easily. You sat neatly on the small bench, head down, as you focused on your task. 

“Haven’t we all,” Vox whispered under his breath. 

“I’m sorry?” You looked up, eyes glanced at the mesh that obscured your view of the man on the other side of the wall. You couldn’t see much more than the basic shape of him sitting there. 

“Nothing,” Vox waved the question away, out of habit more than anything, not knowing if you could see him at all. “Carry on.” 

“It has been… it has been a while since my last confession, Father.” Your fingers twisted in the soft fabric of your skirt as you tried to will the tears back from your eyes. The air in the booth tasted bitter and stale on your tongue, but you forced yourself to take a deep lungful of it, anyway. 

“Tell me of your sins?” Vox urged, not knowing for sure if it was the right thing to say but wanting to urge you on. You had such a pretty voice. He couldn’t help but wonder if the face matched it. Hell, did your body match the voice? 

“I’ve… lust has plagued me,” you whispered, struggling to find your voice in the face of the horrible things you had been thinking. “I- the thoughts come to me during the darkness of night, during the devil’s hours. I focus on my prayers, but the thoughts- they even come to me in my dreams.” 

“And what are those thoughts, exactly?” Vox asked, leaning forward. 

“I beg your pardon?” Your voice wavered as you looked again at the mesh between you. 

“I need to know the details of your thoughts,” Vox said, eyes straining to look through the mesh to see the woman sitting on the other side. “How else can I offer you absolution?” 

“I-” you hesitated only for Vox to speak over your doubts. 

“You can trust me,” Vox said, smile spreading wide. “I’m just a man of God, here to help.” 

“Okay,” Doubt lingered in your voice, but you pushed on. “There’s been men- I’ve been noticing them. I’ve been noticing things about them and thinking-” 

“What have you been noticing about them?” Vox asked, scooting closer to the mesh, hoping to see something more than just your silhouette. 

“Oh.” The sound came out as a sweet little squeak that ran down Vox’s spine. “The… the way their pants rest on their…their bodies.” 

“What parts of their bodies?” Vox pressed. “You need to be honest and detailed or I cannot help you.” 

“Right,” you sighed the word, face and chest growing hot with the words you were going to say. “The way they rest on… their hips and around their… pelvis.” It took you a while to settle on the right word, unsure how… vulgar the good Father wished for you to be. “I also… notice the way their shirts fit across their chest or the way the muscles in their hands and arms move.” 

“And what does that noticing inspire?” Vox leaned closer to the mesh wall. “Our God made the human form in his perfect image, did he not? Isn’t admiring the beauty of it little more than worshiping of His greatest work?” 

“I-” You sighed, “Yes, I suppose, but… It makes me think of how it would feel if they… if they gave me their attentions.” 

“In what sort of way?” Vox had his face nearly pressed against the mesh now, finally seeing you, though poorly. 

“In…. romantic ways.” Your voice came meeker as shame washed over you. 

“How?” Vox pressed, needing more, wanting more. He could hear the shame in your voice, the watery sound of emotion threatening to choke your words. 

“I… I think of how it would feel to have their hands on my.. on my thighs or touching my breasts.” You choked on the words, face burning with shame as you ran your hands through your hair. Curling in on yourself, you willed the words to continue. If you couldn’t say it, he couldn’t help you. “I think of how it would feel if they kissed me and held me as a husband should hold his wife.” 

“And how is that?” Vox shifted, pants growing tighter under the robes. “You must be very detailed, my child. The devil is in the details and you do want me to help you, don’t you?” 

You whimpered, curling in on yourself more. Never had you felt so shameful sitting in this little booth. It had been a place of comfort for most of your life, but now? Shame was all you felt. It had been too long since you had come. That was what made your mind, heart, and soul weak. 

“I think of… the feeling of his skin against mine. I- Of the way his lips would feel on my skin… and what it would feel like to have them… have them take me to their beds and lay with me.” Tears welled in your eyes as you confessed to the good Father your sins. 

“Have you acted on these desires?” Vox asked, palming his hardening cock through his pants.

“I am pure,” you whispered, pleading with the priest on the other side of the thin wall to believe you. Your attendance slipped, but you were still godly. You hadn’t acted on the thoughts. You had done nothing forbidden. He had to believe you. God had to believe you, had to know. 

“Even to yourself?” Vox asked, pulling his cock from his pants, moving slowly to make as little noise as possible. Once he was free, head brushing against the inside of the robes, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft. A sigh whispered between his lips as he leaned back, shifting his hips toward the edge of the seat as he worked his fist over the length of him slowly. “Do you touch yourself to these thoughts? Do you indulge in the- the lust of them?” 

“I-” Tears ran down your cheeks. You were crying openly now, no longer making an effort to hide it. If you wanted forgiveness, you had to lay it all bare in front of the Father and in front of God. “I almost did, Father. Last night- That’s why I came here. Please, I do not wish to sin.” 

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate as his hand began to move faster over his length. “That ache inside you, the one that refuses to be ignored?”

“Yes, Father.” You answered, though you were not sure you understood. The ache inside you was the demon, clawing at your insides, demanding your fall. 

“The cure is surrender,” he said, leaning closer to the mesh. “You have to open yourself completely. Let yourself be filled, every inch of you, until there’s nothing left but the purity of what you’ve accepted.” 

Your pulse quickened, your voice barely audible. On the other side of the thin wall, you could just hear a rhythmic rustling, almost. It was a ghost of the sound, as if he was rubbing his leg. “And if I can’t?” 

A slow smile curved his lips. “You will,” he said, his tone curling around you in sinful delight. You told yourself it was little more than the whispers of demons. “You just have to let it take you... wholly.”

“I’m scared.” Your voice was broken, strangled by fear and shame. 

“Oh fuck,” Vox whispered, precum smearing against the inside of the robe. “The price for absolution will be high, my child.” Vox struggled to keep his voice steady as he swiped a thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the slick fluid that hadn’t been wiped away yet. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you cried, turning to face the man you could not see, tears dropping from your chin. The scraping of your nails against the wooden frame of the booth was loud in the small space, or at least it seemed that way to you and to Vox. 

“The cure for lust is to be filled with- with the Holy Spirit.” Vox said again, “This is a ceremony of utmost seriousness a-and we must begin it immediately.”

Vox was certain you would question him. There was no way you would just accept his lies. Surely he was too far off the accepted script, but damn, you sounded so sweet and innocent, sitting there crying in the other half of the box… and he wanted you. 

He wanted to take that innocence and grind it under his heel. It angered him in a way that he couldn’t explain that something as sweet and innocent as you could exist, untainted.

“What must I do?” you whispered. “I’ll do anything to be in God’s graces again, to be freed of this demon. Please, Father. Please, help me?” 

“Good,” Vox sighed, cringing as he tried to shove his cock away, settling on fastening his pants up over his shaft. The waistband pinned his head to his abdomen. “Stand up and close your eyes,” Vox said, smile growing wide and greedy. “Do not open them until I tell you. I’m going to lead you to a room where we can see to this ceremony.” 

“But Father-?” You stood, eyes fluttering shut even as you questioned him. You were, at your core, a good girl who listened to the authority of the Church. 

“Do you trust your God?” Vox asked, standing himself. “Do you trust in the power he has vested in me?” 

“Yes,” you said without a shadow of doubt as that feeling twisted your insides. It was a vile, uncomfortable feeling that had you shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

“Good girl,” Vox said, stepping out of the booth. 

The church was empty. His eyes settled on the altar and oh, he would love nothing more than to push everything off of it and take you right on top of it. That wouldn’t do, though. It would be pushing you too far. 

He opened the door to your booth, finding you standing with your eyes closed. You were just as he hoped you to be. Perfect and meek and oh so good. You looked like a ripe fruit, ready for the picking. Perhaps you were an apple?

Vox was eager to spoil you for all that would come after him. “Keep your eyes closed.” 

“Why?” you asked, even as you continued to obey, walking forward as a hand wrapped around your arm at the elbow, tugging you softly out of the box. 

“Why, we must keep the sanctity of the confession.” A wicked smile spread on Vox’s face, though you could not see it. All you could hear was the soft care in his voice, promising you he was a man who cared about what’s best for you. 

Vox lead you carefully through the church. He wasn’t totally unfamiliar with the building. The altar was too risky, but Father Francis’ office- surely no one would go in his office without at least knocking first. He watched as he lead you, ensuring your eyes stayed closed each step of the way. 

You allowed yourself to be led, heart pounding in your chest as you squeezed your eyes closed. Fear kept trying to worm itself into your mind, but you pushed it back down again and again, reminding yourself that you were safe. You were with a man of God. 

“Where are we going?” you asked. “What happens next?” 

Vox shushed you. “I need you to show faith in your God.” 

Vox walked you into the office, your simple heels clicking against the hardwood floors. After directing you to stand where you were, Vox made quick work of cleaning the desk of the stacks of papers and books Father Francis left littered on the surface. 

Once the task was seen to, he returned to your side, placing a steady hand at the small of your back. “We’re just about ready.” 

“Can I open my eyes?” you asked. 

“Not now,” Vox said, smoothing down the hair at the back of your head as he walked you up to the desk. “You must show great faith as I exercise the demons of lust from you. You cannot open your eyes before I say you can. Are you ready and willing to offer your body up as a sacrificial lamb in exchange for absolution?”

“What is going to happen?” Your voice trembled as you once again reminded yourself that you needed to trust the Father. He would take good care of you, as was his duty. He wouldn’t harm one of his flock. Still, the very idea of giving your body as sacrifice terrified you. “Will it hurt?” 

“No,” Vox said sweetly, “I promise I will try my best to not cause you any pain.” 

“What must I do?” You tried to sound brave, tried to lean on your faith for the strength to get through the unknown trials ahead of you. 

“Bend over.” Vox brought your hand to the solid surface of the old wooden desk. “Lay over this. Whatever comes next, know that I am working as an agent of the divine to purge you of these sinful thoughts. You are safe in God’s house. The Devil cannot touch you here.” 

“Yes, Father.” You laid across the flat surface. Cold from the wood radiating up into you as you willed your breathing to slow, trying to be calm. 

What attempts you made at calming your nerves were undone as a large hand ran along your thigh, moving over the thick fabric of your skirt. You squeezed your eyes closed as the hand moved around your side, caressing up the curve of your ass. 

“Have faith,” you whispered to yourself as the hand hooked under the elastic band of your skirt and your panties. “Have faith.” 

“Yes,” Vox said above you. “Have faith. This is what must be done to purge you of your sinful thoughts. I must be able to see the areas where you long to feel the touch of sin to purify it.” 

“What should I do?” You asked again, not daring to open your eyes. 

“Just lay there,” Vox answered. “I will take care of everything.” 

He wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see the full coverage, modest panties fall to the ground around your ankles along with your skirt. What did surprise Vox was that your stockings were thigh highs, not tights that would reach up to your waist. A part of you enjoyed the feeling of something scandalous, a little sexy. 

You trembled, laying on the desk as your most private place was exposed. “Have faith,” you whispered again and again before whispering prayers. It felt right while you were being prepped for a ceremony that you should pray. 

Vox looked at your folds, moist but far from the slick pathway he would need your virginal body to be. 

“Stay just like that,” Vox said, running his hands over the naked curve of your ass before leaving you. 

Things clattered around you as the Father looked around the room, looking for something. You laid there, listening as you whispered your prayers. Even within the sanctity of the church, you could feel the siren call of lust demanding your attention. 

The feeling of the Father’s hand on your skin felt good, and that was sinful. That was why you needed him to purify you. You needed help. He had to help you.

You needed something, though you didn’t understand what it was your body was longing for as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. The change in position stimulated something between your legs, something sinful that had you shifting your weight again, thighs rubbing against each other as you did so.

Vox returned to you, standing back for a moment to just watch as your thighs moved against eachother. From between your puffy folds, he could see the glittering of slick starting to build ever so slightly, reflecting the dim light in the room back at him. 

You may have been a pure church girl, but your body responded like the slut you wanted to be. He smiled, knowing you were aroused even if you didn’t understand it at the time. 

“Move your feet apart,” Vox ordered, eyes locked on your folds as they spread, exposing your opening more. “Good girl.” 

“Please,” you whispered. “I need to be freed from this sin. I- I can feel it calling to me, tempting me even here.” 

“Sin cannot reach you here,” Vox said, opening the bottle of anointing oil and sniffing it. There was nothing to the scent that gave him any reason to believe it would sting or burn either your sensitive walls or him. “I am going to anoint you now.” 

Cold wetness dripped onto your core, running over folds and down your legs as you jumped. Vox shushed you, offering honeyed words of reassurance as he spread the slick oil over your exposed sex.

The strange sensation wasn’t unpleasant, and that terrified you. You trembled under his touch, body begging you to lean back, to chase the feeling of his hands running along your slick folds. 

“Isn’t this a sin?” You struggled to keep your eyes closed, wanting nothing more than to look back at the Father for reassurance. 

“It is a blessing,” he said, robes shuffling. “Keep your eyes closed and I’ll save you from the demons of lust.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, wanting to believe him. He was a priest. He was a man of God. He wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t cause you to sin.

For a moment, Vox simply stepped back, admiring the view you made while he pulled the robes up, gathering it around his abdomen and tucking the fabric into the back of his pants. He carefully worked his fly down, trying to make as little noise as possible before he returned his hands to you. 

He gripped the globes of your ass, spreading you open for a clearer view of your slicked up hole. Fuck, he groaned internally. You looked tight. It would make sense. You were a fucking virgin, unspoiled even by yourself. 

Vox looked forward to ruining that. 

Vox poured some of the oil onto his shaft, smearing it around and slicking himself up as he watched your legs shake with how badly you wanted to close them. You were such a good girl, listening to him so well. 

He would reward you for that obedience. How many times could he bring you to orgasm? Would your body be responsive, or would you fight the pull of pleasure? Vox knew he was going to ensure you at least had one. Sure, this had very little to do with you but he was anything but a selfish lover. 

Vox rubbed the blunt tip of his cock through your folds, critical eyes cataloging every reaction of your body. He watched as your muscles tensed as he probed your entrance and jumped under your skin as he nudged your pretty little clit. 

The slick oil was far from a perfect lubricant but hopefully, you would soon relace it with your own natural productions. Vox pressed the head of his cock against your opening, parting the walls for the first time with such slowness he would consider it to be care. 

“What are you-?!” you gasped, spine pulling tight and lifting your head up off the desk as his bulbus head popped inside of you. The stretch of him burned. Your eyes shot open, though you did everything you could to not look over your shoulder. 

Hands rested on your bare hips, holding you in place. It wasn’t needed. You didn’t have anywhere you could have gone with the desk in front of you. 

“In order to purify you,” Vox said, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “The oil must go inside the core of your lust. It must be placed with something holy.” As he spoke, he sank deeper and deeper into you. The way your body squeezed around him made it hard to think or breathe, but Vox knew he couldn’t afford any mistakes. You had believed everything he had said and he would not fuck it up now. “You understand, don’t you? I’m doing this for you, to save your soul.” 

“Yes, Father.” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you felt the front of his pants press into your ass. 

The feeling of something inside of you stole your breath away. You felt so full as his seated cock twitched inside you, spreading blessed oil onto your inner walls. Your mind screamed at you that this was wrong, that something was wrong, but you refused to think about that. The burning pleasure of his holy tool pulling from your anointed body was more important. 

You expected him to withdraw from you now, having used his most holy tools to anoint you from the inside out. Instead, he pushed inside you again, moving slowly enough that your walls allowed him to drag but not lingering. 

“What is happening?” You asked as his hips again nestled against your ass. 

“I carry in me the Holy Spirit,” Vox said, thrusting slowly into you again and again, feeling as your body adjusted to the intrusion. “It takes time for me to deposit it within you. Only then will you be pure again of sin, free of the demons of Lust.” 

Shudders ran down your body as you struggled with the full feeling of having something inside you. It felt wrong, but not unpleasant. You wanted more of it and for him to stop all at once. 

It was alright; you kept telling yourself that again and again. He was a holy man. It wasn’t fornication; it was a ceremony. He wasn’t acting as a man. He was acting as a vessel of the Lord. 

You struggled as he pushed into you. You wanted to chase the feelings he was giving you, the sensations whispering of pleasure you could only imagine if you just gave in. Surely, resisting the call of the pleasure was a part of the test. 

“Give in,” Vox whispered above you. “Relax. Let it happen.” 

“Oh-” your breath hitched, breaking the sound up into a gasp. Confusion warred with the pleasure of the ceremony. “Okay.” 

Vox looked down at you, watching as your body shifted up the desk with every slow thrust in. You were so tight wrapped around his cock. Tight, innocent, virginal as you whispered your sweet little prayers, begging for salvation even as he ruined you. 

Vox couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he slowly picked up his pace. Each thrust into you brought pleasure through you both, stroking nerves that no one had touched before. 

As his thrusts came faster, you couldn’t manage to take a full breath. The force of his godly hips hitting your ass knocked the breath from your lings. Each thrust hit you with a spike of pleasure, making your voice jump as he hit something inside you that seemed to act like a wall. 

“Oh, ow!” you jerked away from the feeling. 

“Shh,” Vox cooed behind you, pushing his cock deep into you, slowly pushing your cervix back to allow him to truly bottom out. Reaching around your hips, he ran his fingers over your oiled folds, searching until he found the nub of your clit. “Just relax. Your body will make room for me, for God. That’s the demon inside you.” 

It took everything in Vox to not laugh at the nonsense he was spewing, focusing instead on the way your warm body felt around him. 

“The demon?” You whimpered as his cock pushed against that painful thing again. 

“Yes,” Vox said as his fingers slipped around your oil coated clit. “Can you feel it?” He knew you could. There was no way your body could lie to him. He felt the way your body clenched when he hit your cervix. He felt the ripples of tensing muscles that irritating the sensitive end of your tunnels caused. 

“I can,” you gasped. “It hurts me. Will you chase it away?” 

“I will,” Vox promised as he worked his cock into you again and again. “You must submit and let whatever happens happen.” 

His body slapped against yours, the sharp edge of the desk cutting into your hips with each thrust. Pain shot up through you as he hit the demon again and again. Along with the pain, pleasure came. You tried to focus on the sensations, the pleasure that the blessing was giving you. 

Each thrust into you by the holy tool brought more and more pleasure. “Something’s happening,” you cried out as your muscles tensed. Something inside you felt like it was becoming brittle and ready to break. “Something’s-” 

“Let it happen,” Vox said. “It’s alright.” 

Your legs spread more, chasing the feeling of the blessing. It felt… so good. That was why this ceremony was a secret. If anyone knew how good it felt, they would think it was sinful. 

Vox was more than pleased to watch your feet inch further apart, giving him better access to your clit. That and a small pinch to the sensitive bundle was all it took to have your walls twitching and clamping down around his cock. 

“Oh,” Vox moaned, choking off the curse that so badly wanted to tumble from his lips. “That’s it.” 

Your fingers dug into the desk as your eyes clamped closed. It felt like the good Father was pulling your body apart, ripping every muscle fiber from another before putting them all back together again. 

“Good girl,” Vox whispered, riding the waves of your orgasm, thrusting through the sensitive walls as he waited for their waves of pleasure to calm. “You’re doing so good for me, for your- for our God.” 

“Is it- Are we done?” You panted, fingers twitching as his pace slowed. “Is it outside of me?”

“No,” Vox sighed, reaching down and wrapping a large hand around your leg. He lifted it, twisting and rolling your body so that you were spread wide, leg bent and hooked around his torso. Each thrust into you in the new position had his pants rubbing against your sensitive clit as his shaft worked into your tight hole. 

“No?” You whimpered, torn. You should have been disappointed, but you were far from it. You wanted the Father to continue his ceremony, working his tool into you repeatedly, giving you such pleasure. 

That was the demon talking. You knew that. That’s why you needed him to purify you. Only God’s blessing would save you from the demon within you, trying to pervert a holy ceremony. 

“Please,” you whispered, eyes slitting open as you looked at the ceiling. “Please, my God.” 

Vox smiled, hand running up your side as he held your leg to his torso. “That’s right, doll.” 

You could feel him pushing against nerves you hadn’t realized went untouched before. Each thrust into you stole your breath as you focused on trying to keep your eyes closed. Pleasure had nearly replaced all the pain and discomfort now. Each thrust into you was smooth and filling. 

“Oh, God,” you whispered, pleasure building as it had before. You knew now that when it reached its peak, something magical, powerful would happen. Was that something God had given you, something that was a part of the ceremony? Or perhaps it was something you could look forward to sharing when you married and gave your body to your husband. 

“Unbutton your shirt,” Vox ordered, struggling to push back his orgasm. He wanted to see you finish at least one more time. 

“Why?” Your protest came out more as a sigh than anything else, fingers acting before you had an answer. 

“The demon will leave through your skin,” Vox lied, pleased to see you doing as he said without question. The pleasure mixed with your faith, making you the perfect little fuckdoll. 

He pushed your shirt back from your body, exposing your white bra. Of course it was simple, covering the whole of your breasts. It was expected though he wished he could have seen them. 

All in good time. Perhaps after a second orgasm you’d be fucked too stupid to question why he needed to see your tits. It was just a matter of time. You were already getting there, one orgasm in. Virgins were so fucking easy. 

Each thrust pushed you against the desk. Your foot lifted off the floor, the toe of your shoe grazing the hardwood floor as he pushed into you again. A flush rose to your chest and face anew as you caught sight of the man working into you, handsome and unknown. 

“Father?” you whispered, watching his eyes leave your exposed sex and run up your body. “I don’t-” 

“Shh,” his voice came out soft, reassuring as he rocked his tool into you harder and faster. “You’re doing so good for me, my child.” 

“Who-” The tightening in your body stole the ability to question anything. Whatever had happened early was coming dangerously close to happening again. 

“Priest,” Vox groaned out the word and by god, you accepted the answer, moaning as his tool twitched inside you. “You’re going to be so pure, so holy.” 

The promise of healing, of forgiveness mixed with the promise of pleasure, sending you over the edge once again. Your back arched with the force of the muscle contractions, breasts pushing out as your toes curled in your shoes. Sweet moans flowed from your mouth. 

“Oh God,” you cried out as the handsome Father’s fingers dug into your thigh and hips. “Oh God. Bless me.” 

“Soon,” Vox whispered. “Soon, my child.” 

“More?” You whispered, as his tool twitched strongly inside your clinched walls. “Do we need to go more?” 

“Yes,” Vox groaned, watching the way your folds twitched with the power of your internal contractions. Your body was begging him for his seed. “Lay back now.” 

Vox helped you roll onto your back, passing your leg to his other side. He guided your other leg up, resting them both on his shoulders. Leaning forward, strong hands ran up your sides as he watched your eyes flutter, settling on him, dazed. 

There was nothing he had to fear now. You were far too drunk on his cock to think about what he wore under his robes or why you had never seen him before. He pushed the soft cotton of your bra up, freeing your tits from their confines. 

“What-?” The question was little more than a sigh as you watched him reach for a bottle on the side of the desk. 

“I need to anoint you,” Vox said, thrusting lazily into you. “Where the demon has wanted you to sin.” 

Warmth radiated off the hand he planted on the desk, tempting you to reach out for him. Cold oil splashed as it drizzled on your chest. The tool inside you twitched as a thin stream of oil ran over your breasts. 

Vox set the bottle aside, not bothering to put the stopper on before reaching out to you again. His warm hand smeared the slick oil over the mounds of your chest, fingers slipping over your nipples in a futile attempt to pinch the pebbled buds. 

You arched into the touch, begging for his blessing. Your hips rocked, forcing him to move inside you, seeking more. 

Once your skin was shiny with the oil, dim office lights reflecting off your curves, Vox’s hand returned to your hip. Finally, he began to thrust into you again. He watched, eyes roaming eagerly as he pounded into you with more force than he had before. 

Your body jerked harshly on the desk, no longer pinned in place by your legs as his hips crashed into you again and again. Each blow into you pushed against that thing, that sign of the demon inside of you. The pain was less, just as he had promised it would be. 

“Bless you,” you gasped as the pleasure of his tool hitting that place outweighed the pain. The demon was being purged from you with each thrust inside of you. “I want to be pure.” 

“You will be,” Vox grunted, pushing your legs off his shoulders. He pushed your legs down, causing your heels to click against the wooden floor. “I can see it inside you.” 

Vox was talking about the way his cock pressed out against your abdomen, but you, sweet innocent you shuddered, thinking he could see the demon inside of you. 

“Please,” you moaned the words. “Please, make me pure, make me holy. Please, I want to be free from sin. Please, Father. Please.” 

Your begging was just what Vox wanted to hear. His cock twitched and swelled, threatening to explode within you, but he pushed his orgasm back, focusing on anything else. He threw your legs back over his shoulders and leaned into you. 

He nearly folded you in half as the desk groaned under the weight. Dark hair that had once been so perfectly combed back fell into his eyes as he pounded his tool into you. The pleasure was overwhelming, pulling moans from your lips easily. 

Your breasts moved with every harsh thrust, tempting Vox to taste the oil he had smeared onto them. Your chants, pleas for your silly God to protect you, to bless you, went on and on as your body tightened. The force of your orgasm choked the words off, throat too tight for them to push through. 

“Vox?” The door to the office opened as Father Francis stepped into view. 

“Shit,” Vox hissed, jerking back from you just as his cock twitched, ropes of hot seed cascading from his tip as he slipped from your warm, milking embrace. 

Vox wrapped his hand around his cock, eyes only darting over his shoulder for a moment before he focused on working his hand quickly over his length. Cum shot out, splattering your folds before he adjusted the angle, salvaging the situation. 

“Oh God,” you cried out as his holy spirit landed on your stomach. Ropes of it shot out from his tool, landing on your chest and running down your oil covered breasts. 

“What are you doing in here?” Father Francis snapped before remembering himself. Vox was not a man to be fucked with. Certainly, Vox was not a man he could afford to fuck with. 

“I was waiting for you to return, Father. Entertaining myself.” Vox said, shrugging his shoulders as he tucked his softening dick into his pants. The sound of his zipper being pulled up was deafening in the small office. 

You rose up on your elbows, looking to Father Francis and the new Father with wide eyes. 

“Father Francis,” you said. “The new Father- he was helping rid me of…” your words trailed off as the new Father reached behind him, pulling the robes off and tossing them aside without a care.” Rid me of the demon of… Of lust..” 

“He’s no Father.” Father Frances said, handing the other man an envelope and ordering, “You need to leave.” 

“Don’t keep me waiting next time,” Vox said, winking over his shoulder at you as you scrambled to cover your body, pulling your shirt across your breasts and pulling your knees up to your chest. 

Panic ran through your veins like cold ice as you realized the man you had been with was no priest. The world wavered as tears welled in your eyes. He was no man of god; he was a demon personified and you? You were nothing more than a dirty sinner. 

Fornication was your crime. 

Father Francis watched Vox walk away as if he hadn’t potentially ruined someone’s life before looking back at you. It didn’t surprise him in the least that you had fallen for the charming lies; you were innocent as could be. 

“You are not guilty of the sins another enacted upon you. Our Lord forgives you for anything he may have led you to do. Go… Go clean yourself up.” Father Francis turned on his heel, walking out of his office as tears ran down your face. 

You were dirty, defiled. He had stolen your purity from you. God had let him take from you within his own house. You felt betrayed and worthless. The emptiness within you was crushing as you pulled your bra down over your breasts. 

It was on that day that you came face to face with the demon of lust in the church. You had been too weak to resist the temptation. You had lost the battle that day, but you walked out of the church with a renewed determination to live your life godly, sinless. 

Though you had the holiest of intentions, in the darkness of night, your hand crept up your thighs as you remembered what it felt like to be taken by the demon of lust. 

Thank you for joining us for Smutmas 2024! This year, smutmas was a colab between @redvexillumRedVexi and I with prompts provided by @nyx-umbrakinesisNyx. Together we make up the admin team of VoxTek Inc on Discord. We thank you for letting us smut up your holidays.

Nyx, Thank you for the prompts- We've had a blast perverting them, twisting them at times so out of shape they hardly look like what you expected.

If YOU would like your own prompts, reach out to Nyx either here on tumblr or join VoxTek and hit up the Prompt Goddess there!

[merriclo]

my english teacher let me write a character analysis of tim and lex from jurassic park for my final project let’s fucking gooooo

[musical-chick-13]

Like, I DO think people get too wound up over fictional constructs--that, very pointedly, are not real and whose actions are made up and do not actually affect any real people--doing horrible things in-story, but I also think it's fair for someone to say, "This action sits poorly with me even in a fictional setting, in such an intense way that I cannot move past that or find sympathy for it," and "People are saying this bad behavior isn't actually bad, in a way that is meant to be taken seriously and at face-value, and that makes me severely uncomfortable."

Granted, this all gets muddled very easily because that's not what people mean most of the time, they just want to over-moralize fiction and say, "If you like this pRoBLeMaTiC thing for any reason, you are a menace to society" for Superiority Points. (They also like to invent problems that don't actually exist to "prove" that they have the moral high ground in not liking something remember when people tried to say catra/adora was incest because they grew up together because I sure do.) But I feel like there is a split between people who use "[character] apologism" in the sense of "I will be okay with this character doing whatever fucked-up thing they want in the story because I like them" vs "If you find this character compelling or want them to succeed, you would one-to-one condone their actions irl" vs "I have seen people genuinely say, with no joking or irony, that this character never actually caused any type of harm to the other characters within the story, and I don't like that."

[r6eduss]

Would you do a jealous daryl fic? Im pretty open to whatever, I just like it when he gets all riled up.

Play Date.

•Summary: You confess to Daryl, but he doesn’t take it serious, leaving you heartbroken. But when he sees you with Spencer the next day, it sparks jealousy in him he didn’t know he had. (Fem reader)

•Warnings: 18+, No established relationship, angst, fluff

•Word Count: 3.5k

•Setting: Alexandria

•A/N: thank you for the request anon! I’m sorry if you aren’t happy with the results. It took me awhile to write this 🫶🏼 I think if Daryl were actually in a relationship with you, he’d be more trusting so he wouldn’t be as jealous.

The walls of Alexandria were a stark contrast to the world outside. It wasn’t just the literal separation between life and death, safety and chaos; it was the reminder of what life had been before everything fell apart. It wasn’t long ago that the world had been buzzing with electricity, the hum of cities, and the simple luxuries they all took for granted. But now? Now, the very idea of safety felt alien.

You glanced over at the furniture as you walked around the home you had been given, the group clustered around you like a protective herd. You all had been in Alexandria for only a day or two, and even though everyone was supposed to be settling in, there was an air of distrust hanging over the group. Rick, in particular, was on edge, his eyes scanning every corner of the street for unseen threats.

Daryl, meanwhile, looked as out of place as he felt. His clothes were worn and dirty, his hair hanging down over his face, but it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart from the clean-cut Alexandrians. It was the way he held himself, like a caged animal, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

You’d known Daryl long enough to recognize the signs. He didn’t belong in a place like this, and he knew it. Hell, none of them did. But Daryl? He was different. He’d always been more comfortable in the wild even before the fall, so here, with their pristine houses and manicured lawns, he felt suffocated.

When Deanna invited everyone to the party, Daryl’s reaction was immediate and expected.

“I ain’t goin’,” he grunted, not even looking at you as he adjusted the strap on his crossbow. He was standing on the porch of the house you were all sharing, still on edge about sleeping inside, feeling a need to stay outside and keep watch to protect them from any and all possible dangers.

“Daryl…” you started, your voice soft, knowing that reasoning with him required patience. “It’s just for a little while. We’ve been out there so long, and Deanna’s trying to make us feel at home. I know it’s not what you want, but could you come? For me?”

Daryl stopped, his fingers stilling on the strap, and he turned to look at you, his blue eyes piercing through the shadows of his messy hair. You saw the hesitation in him, the way he always struggled with doing things for others when they weren’t strictly necessary for survival. But you weren’t asking for much—just his presence.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “‘But I ain’t puttin’ on no tie.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Deal.”

The party was already in full swing by the time you had arrived. People were mingling, drinks in hand, laughter filling the air in a way that felt foreign to the group that had spent so long fighting for their lives. It was strange, surreal even, to see people acting as though the world outside wasn’t in ruins. You noticed how uncomfortable Daryl looked almost immediately, his broad shoulders hunched in his black button up shirt while his eyes scanned the crowd as if he were looking for an escape route.

Daryl didn’t say much, hovering behind you like a shadow, his discomfort evident in every tense movement. People from Alexandria approached you, eager to learn about the new arrivals. They asked questions—about where your group had came from, how long they’d been on the road, and how you were all adjusting. You answered politely, but there was always a part of you that held back, a part that still didn’t fully trust this place.

Daryl, meanwhile, was grateful that no one spoke to him, even if the reason they didn’t was because they feared him. He stayed quiet, following you from conversation to conversation, his eyes flicking between you and the people who approached. He felt out of place, like he didn’t belong among these clean, well-fed people who seemed oblivious to the horrors faced outside those walls. But he stayed because you, the person he loved, asked him to.

Eventually, Deanna approached, her smile warm as she introduced you and Daryl to her husband, Reg.

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” Reg began, glancing between the two of them with a kind smile. “So, how long have you two been together?”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, and you quickly corrected him, laughing nervously. “Oh, no, we’re not… we’re not together.”

Daryl stayed silent, his heart was racing but he said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say, anyway. The awkwardness of the moment hung in the air for a second too long before Deanna’s smile widened knowingly.

“Well, you make a good team,” she said before moving on, leaving them both standing there in the midst of the party.

You felt a strange mix of emotions swirl inside you—embarrassment, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. You glanced at Daryl, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Before you could say anything, Spencer appeared, smiling that easy, charming smile of his as he greeted you. Daryl tensed immediately, his eyes narrowing as Spencer completely ignored his presence and focused all his attention on you, like everyone at this party had done.

“Glad to see you’re fitting in,” Spencer said, his tone just a little too smooth. He leaned in slightly, his body language relaxed but… suggestive. You noticed it, but tried to push the thought aside, assuming you were reading too much into it.

You both made small talk for a few minutes, Spencer doing most of the talking while you nodded politely, trying not to let your discomfort show. Daryl, on the other hand, could see right through Spencer’s act. He recognized the way Spencer’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way his smile was just a little too practiced.

His jaw tightened as he watched Spencer flirt with you right in front of him. It wasn’t that he thought you were his—but the way Spencer looked at you, like you were a conquest, made him feel frustrated, made him feel emotions he’s never felt for anyone before, feelings he didn’t think he was capable of feeling.

“I’m gon’ get a drink.” Daryl muttered under his breath, though he had no intention of actually getting one. Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the door, needing to get away before he did something stupid. You barely noticed as he walked away, too caught up in Spencer’s conversation. It wasn’t until Spencer asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” that your mind shifted to Daryl.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you thought about your feelings for Daryl. You weren’t together, but you couldn’t deny that your heart had long since gravitated toward him.

“No,” you finally answered, voice quiet.

Spencer’s smile widened, and before you could say anything else, he asked, “Then how about we go out sometime?” The question caught you off guard, but you recovered quickly, offering him a polite smile as you shook your head. “I’m not really interested, I’m sorry.” You couldn’t really handle the awkwardness of the conversation, so you began to walk away, but Spencer wasn’t one to take no for an answer. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist a little too tightly, his smile fading into something harder. “Come on,” he said, his tone insistent. “It’s just a date.”

You tensed immediately, your eyes narrowing as you tried to pull your wrist free. “Let go,” you said firmly, your voice was low enough that no one else at the party noticed.

For a moment, Spencer hesitated, his grip tightening. But then he seemed to remember where they were—surrounded by both Alexandrians and people

of Rick’s group—and he released you, his expression shifting back into a smooth, apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that,” he said quickly, but the red mark on your wrist told a different story.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, heading toward the table with the drinks to look for Daryl. But when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. What you did see, though, was Spencer already chatting up Sasha, his flirtatious smile back in full force.

You sighed, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over you. The night wasn’t turning out the way you had hoped. You wanted to enjoy it, to maybe have a quiet moment with Daryl, but instead, it felt like everything was falling apart.

Needing some air, you stepped outside, the cool night breeze brushing against your skin. It didn’t take long to spot Daryl, leaning against a nearby fence, a cigarette between his lips as he stared out into the darkness.

You approached him slowly, your heart still racing from the interaction with Spencer. As you got closer, Daryl’s eyes shifted to you, and the moment he saw the red mark on your wrist, his entire demeanor changed.

“Wha’ happened?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but you knew there was no point in lying to him. “Spencer grabbed me when I tried to leave,” you really didn’t want to already start problems. “It’s fine. He let go.”

Daryl’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching as he tossed the cigarette to the ground, already turning to head back toward the house. “I’m gon’ kill ‘im.”

“Daryl, wait,” quickly, you stepped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “It’s fine. I just… I want to spend the night with you. Not dealing with that. Please.”

He stopped, his fists still clenched, his eyes blazing with barely contained anger. But something about the way you said it—the way you asked him to stay with you—made him pause. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm the storm inside him.

“If he gets near ya again, I swear…”

You smiled softly, touched by his protectiveness. “I know. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you—and the rest of the group—watching out for me. I’m fine.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled with the emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to protect you, wanted to make sure no one ever laid a hand on you, but there was something else gnawing at him—something he didn’t quite know how to deal with.

Jealousy.

He didn’t think he had a right to feel it, but it was there, a bitter taste in his mouth. Spencer was younger, cleaner, probably the kind of guy you deserved. And him? He was older, rough around the edges, scarred in more ways than one.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you spoke again, voice steady. “Daryl… you don’t have to worry about Spencer or anyone else. My heart… it already belongs to you.”

For a moment, Daryl froze, his mind going blank as your words sank in. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone like you—someone strong, kind, beautiful—could feel that way about him.

A defensive scoff escaped his lips as he shook his head while giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

Your smile faltered, and you felt the sting of his actions deep in your chest. You’d laid your heart bare, and he’d brushed it off like it was nothing. But you didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, you forced a small laugh, playing it off like it was a joke.

But inside, your heart was breaking.

Without another word, you turned and began walking back in the direction toward your shared home with the others, your chest tight with the weight of his rejection. You felt like you had taken a leap, only to be pushed away, and now all you wanted to do was disappear.

Daryl watched you go as he lit another cigarette, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t untangle. His jealously, his feelings for you, things he’d never discuss out loud.

After arriving, you realized you were alone in the house. Everyone was still at the party and the silence was too deafening, leaving you unable to shake the pit in your stomach. The night stretched on endlessly as you rested on the worn-out couch, staring at the ceiling, the events of what happened playing on a loop in your mind.

Rejection. The taste of it still burned in your chest. You had put your heart on the line, and Daryl didn’t seem to notice. It had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving you winded and second-guessing everything. He hadn’t even said anything real—just brushed it off like you were joking, and now, the quiet gnawed at you, making you feel smaller by the minute. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and that thought consumed you throughout the night.

The next day passed in a blur. You barely caught a glimpse of Daryl, knowing he was out with Aaron, who had given him a new job as a recruiting partner after he had invited him over for dinner. Every step he took away from you felt like another brick in the wall that was forming between you two. You wrestled with your feelings, considering maybe it was time to let loose.

And maybe it was time to open your options with someone else.

That afternoon, while you sat on the porch, a warm breeze brushing against your skin, Spencer appeared, looking sheepish. “Hey, about yesterday...” His voice was shaky, unsure. He shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to the ground before he finally met your eyes. “I’m really sorry for grabbing your wrist like that. I had too much to drink and I was way out of line.”

You remembered the incident from the party—the way he had grabbed you, too rough, too desperate. But now, seeing the guilt in his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pity.

“It’s fine,” you forced a small smile. “You were buzzed. I totally get it.”

Relief washed over his face, and he grinned, more confident now. “So... what about that date?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching for someone else, but the thought of moving on, of trying to distract yourself from the pain, seemed tempting. Maybe you could use Spencer to forget Daryl. “Sure,” you replied, surprising yourself with the ease in your voice.

The date was... fine. That was the best word to describe it. Spencer talked a lot about himself—his job before the fall, his family, the world he missed. He asked you questions too, seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, but as much as you tried, you couldn’t really care. His words barely made a dent in your thoughts, because they were always somewhere else—on Daryl.

But Spencer, oblivious to your disinterest, seemed to think it was a success. He walked you home afterward, his arm brushing yours every now and then. You found yourself laughing at some of the things he said, more out of politeness than anything else, but for a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost.

As you approached the front porch, you failed to notice Daryl.

He stood there, not far from the house, just returning from his run with Aaron. He froze, his eyes locked on you and Spencer, his face hardening into something unreadable. Daryl just watched, hands clenched at his sides with his jaw tight.

By the time you reached the porch, you felt tired in more ways than one. As Spencer gave you a final, confident smirk, promising to see you again soon, he finally left. You were lost in thought. The silence wrapped around you, and for a while, you almost forgot about the strange encounter—until you spotted Daryl walking right towards you.

“Hey, Dary—”

Before you could finish, Daryl’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to pull you toward him. His face was a storm of anger, jealousy, and something else you couldn’t quite place. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, like he was barely keeping it together. He dragged you into the house, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the frame. “The hell ya doin’ with tha’ asshole?” he spat, his voice low and accent thick, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just talking.”

Daryl scoffed, pacing like a caged animal. “Talkin’? That son’of a bitch touched ya, now yer walkin’ ‘round with him like it didn’t mean nothin’.”

You crossed your arms, defensiveness rising in your chest. “He apologized. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

His eyes flashed, and you could see the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “Not a big deal? He hurt ya!” His voice was louder now, frustration pouring out of him.

And then it hit you—why he was acting this way. Was he... jealous? The realization made your blood boil. After he brushed you off, now he wanted to care? Now he wanted to feel something?

You snapped, your voice laced with anger. “So what? It wasn’t nearly as bad as you hurt me! So stop acting like we’re together when you clearly don’t care!”

Your words hung in the air, cutting through him like a knife. You watched as Daryl’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “What?” His voice was quieter now, unsure.

Your heart clenched, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally crashing down on you. “Last night,” you began, your voice was softer now, but still trembling with emotion. “When I told you my heart belonged to you... you acted like it was a joke.”

His breath caught in his throat. He remembered. The way he had shrugged it off, laughed it away, thinking you were just messing around. He had never thought, not in a million years, that you could feel that way about him. A girl like you? Loving a guy like him? It was laughable.

But now, seeing the pain in your eyes, it wasn’t funny at all.

“I... I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. “Thought ya were just messin’ ‘round.” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you took in the sight of him—this man who had built up walls so high, he couldn’t even see when someone was trying to climb them. “Why would I joke about something like that, Daryl?” you asked, almost pleading. Maybe he was used to Carol’s humor, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved you.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Didn’t think redneck trash would be worth yer time.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The way he saw himself, the way he spoke of himself—it hurt. But in this moment, the vulnerability in his voice, the way he couldn’t even look at you... it was endearing.

“Daryl...” you called softly, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, gently placing your index finger and your thumb under his chin, tilting his face up until his eyes met yours. The closeness between you made the air crackle with anticipation.

His eyes flickered between your gaze and your lips, nervous, unsure. He bit the inside of his lip, fidgeting with his fingers, and you knew—he was waiting for your next move.

With a steady breath, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, it deepened. When you finally pulled away, you stayed close, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Of course you’re worth my time.”

Daryl’s eyes were wide, his breath shallow. For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to convince himself that this was real. Then, in a quiet manner, he cleared his throat. “I love ya.” The words left his mouth in a very subtle whisper as you felt his breath against your lips.

Your heart stopped, the world seeming to freeze for just a second. He... loved you?

“I love you too, Daryl,” you whispered back, smiling before leaning in to kiss him again.

After a long, tender moment, you pulled back, and Daryl glanced away, embarrassed. “Ya still gon’ hang out with tha’ guy?” he asked, his voice gruff but his tone soft.

You laughed, completely forgetting about Spencer. “No,” you cupped Daryl’s cheek gently, making him revert his gaze back to you. “I have you. That’s all I need.”

@vampiresluv

[ms-demeanor]

Hi. I've followed you for a while and your advice to others always seems pretty good. You seem very knowledge about therapy and driving. This may be a bit out of your depth, feel free to delete this ask if so, but if you have any advice I would greatly appreciate hearing it. I've got a problem: the field I'm studying for and love doing will require frequent trips to places I cannot walk/bike/bus/fly to, and I'm terrified of driving. My father decided the best way to start teaching me was to put me behind the wheel on a small road in a big city with pedestrians and bikes on the road, and tell me to drive. It's been 4 years and I can't even think about getting behind the driver's seat without bursting into tears. Riding in the front passenger seat is fine. I want to get over this fear and finally learn to drive, with paid therapy if necessary, but I don't know what terms to search for to find a therapist that can help me with this. Any ideas?

So I think pretty much any decent therapist will be able to help you with this fear, just like any decent therapist will be able to help you figure out how to approach any fear that you've got.

But I'm also not sure this is something you need a therapist for so much as some very good friends and a lot of time. If you don't have your learner's permit I'd recommend getting one, and from there I think I'd say to ask some good friends, who you know are good drivers, to help teach you the rudiments of driving.

I think that you should do this by starting on a closed private property where there aren't people or pedestrians or anything else, and just put the key in the car, put the car in drive, and drive up and down a driveway until you are capable of doing so without panicking. From there, have your safe trusted driver friend take you someplace with no traffic of any kind but that does have some kind of lane markings (school parking lots on weekends, shopping center parking lots late at night, etc) and begin practicing things like stopping, turning, and acceleration. Do that until you're comfortable driving around empty parking lots, at which point I'd say that you should look at enrolling in a driving school with a closed course.

You were put in a very stressful situation that frightened you a lot, but there are ways that you can build up that should help you to see that it doesn't have to be stressful like that. Sit in the driver's seat of a parked car. Turn the car on without putting it into gear. Drive it back and forth just to get used to the car being in motion at very slow speeds.

If you want to work on this with a therapist you're probably going to want to be looking for someone who specifically discusses dealing with phobias around driving or accident-related trauma and recovery; cars can be terrifying and there are a ton of people who have had bad times with cars so there are lots of professionals who have dealt with getting people comfortable around cars as a necessity of our car-centric culture. That's the kind of stuff I'd be looking for, is people who talk about vehicle-related or accident-related trauma.

But also I think that's just a good thing to say out front if you're shopping for a therapist. "I am scared of driving and want to learn to drive, that is my primary current interest in therapy and I'm looking for a professional to support me while I work through this." Say this out loud as you call offices, and DO make calls, don't just look for reviews. People may not advertise this kind of thing specifically because it may just be taken for granted that it's something that their office can help equip you for.

Though, again, I think that you can likely do a lot of that yourself with the help of a good friend or a patient family member who is willing to respect your boundaries and work within them, but you need to think about what your boundaries are and what your goals are before you get to work.

[yan-randomfandom]

Hiii baby! Can I request Jinx, Cait and if you do Maddie (all separately) w/ a gf who is dose very crafty/homemade makeovers?

Hear me out- why spend money on a cut & color, new piercing, nails ect when your hg can do it for you herself?? (I just grew up poor and had to learn😭😭)

Jinx, Caitlyn, & Maddie with a crafty girlfriend headcanons!!

a/n: omg its so nice that you rose up & learned em😭 such a fun request! this one is written before act 3

I didn't proofread or edit so please feel free to point out anything that's bothering you 😭

also this might be ooc.... im so sorry if it is😔

Let's go and start with ...

🌀

Jinx

Jinx has an established style with her neon painted nails, twin braids, inventions, and everything in her possession. An endearing fashion sense, even if some think it looks ridiculous lmaooo

With Jinx being an artisan and artist herself, you both find being creative a common ground in your relationship!

Makeovers anytime, anywhere. No need to find professionals when you have your girlfriend right here! It's a give and take relationship for sure. I imagine it'd be so fun and full of laughs 😩

Also I think you guys will inspire each other back and forth lolol

Having an art block and you don't like it? Ask the other for help!

And if you're both having art blocks? Well, Jinx will take you out on vastly different spots until you find what you're looking for. It's a great way to bond, and sightseeing is nice (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

When you're exploring new styles, and you aren't doing it on Jinx, she would love to simply watch you work. It has some sort of calming effect on her, especially if you're rambling while doing it.

If she sees something of your art that she likes, she might just copy you in her style! Kind of like how Jinx did that makeup when she was in Vi's apartment or something

Although don't be surprised if you wake up and see your face horrendously painted in the morning 😔

You can't even revenge because she sleeps with one eye open, I fear

☄️

Caitlyn

MAN. I feel like you'd have to beg Caitlyn for even the simplest makeovers. She looks so plain rn (in the style way) or am I just blind 😭

You suppose it makes sense. She looks so perfect and you keep giving compliments. Like, why is she so pretty?? There's just so many possibilities you can do with her appearance!!

But, sadly, she doesn't let you give her makeovers much. Not that she doesn't like your work, she respects it and adores it, but arts isn't exactly her thing.

I think make-up of any kind would probably feel uncomfortable for her. Plus it would be a hassle to remove it, she would say.

What you can do is give her hair a trim. A perfect line, as much as possible. She comes to you when her hair feels longer, or more damaged, than usual. Granted, it can be boring, but you're just glad you're doing something for her.

Another thing is that you can choose outfits for her. You can doll her up anytime as long as you don't take too long picking combinations!

If she has time, she'll probably let you paint her nails. Make sure she doesn't regret it, or else she might never let you again.

She'd buy anything you want, by the way. Money isn't a problem for her. So you technically have unlimited supplies, thank goodness, 'cause sometimes they can be so expensive.

You jokingly tell her that even if you break up, if she ever changes her mind about getting something, she'll come to you. Absolute dibs on Caitlyn!!

🍯

Maddie

I feel like Maddie has never really delved into bodily artworks, since she spent most of her time studying about laws and stuff.

Like,, do we agree on the motion that she cut her hair so she doesn't have to deal with it 😭 Less weight during missions too

So when her amazing girlfriend happens to be passionate about creatives? Oh, boy, she's going to be filled with curiosity.

She'll allow you to do anything you want to her, as long as it isn't permanent. In fact, she's super enthusiastic about it, always trusting the process and seeing the result.

You're so creative that it's impressive!! Even if it isn't your best work, she always finds a way to praise you 😭

She'd love to watch you work as well, but she's not exactly the quiet type 🥲

Expect a whole bunch of questions. "What's that for?" "Why are you putting that?" "Ooh, that technique looks complicated. How—"

One of your quality time is definitely you trying to teach her new things. Let her paint your nails, do your hair, and anything that can make you both happy.

If you make clips or whatnot, you definitely try to overload her fluffy hair with decoration. You try different hairstyles possible with that length of hers.

Sometimes, you catch her playing around with your make-up alone. It almost always ends with you fixing it up for her 😭

you, showing your new haircut (it looks horrible): yoooo isn't this so rizzing

jinx: hell yeah

caitlyn: you are not going out like that. go get your unnecessary amount of hair extensions and choose from there

maddie: hell yeah

[repulsiveliquidation]

Collateral || Ona Batlle

warnings : mentions of kidnapping, implied violence. smut at the end. fingering, strap-ons, rough sex. Part 2 of ‘Too Dangerous’.

summary : love always pays more than money ever will.

Days passed and you were desperately trying to think of ways to get Ona and the girls out and away from all of this.

You knew you shouldn’t have meddled. You knew your peace was something you were taking for granted and now you were paying the ultimate price.

Your girlfriend.

“Michael, there is no  fucking way I am putting her in danger!” 

“Ma’am,” George knocks, letter in hand. “He’s sent us another one.” 

“Open it.” 

Another picture of Ona, this time of her in the garden with the girls enjoying a bottle of wine, was circled in red again. George pulls out a cryptic letter too, which faintly smelled like cigarettes and honey. 

“Since you’re stubborn and love watching the people you love suffer in isolation, I'll make you a deal you cannot refuse. Give me the stake you have in Barca, leave Ona for good and perhaps I’ll ease off the other girls. I heard Arsenal has been quite the business target in our world.”

I’m closer than you think. 

“Boys,” you growl, the letter crumpled in your hand. “Tell me how the fuck he’s got a picture of my girls from an angle that looks suspiciously like it was taken from the inside of this fucking fortress of a HOUSE?!” 

They stutter, already gathering their things. You yell for them to get out, slamming your office door in frustration. 

You sit at your table and the tears start to flow, sobs shaking heavily through you. You sit back and stare at the picture of you and Ona on the beach from last summer, her pretty smile and your arms around her middle were a feeling, at the time, you did not want to forget. 

You promised her you wouldn’t forget. 

“Girls?” 

They’re all bugging Gio on what to make for dinner, Ingrid and Alexia sitting by the bay window sipping tea. 

“Did you find him yet?” Aitana asks, the room going quiet. They all look at you and you suddenly feel nervous, hand shaking by your sides. 

“Can we all sit?” you ask quietly and Ona is beside you the minute you reach for her, unsure if this was the last time you could have her close. 

“There have been some developments with the case,” Ona stands beside you as you sit at the head of the table, all the other girls gathered around in their own seats. 

“We don’t know who it is yet. But, there have been some messages that have us concerned,” you say, looking up at Ona. She looks worried, all of them do, and you just wish you could have had better news to share. 

“Ona,” you push your chair back and hold both her hands in front of you. “I have failed you.” 

“Amor,” she begins but you shush her. 

“Please. I made you a promise that day you learned what I do for work. I promised I would keep you safe and as far away as possible from it all. All I’ve done from the moment we made ourselves public was make you vulnerable to the bad people I deal with.” 

You pause, watching her eyes well with tears. The other girls look close to tears too. You continue, no matter how painful the next words out of your mouth feel in your chest. 

“I have to let you go, princess,” you stand, cupping her cheeks. “It’s the only way I can keep you safe.” 

“No, no!” she screams, pushing herself out of your grasp. You reach for her and hold her wrists, forcing her to look at you. She puts up a good fight but you win. 

“Ona!” you say sternly, getting her eyes to focus solely on you. “Baby, if there was any other way, I would do it. But I have no choice. If losing you means you’re out there safe from the danger that follows me, so be it.” 

“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me!” 

“I’m afraid neither you or I have a say in this, my love. It’s the only way you can go back to the life you had before all this,” you turn to the rest of the girls. “It’s the only way. Please, you have to trust me.” 

“I don’t want to go,” Ona whispers, looking up at you. 

“You have been such an honor to love. But this is for your own good, princess.” 

The girls file out of the room to give you some privacy and the waterworks burst. 

“But, I’ll see you at the club…right?” she says through sobs, voice stuck in her throat. 

“No baby, we can’t do that,” you pull her into your arms. “I have to stay away from you. For your safety and theirs. But I will always be here to protect you.” You step back, pulling a necklace out of your pocket. 

“Wear this, let it remind you of me.” You lean in and kiss her, “I love you, I always will.” 

You’re true to your word and you keep your distance. There was another letter that showed up mere hours after the girls left with instructions on where to transfer ownership of those stocks to. 

Your fathers hard earned work, gone with a click of a button. 

All because of one girl. A girl who didn’t know the power she held in the palm of her hand. 

Ona knew what she needed to do to hold up her end of the bargain. She couldn’t look you up, ask for you, talk about you. She was to act like you didn’t exist. 

It was easier said than done. 

She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t play. She was benched game after game after game, her performance on the pitch proving sub-par with her lack of sleep and nutrition. 

The rest of the girls, especially the ones that she had with her at your house, knew what she needed. She thrived with you. She wasn’t the same Ona most of them grew up with. You brought out a side in her no one else ever had and now that side died alongside your relationship. 

“NEW OWNER OF BARCA FEMENI, OSKAR PHILLIPS.” 

The headlines in the paper the day after were a shock to everyone. There was a sense of hope that the girls held onto, knowing you still owned a piece of their club and therefore were still ‘protecting’ them but this? 

Did you not care anymore? Was washing your hands just like that reflective of what you thought of them? Ona looked at the headline again and noted the last name. Familiar, she knew of someone with that name…

“Ona, did you know anything about this?” Caro asks her in a little bit of an accusatory tone, pointing at the paper harshly. 

“No! Of course not!” 

“So she sells her major stake in our team, doesn’t tell you and leaves you all in the same fucking week and we’re supposed to believe you didn’t have a fucking clue about any of it?” 

“Yes! Because I thought as my friends, you would have my goddamn back! Not point your fucking fingers at me because it’s easier than using your brain to think!” 

Ona walks up to Caro, little body shaking with rage. 

“She left me with a shitty explanation, blocked me on everything, deleted her socials and her number from my phone, abandoned the home we made together, ABANDONED ME, and I’m the bad guy? Huh?! She’s the fucking saint because she did it for my own good but what about what I want for once? I wanted her and all it got me was a broken heart and a bed I can’t sleep in because it fucking smells like her! Every corner of my stupid house is haunted because of her!” 

Alexia wrangles the trembling Ona out of the room with Aitana and Ingrid while the others try not to make Caro feel too bad. 

“Ona, Caro was just asking–” 

“Yeah? More like rubbing it in my face that the love of my life left me to keep me safe!” she throws her hands up in frustration. “Me? Safe??? What a love story that is!” 

“Well, well, well ladies. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

Oskar stood in a pristine emerald suit with gold finishes everywhere possible. There were two guards that stood behind him, one that looked awfully familiar again. What was it about these men that made Ona feel like she was in a dream? 

Ona pushes Alexia off her and storms off, Aitana hot on her heels. They knew to trust Alexia to cover for them, Aitana knowing her friend needed her more than a board member needed her to kiss his ass. 

“Not at all, just some friendly tousling,” Alexia starts, reaching her hand out for the mysterious man to shake. “You must be our new owner.” 

“Oskar. If it isn’t La Reina herself,” he goads, taking her hand to shake.

Ona breathes deeply in the furthest shower stall in the bathroom. Aitana hugs her close and they share a sigh, wishing she could take the pain away from her friend. 

“Ona, you just have to move on amiga. She’s gone and it's for the best, sí?” 

“But what about me? Do you even know how hard it has been for her to be with me? We’ve tiptoed all around you all because we were so scared you would accidentally be exposed to her work and now I learn it was all for nothing?” 

“Amiga, she–” 

“It’s good to see you ladies again, how long has it been, a couple days?” 

A tall man with an eyepatch on walks into the changing room. Another goon follows close behind, locking the door when it shuts. A smaller man walks in, hat tipped just covering his eyes. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ona starts, standing up and pulling Aitana behind her, “this is a–wait,” She looks at the men properly, taking in all that she sees. 

The scar. The eyepatch. The terrible teeth and…that smell. Cigarettes and honey. Ona remembers that smell. 

The paper in your hand the day you left. 

“It was you.” 

“Figured it out have you?” 

George steps closer to Ona, pulling his eyepatch off. There was a deep cut along his eye and it was still fresh. 

“See what your whore of a girlfriend did to me when she found out? She made you all leave before letting me know she made me. Good thing her brother pays better and has better men to take care of me.” 

“Money does make the world go around,” Oskar snarls before smirking, “or in this case, it made my sister’s world crumble.”

He comes closer, the smell of cigarettes and honey intensifying. 

“Shall I do it again, for you and all your friends to see?” 

Michael’s phone rings, breaking the silence in the room. You’re in London, hiding out in one of your many homes around Europe. After getting the girls to leave your home and finding the rat in your circle, you trusted no one but Michael. 

He was there through it all, being a loyal servant of your mother before he followed you. Your father may have had the billions but your mother was who ruled it all with an iron fist. 

All your other men were scattered around Barcelona, keeping a close eye on your girls and especially your brother. 

Blood is thicker than water but when Oskars’ concerned? Money was more important. Alongside showing his mother what a terrible decision she made making his little sister the heir to the family business. 

His mother needed to regret it. But first, his dear little sister would pay. 

And what better form of payment than the love of her life? A life for a life right? Since you ruined his? 

“We can’t find them anywhere!” 

“Slow down, Patri,” you tell her, “Who can’t you find? How did you even get this number?” 

“Ma’am, it’s me Ivan! They’ve got the girls!”

“What?” 

“Oskar’s got Ona and them!” 

Your blood runs cold. There’s panic setting in on the other line, frantic chatter of the rest of the team searching for the girls. 

He’s got Ona. 

“He’s got Ona!” Ivan yells and you come back, throwing the phone on the ground and scrambling to get to her. 

The phone ringing again startles you. 

“Don’t her cries sound so pleasing, sister?” “Amor, don’t give him what he wants!” 

“If you hurt even a hair on her head, I swear I will–”

“Will what, huh? Kill me and all my men? Cry to mommy that I took your toys again? Grow up, you pathetic excuse for a Phillips! This empire you think you have was supposed to be mine! And by the end of tomorrow, it will be.” “Don’t give him anything, baby please!” 

“Shut her up!” he spits, “You listen carefully if you want your girls to live,” your brother growls into the phone. You’re shaking, hands in tight fists.

“You are to publicly declare our family business to me. I want it in writing that all profits made from tomorrow onwards will be mine. You are to tell mother that you do not want to run the business anymore and that you decided to give it to me. Any deviation from this plan, I will have their heads sent to your house in London, got it?” 

The line cuts and you’re already in a car to the airport, private jet fueled and ready to take you to Spain to save your girl. 

“Junior, are you sure you can’t find her?” 

“The camera feeds cut off when they went into the bathroom, coming back on an hour later. Everything is wiped!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. 

“Think, think…” 

“The necklace!” you scramble to the desk Junior was at, pulling up the tracking service you were paying a fortune for. “Junior, track the necklace!” 

As he pulled the information up, you begged and begged every deity out there that she was still wearing it and that it didn’t hurt too much as a constant reminder of you around her neck. 

“There!” 

“Ale? Do you hear sirens?” Ingrid asks the captain, leaning back in her chair that she was sitting in. The girls were unnaturally comfortable while kidnapped, being held in a similarly big house to yours. 

“They’re faint but I think I hear them,” Alexia says calmly, looking around at the other girls and the men that stood around the room. She didn’t want to alert them of their awareness nor give the girls false hope that someone was out there looking for them. 

As the sirens got louder and louder, the men watching them started getting agitated. Being loyal to their boss was one thing, but serving time in prison while that asshat got off scot-free was not something meatheads like them wanted to gamble with. 

“Those better not be for us, Gerald.” 

“COPS!” 

“Ona?!” you called out, rushing in with the police. You pushed past all the elite policemen, eyes scanning every face till you saw hers. 

“Ona!” 

She runs into you, melting into your touch. She’s crying, and so are you, happy to finally have her back in your arms. 

“You came for us,” she sobs, looking up at you. 

“Of course I did. I told you I would let nothing hurt you all and I meant every word.”

You hold her shoulders, looking at her. Not a single hair hurt.

“This was my fault.” 

“No amor you can’t blame-”

“Ona, you were in danger because of me. I did this. My work did this to you and your friends, this was never meant to happen,” you rant, running a hand through your hair. You’re pacing, breathing becomes harder and harder.

“Amor, you’re scaring me,” says Ona quietly, reaching out to grab your wrists; she knows you’re about to have a panic attack. Rare, but she was the only one who could calm you down.

“I can’t believe I let my work slip into my personal life, I PROMISED the day we met I’d keep you safe and I couldn’t even do that.”

“You have!” she yells, looking deep into your eyes. The rest of the girls have gathered in the living room where you were with looks of concern adorned on their faces. They’re wrapped in blankets, sitting on the couch behind Ona holding onto one another.

You look straight at Ona, chest heaving with tears welled in your eyes. An uncommon sight of vulnerability for you, one that Ona doesn’t even blink an eye at, her priority was to get you back to reality. That was how she loved, even with the past few days she’s had, she’s more concerned about you.

“You’ve protected me so well, mi amor. After that one time, you’ve never, ever, let me see anything that you didn’t want me to. I knew what I was getting into when you told me about the consequences of dating you and I accepted because I trusted that you would never break your promises to me. I love you, the girls and I love you so much. You found us, you brought us home.”

Your hands find hers, pulling her into your chest. You bury your face in her neck, breathing back to normal. 

You go back to your home in Barcelona; the rest of the girls returned to their loved ones in one piece. The whole thing is the biggest scandal of the year, headline after headline exposing the inner works of your brother. 

Turns out, he learned of your mother’s will well before she died and knew the plans your parents made to make the family business yours. Knowing he needed to bid his time, he waited till the right opportunity to get both you and his own mother to bend to his word. And it nearly worked. 

“You deserve a little something for saving me, mi amor.” 

“Aren’t you tired, princess? You’ve had such a busy day,” you tell her, watching as she climbed on top of you in her large bed that she loved still smelled like you. 

“I know how this works, every princess needs to reward her knight in shining armor.” 

“Oh? What does this princess have in mind then?” 

Ona pulls a strap from under the pillow. 

“Put this on and show me how much you’ve missed me?” 

Ona is on her knees the moment you ask, lips wrapped around your strap beautifully. She’s moaning around the silicone, eyes focused on you. Your hips thrust into her mouth gently, hands pulling on her long, silky hair. 

“Did you miss me sweetheart? Missed how good I fucked your mouth?” 

Ona’s eyes well with tears, throat loosening to let you fuck into it easily. She gags noisily, tears running down her face. You pull away, leaning over to kiss her hard.

“On the bed, beautiful,” you whisper, watching as she scrambles to spread herself for you. You kiss down her chest, cold fingers caressing her soft skin. She shivers at your touch, bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Tell me how you want it, amor,” you mumble, taking her breast in your mouth. Ona moans, back arching off the bed just a little. 

“Want it rough baby,” she says breathlessly, “Want you to fuck me stupid.” 

You’re pressing her down and forcing her legs wide open before she can finish her sentence, cock already teasing her entrance. You leave hickeys all over her back, hands kneading her firm ass. She presses back into you, ass flush to your hips. 

You leave a hard smack that resonates, Ona moaning when the sting stops. She’s soaking wet, pussy glistening at you behind her underwear. You push it to the side, slipping two fingers along her folds. You moan with her, pressing her back down more into a deep arch. Two fingers slip into her cunt, thumb rubbing her back door gently. You finger her hard, fingertips finding her sweet spot easily. 

Ona writhes, begging for you not to stop. You pull away and turn her over, fingers slipping back into her just as fast as they slipped out of her. Three fingers rub her g-spot aggressively, thumb flicking at her swollen clit roughly. 

Your lips suckle on her breast, free hand holding her close to you. She squirms and her lips never stop begging for you to let her come. The whine in her voice sends pleasure straight between your legs, brain aching to hear your girl come. 

“Amor!” she screams as she cums, thighs quivering hard. You barely give her time to recover before your cock is lathered with her slick on your hand as it’s pushed into her gaping cunt. 

Her eyes bulge out of her skull when she’s speared on your cock, pussy wrapped tight around the toy. She’s gripping the sheets, bottom half lifted off the bed as you fuck into her. 

You’re pounding into her hard, skin slapping hard as it echoes in the room. The moonlight pours into the room and some of it shines on Ona’s face. She’s got a sheen of sweat on her body which glistens and as your hips fuck into her, you feel your heart fall in love with her all over again. 

You pull out and turn her onto her knees, pulling her arms behind her back as your cock slips back into her. She’s drunk on cock, babbling and mumbling as you thrust into her faster. 

Several hard spanks on her ass and a few intentional thrusts send her into her second orgasm, this time sending her straight to sleep. 

She wakes up in clean sheets and a ridiculously large t-shirt on her, rubbing her eyes to find you walking into the room with Chinese takeaway in one hand and her favorite drink in the other. 

“Hi princess,” you coo, sitting at the coffee table by the floor to ceiling windows. She gingerly walks over, settling into the corner of the sofa you were in. 

You were opening up the food when her hand rested on your shoulder. 

“Amor,” she says quietly, “How did you find us so quickly?”

You chuckle, sneaking a bite of the salt and pepper squid. “You think I gave you that necklace as a going away gift? It doesn’t even have one diamond in it!” 

She laughs and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve heard in a while. 

“Thank you,” she whispers but you stop her. 

“I made a promise to you that I always intended to keep,” you lean in and peck her lips. “I will always protect you from my work, no matter what it does to me. Because at the end of the day, you are more important and all of this.” 

--

a/n : i am so fucking sorry that this was 9 months later but i do hope it lived up to your expectations!

[thegirlamongthestars]

fluff alphabet - c.alcaraz

author's note: i had the biggest tenderness attack while doing this and picturing it in my head 😭 i'm just a big sucker for sweet Carlitos

dividers: @enchanthings

a = affection + activities (how affectionate is he? how does he show affection?/ how does he spend his free time with you?)

Carlos is naturally affectionate in the softest, most endearing ways.

He loves holding your hand, sneaking in forehead kisses when you least expect them and constantly checking in with cute texts.

In his free time, he’s all about quality moments with you.

Whether it’s trying out new sports, binge-watching series or just having a nap cuddling each other.

b = beauty - what does he admire about you? what does he think is beautiful about you?

He thinks everything about you is beautiful.

From the way you smile when you’re talking about something you love to the way your hair gets naturally wavier during summer.

But his favorite thing about you is how your eyes sparkle when you're looking at him.

c = cuddles + comfort (does he like to cuddle? how would he cuddle you?/how would he help you when you’re feeling down?)

He’s the ultimate cuddle-buddy.

Carlos loves to hold you close, especially after a long day.

When you’re down, he’ll wrap his arms around you, stroke your hair and whisper comforting words.

His go-to move is to bury his face in your neck, making you laugh until you forget whatever was bothering you.

d = domestic + dreams (does he want to settle down? how does he picture their future together?)

He’s open to the idea of settling down, though he doesn’t rush it.

Carlitos pictures a cozy home, somewhere warm in Spain, filled with laughter and definetly a dog or two running around.

e = equal (is he the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

Carlos values equality in the relationship.

He isn’t dominant or passive; he sees you as a team.

He loves making decisions together, bouncing ideas off each other and respecting your independence.

f = fiancé (how does he feel about commitment? how quick would he want to get married?)

Carlos is all in when it comes to commitment. Once he knows you’re the one, he doesn’t hesitate.

He’s the type to casually drop hints about your future together, teasing you about where and how he's going to propose to you.

He knows you both are young now (so marriage is a future project) but he definetly knows he wants to go through it by your side.

g = gentle + gratitude (how gentle is he, both physically and emotionally?/ how grateful is he; is he aware of everything you do for him?)

He is gentle both physically and emotionally.

He’s mindful of your feelings, always considering how you’re doing.

He’s incredibly grateful for the little things you do.

Whether it’s showing up to his matches or just making him laugh on a bad day.

He never takes you for granted and tells you how lucky he feels to have you.

h = honesty (does he have secrets he hides from you? or does he share everything?)

Carlos believes in transparency.

He doesn’t keep secrets, even if something’s bothering him.

Even though he's still learning how to express his feelings, he’s open with his emotions and always listens when you need to talk.

i = i love you (how fast did he said the L-word?)

He didn’t take too long to say it.

Carlos felt it early on, but he waited for the perfect moment—a calm, intimate moment when it was just you two.

He said it while holding you close, whispering it like a secret while looking at you with his glimmering caramel eyes.

j = jealousy (how jealous does he get, does he get jealous easily? how does he deal with it? what does he do when he’s jealous?)

Carlos doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, he tries to be subtle about it.

Maybe a protective arm around your waist or holding your hand a little tighter.

He trusts you, but when he’s feeling a bit jealous, he’s extra affectionate to remind both of you that you’re his.

k = kisses (what are his kisses like? where does he like to kiss you? how was your first kiss like?)

Carlos’s kisses are the perfect mix of sweet and playful.

He loves teasing you with quick pecks, just enough to make you want more, then grinning when you try to pull him back in.

His favorite place to kiss? Definitely your lips, but he’s also obsessed with sneaking kisses on your neck or your forehead when you're not expecting it.

Your first kiss? Total butterflies.

It happened out of nowhere—one minute you were laughing together, the next he was leaning in, holding your face softly.

The kiss was slow, but not too serious, with just enough heat to make your heart race.

l = love language (what’s his love language? is it compatible with yours?)

His love language is a mix of physical touch and acts of service.

He shows his love by being there for you whether it’s cooking dinner or giving you a massage after a long day.

Luckily, your love languages are super compatible, cause you're just as touchy as him.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with him? what’s your morning routing like?)

Mornings with Carlos are the best.

He’s an early riser but loves to spend a few extra minutes in bed with you, cuddling and talking.

He loves when you tell him what you've dreamt that night while he plays with your hair or just caresses your back slowly.

You usually make breakfast together, and there’s always playful teasing as you sabotage each other on the kitchen.

n = nicknames (what does he call you?)

Carlos calls you cute, Spanish nicknames like “mi vida” or “amor.”

Sometimes, when he’s feeling cheeky, he’ll call you “peque”, especially if he’s teasing you about how tiny you look next to him.

You adore calling him "cielo" and he literally melts everytime he hears you saying it.

o = on cloud nine (what is he like when he’s in love? is it obvious for others? how does he express his feelings?)

When Carlos is in love, he can’t hide it.

He’s constantly smiling, his eyes light up when you walk into the room and his friends tease him about the "stupid look" on his face all the time.

He expresses his feelings with small gestures like leaving you sweet messages on a whiteboard you have at your fridge door or surprising you with fresh flowers everytime he sees you.

But he's top way of expressing how he feels is by showering you with LOTS of kisses and cuddles.

p = pda (is he upfront about your relationship? does he brag about you with others? or he rather shy to kiss, etc. when others are watching?)

Carlos is not shy about showing his affection.

He’s proud to be with you and doesn’t mind kissing you in public or holding your hand for everyone to see.

While he’s not over-the-top, he makes it clear that you’re his.

q = quizzes (how many little things does he remember about you?)

He remembers everything—from your favorite ice cream flavor to the way you like your coffee.

He pays attention to the smallest details, surprising you by remembering things you didn’t even realize he noticed.

Like the time he bought you a set of earrings and ring just because he saw you looking at them mesmerized on a shop window.

r = romance ( how romantic is he? what would he do to make you happy? what is your favourite moment in your relationship?)

Carlos has a romantic side that shines through in simple, thoughtful ways.

He’ll plan spontaneous date nights or surprise you with handwritten notes.

Your favourite moment is when you're just cuddling at the sofa and talking about anything after a long day.

s = security + support (how protective is he? is he helping you achieve your goals?)

He’s protective, but in a way that’s sweet, not overwhelming.

Carlos always makes sure you’re safe, whether it’s holding your hand in a crowd or walking you home.

He’s your biggest supporter, constantly encouraging you to chase your dreams.

He'll sit by your side when you're studying or doing things related to your job and he'll ask you to explain everything to him.

t = try (how much effort would he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Carlos always goes the extra mile to make you feel special.

He loves planning sweet surprises, like a cozy picnic or a spontaneous weekend getaway.

He’s not just about the big stuff either—he’ll help out with day-to-day things, just to make your life easier.

He loves putting in the effort to keep things fun and fresh.

u = understanding (how well does he know you? is he empathetic?)

Carlos knows you so well.

He’s empathetic and can sense when something’s off, even before you say anything.

He’s always there to listen and understands that sometimes, you just need someone to be there without saying a word.

v = value (how important is the relationship to him? what is it worth in comparison to other things in his life?)

To Carlos, your relationship is everything.

He cherishes what you both have, often saying it’s worth more than any trophy or title he could ever win.

He prioritizes your time together, always finding ways to make you feel loved and appreciated.

Whether he’s busy with training or matches, you’re always on his mind.

He sees you as his greatest treasure, and he knows that the bond you share is what truly makes his life complete.

w = whole (would he feel incomplete without you?)

Carlos can’t imagine his life without you.

You’re his partner in everything, and even the thought of being apart for a bit feels a little empty.

You bring so much joy and meaning to his life, and he loves sharing all those moments with you.

x - xtra (a random fluff headcanon)

Cuddled up on the couch, you and Carlos were wrapped in a cozy blanket, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm light around you.

He turned to you, a playful smile on his face. “You know, I could get used to this,” he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah? Just sitting around doing nothing?” you teased.

“As long as it’s with you...” he replied, leaning in closer and rubbing softly his nose against yours.

You couldn’t help but grin at his cheesy charm. “Smooth talker, huh?”

“Only for you” he shot back, his eyes sparkling.

With a sudden burst of mischief, he snatched a popcorn kernel from the bowl and tossed it at you. “But seriously, I could stay like this forever.”

You laughed, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing some back at him. “Forever sounds pretty good to me.”

y = yearning (how would he cope when he’s missing you?)

When he’s missing you, it hits hard.

He’ll send you random selfies from wherever he is or FaceTime you late at night just to hear your voice.

He’s the type to tell you he misses you even if it’s only been a few days.

z = zeal (is he willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? if so, what kind of?)

Carlos is all in, willing to go to any length for the relationship.

He makes every effort to carve out special moments for you, whether it’s a quick coffee date between practices or sneaking in a call after a long day.

His dedication shines through in every effort he makes to keep the spark alive, showing you that no matter how busy life gets, you’re always worth it.

[wheneverfeasible]

🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thanks for the tag @augustjustice! I was actually just thinking about how I had something for one of these.

So I’ve been reading a lot of historical fic lately, and it really got me wanting to do a royalty au. I don’t have a lot of solid details for it yet, and I don’t know if I’ll ever actually write it as I have a lot on my plate currently, but my basic idea is this:

The kingdom of Hawkins is ruled by a tyrannical king; lazy, prejudiced, and greedy. His queen is beloved by the people for the charity work she does, yet the king never hides the fact that he’s disloyal to her. He doesn’t have to, he’s the king. He doesn’t care if the woman he’s interested in is married or not herself, if he sees her and wants her then he’ll take her and the husband just has to deal with it. It’s almost an honor at this point. (Think very JFK.)

The queen hates it, however, and is just as vicious as her husband, only behind closed doors. She married for the crown, not for love, and her kindness is only a front she puts on for the public. Behind closed doors she is cold and vain and uncaring of the plight of others.

And then they have a son. The prince. He is just as rotten as his father. Lazy, greedy, thinks himself above all others. When he grows bored, he demands a plaything. That’s when the soldiers will sweep the streets and bring him beggars and street urchins and, sometimes, the prince will also demand for a petty criminal to become his plaything instead of being shipped off to slavers or executed. The playthings never seem to last for long, and they’re never seen from again.

One day, Eddie is brought forward as a criminal. It wasn’t actually him, or course, but his father. His father however skipped town and left Eddie to fall in his place. It’s known that Alan Munson was the worst sort of miscreant. A petty thief with a silver tongue that somehow managed to avoid being caught. Until one day he strove for too much and the kingdom was out for his head.

With Al having fled, however, sights turned to his son, Edward. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Of course not. At least, that’s what everyone says. So Eddie is brought to trial in his father’s stead. Eddie is certain he will be sent off as a slave or worse. Except.

Prince Steven whines that he’s bored, and he doesn’t want to sit through a whole trial. Can’t he just have the criminal as a plaything since his last one broke?

The king grants his son’s request.

Eddie has heard rumors of what sorts of things the prince gets up to with his playthings. According to some, it was a fate worse than death. At least a judgement of death was swift.

Except.

Well, Steve learned how to wear a public mask from the best of the best: his mother. His mask is more extensive, however, because he wears it inside the castle as well. Even his parents believe him to be nothing more than a spoiled, pampered brat. But in truth, it is quite the opposite. And the playthings?

Steve purposely seeks out the destitute, the needy, the ones who one more night out on the street could mean their death, and brings them in. Criminals too, if he knows they’re innocent, or only stole from necessity to survive, or if he believes the punishment far too harsh for their crimes. He takes them in too, as many as he can without his father growing suspicious.

He takes them in, acts for the public like a monster, and only when it’s just him and the “plaything” does he drop the act and let them know the truth. He’s going to get them out. He’s greedy and materialistic to the public because he gives the items away in secret, helping his playthings start a new life elsewhere. He helps them sneak out of the castle and out of the kingdom, if only they promise to leave their old life behind. It is the only way to keep them and those after them safe.

Eddie, of course, believes the worst of the prince, even when Steve’s mask drops alone in his room. He learned long ago not to trust royals. There’s a little bit of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers here then, as Eddie doesn’t trust Steve at first, and also refuses to leave the kingdom without his uncle.

So Eddie and Steve bicker about it, and Steve says fine but Eddie has to play the part of his plaything for the public and his parents, which involves a lot of being caught in compromising positions sometimes to sell it.

Except Eddie starts to grow real feelings when he realizes that Prince Steven really is a good man. Eddie soon has another reason why he doesn’t want to leave the kingdom, even if he believes a prince could never return his feelings.

Plot Possibilities:

- Steve’s last “plaything” was Jonathan. A rare volunteer to be the prince’s plaything in exchange for goods for his poor family. He initially does not trust Steve for a while, but eventually they build a kind of wary friendship.

- Steve was in talks for a betrothal with a noble lady, Nancy. She thought him a cretin as she only knew the mask he wore, while her lady-in-waiting, Barb, would mutter insults about him to her making Nancy have to cover her laughter. Steve heard them and thought they were hilarious, but pretended to be clueless.

- Jonathan sees Nancy and falls in love immediately, making Steve have to figure out a way to get the two of them together without blowing his cover. He eventually succeeds and Steve makes everyone believe Jonathan “broke” and was discarded when on reality he helped smuggle him out with Nancy’s entourage when the betrothal talks fell through and she returned to her land.

- Steve still anonymously takes care of Jonathan’s family like he promised he would, the only way Jonathan would leave with Nancy.

- Robin was originally given to Steve as a tribute, the daughter of an enemy soldier, and Steve keeps her as a plaything for a while (she attacks him the first night before he can explain the truth) and when she “breaks” he shortly thereafter obtains a new servant who looks remarkably like her, named “Rob”.

- During one of the times Steve is manhandling Eddie in public to keep up the act, Eddie gets a very ill-timed boner at the fake threat Steve growls at him, finding out the hard (pun not intended) way that maybe he might like some of the things evil Prince Steven is supposed to be doing to him.

- Eddie seduces Steve realizing the man would never force himself on Eddie. They try out some of things Prince Steven threatened him with and eventually Steve can make his mask’s threats seem far more genuine when Eddie follows him with bruises and a stiff gait afterwards. (Eddie loves every second of it.)

- A minor nobility cannot pay taxes so the king takes his young daughter for his son as payment and to humiliate the noble as a lesson for others. Her name is Chrissy.

- Robin is instantly smitten with Chrissy. The feeling is swiftly mutual once Chrissy realizes “Rob” is a woman.

- something something something

- Steve’s parents die/are murdered/are executed/idk

- Steve is made king and people are wary at first expecting him to be like his father. He can finally drop his mask and it’s revealed that all the good things people thought was his mom was actually him doing it.

- One of the first orders of business he does is grant Rob a title of nobility for loyal service and saving his life (stripping another noble of their title for their disloyalty/treason?).

- Steve tells Rob “he” can have any one wish of his granted. Rob asks for Steve’s concubine Chrissy as his wife (as per previously plotted by the three of them) and Steve grants it.

- Steve frees Eddie from his bondage, expecting Eddie to leave and never look back. He tries not to show how much that hurts.

- Eddie stays. Obviously.

- They go to bed with a bit of role reversal. Steve loves every second of it.

- Steve remains a bachelor king with a questionably close friendship with one of his advisors that the people of the kingdom knowingly smirk about but support because he’s an amazing king who always takes care of his people.

- Steve appoints his heir as this loudmouth whippersnapper with an attitude he takes under his wing for whatever reason. He questions his sanity every day after.

- Years later, King Dustin and Queen Suzie rule the land following in his predecessor’s footsteps; with care, humility, and equal justice for all.

~

(No pressure) Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere

Other no pressure tags: @steddiecameraroll @mundaneone @endlessmusings1801 @stervrucht @hotluncheddie @eddiethebrave

[radioactivesweet]

Hi darling! May I have some headcanons for Sasaki, Buddha and maybe Hades or Hermes dating Nyx s/o? She's the goddes of night and the ONLY goddess Zeus feared ('cause she's older and stronger than him) Sorry for my english :(

Hello! Hope you like it^^ and dw, your English is fine :) I was having some problems with my laptop while writing this, so there may be some mistakes

Sasaki is abnormally chill about dating a goddess feared by Zeus himself, one of those occasions where you can't tell if this human is brave or just incredibily dumb and reckless. Either way, he actually knows how dangerous you could be, but this doesn't mean he would leave you. You may be strong and ancient, yet one of the few deities he could get along with, not trying to exterminate humanity and such.

Sasaki believes that as long as he treats the way he would treat anybody else, without showing fear and trusting you, you will get along just fine. You are no different from other humans to him, so is treating you as one. You have just the same felings as everybody else and doesn't want to feel different in his eyes.This may lead to him straight up forgetting you are one of the most powerful deities out there and just act like you were the same as him.

Buddha doesn't really care which goddess are you as long as you gift him candies don't try to give him orders and limit his own freedom. The reason he got close to you in the first place was the fact that Zeus feared you - so having you around meant not getting the latter close to him. Also, believing in his own strenght doesn't really make him scared of you. He respects you though and also sees you as a valuable ally. If you actually gift him food though, that's a faster way to reach his heart. He is even willing to share his with you.

Quite literally a match made in hell. You're both ancient, strong, feared, related to darkness - with you being the goddess of night and him the god of teh dead - and quite misuderstood. You immediately got along and had known each other for a very long time - before Hades' brothers were even born. It was actually Hades who had later introduced to Zeus, who has been scared of you ever since. At parties you are basically that couple nobody approaches. Even though you actually aren't that scary, everybody seems to think so - which actually grants you both some quiet time together, without anybody bothering you. On the other hand, Cerberus loves you.

Hermes is used to adapt and deal with a lot of different deities, being the messenger of the gods, so you aren't that challenging to him. At first he was quite interested in youi because of of his father being scared of you - but really he hadn't met any difficulties with getting to know you, thanks to him knowing how to interact with others. He finds it really amusing when he invites you over for dinner - with Zeus and Ares, since he gets to see them strangely and unexpectedly silent. You are usually gossipping together - since you've been around for longer than him and know quite a lot about other deities, old legends and other facts he wouldn't otherwise have never heard of - you are someone he can learn a lot from, which of course has its perks.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Follow Up to the Follow Ups

Some feedback to the responses I received:

1) A lot of people said that fear and discomfort is what makes antiracism not worth standing alone for. Okay, so then I want you to say this phrase to yourself when it comes to that moment:

"I would rather be antiblack than be afraid in this situation"

Does it make you uncomfortable? More uncomfortable than speaking up? I want you to dwell on that! And no, I'm not saying this to hurt you; sometimes it is the better option to stay quiet. I recognize that you have to recognize your own weight class. (Not so much on Tumblr as it is in real life, granted 🙄) But this is often the outcome when we choose not to act. We just don't admit that to ourselves so directly.

Try to notice how often you make that choice, how often you even have to make it. If you find yourself saying this more often than not, do you still feel you identify as an ally when it comes to speaking up about antiblackness? I'm not saying you have to fight every single battle. I'm just asking you to take the time to notice how often you find yourself tolerating more than you don't. And if that's something that you genuinely feel isn't right, or that you want to change, do so! You have the option to strengthen your allyship!

2) I feel like my question about Black fans got walked around a bit. Tbh, that is already the reality Black people live in. The way you aren't comfortable speaking up, I don't feel safe assuming you're safe to be around. It's a far more perilous outcome for me, putting faith in the anti-racism of a person that I don't witness them express.

3) Fear, itself

How do you think I feel? 🤣 You're afraid to speak out on antiblackness because you're worried about the anger of, or- if we're being honest- the social consequences of speaking out? I have an entire page dedicated to addressing antiblackness in media while Black!

At any point, not for my own betterment but the potential- not even a guarantee, just the potential- of yours, I openly put myself at risk of racist ire to try make the space around me better. I've been called plenty of slurs and insults on my main discussing these things. It's not an easy choice to risk that vulnerability. Trust, I understand that!

It's honestly gone far better than expected, though part of that is because I have to police my own tone. I don't expect other Black people to do so, or to have to do so. I can only imagine an environment where people felt less inclined to treat me and my peers that way, that they felt the fear of social repercussions for their racism when they spoke instead of me.

My point here is, I'm not naturally built to be stronger than you when it comes to dealing with racism. The way you are afraid of your peers treating you, is the way they already treat me and my peers. I'm forced into resilience, I've spent a long time learning how to deal with this. If I can stomach living with this, you can occasionally take the risk and speak up. Again, I'm not asking you to fight every battle. But you're capable of more battles than you think.

That's it! That's the end of the introspection practice this week. Thank y'all for participating; I hope that you got some perspectives to take on with you.

[waliminium]

All That’s Left Behind

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, emotional strain/conflict Word Count: 2.3k Summary: After you walk away, Harvey is left to face the emptiness of his life without you. Months later, a chance encounter compels him to reach out, leading to a cautious journey of rebuilding trust. Slowly, Harvey learns to show up and fight for the relationship he once took for granted. Though the road is fraught with pain and uncertainty, hope emerges as you both take a chance on each other again.

The rain came down in sheets, slicking the glass walls of Harvey Specter’s penthouse and softening the city’s sharp lights into a blur. He sat in the dark, staring out at Manhattan, a glass of scotch dangling loosely in his hand.

It was almost laughable how much his life mirrored the storm outside. Chaotic. Relentless.

For the first time in years, the one thing Harvey couldn’t control wasn’t a hostile client, a legal loophole, or some rival firm.

It was you.

You were the only thing that had ever made him want to stop running, to stop being Harvey Specter, closer of deals and breaker of hearts. But even with you, he couldn’t stop the one thing he feared most. Losing.

You had been gone for three months, and the hole you left behind seemed to widen with every passing day.

The penthouse felt cavernous without you. He hated it. He hated the emptiness, the silence that seemed to swallow him whole the second he walked through the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the things you left behind—your scarf draped over the back of the chair, the half-empty bottle of vanilla hand lotion on the bathroom counter. And your mug. God, that damn mug.

It sat on the kitchen counter, chipped and worn but untouched since the morning you left. It was a small thing, insignificant, really. But to Harvey, it was everything.

Some days, he’d find himself standing there, staring at it, his hand hovering over the handle as if touching it might bring you back. But he never could.

The fight—or rather, the end—was etched into his memory.

It hadn’t been loud or dramatic. No screaming, no accusations hurled like weapons. That wasn’t your style.

Instead, it was quiet. Painful in its simplicity.

You had come home late, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion as you dropped your bag onto the couch.

“You’re late,” he’d said without looking up from the case files spread across the dining table.

You didn’t answer right away. When he glanced up, you were standing there, staring at him with an expression that made his stomach twist.

“We need to talk,” you’d said softly, your voice steady but carrying a weight that made his chest tighten.

He leaned back in his chair, gesturing for you to sit, but you stayed where you were, arms crossed as though bracing yourself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said.

At first, he thought he’d misheard you. “Do what?”

“This. Us. Whatever it is, we're pretending this is.”

His heart stopped, but he forced himself to stay calm. “What are you talking about?”

You laughed, but it was hollow, and it cut deeper than any words could. “I’ve been trying, Harvey. I’ve been trying to make this work, to be okay with how you live your life. But I’m tired. I can’t keep being the last thing on your list of priorities.”

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply, standing now, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You knew what my life was like when we started this.”

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes but refusing to fall. “I did. But I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”

“Damn it, I love you—”

“No, you don’t.”

The words hit him like a slap.

You wiped at your eyes, your voice trembling. “You don’t love me. You love the idea of me. Of having someone to come home to when it’s convenient. But love? Love means showing up, Harvey. And you never did.”

He wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, but the words stuck in his throat, suffocated by the truth.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you repeated, softer this time, and it was then that he realized you weren’t angry. You were broken.

When you turned to leave, he didn’t stop you. He told himself it was because he needed time to think, to calm down, but deep down, he knew it was because he didn’t know how to fight for you.

The first few days after you left, Harvey convinced himself you’d come back.

You always came back. After every argument, every tense moment, you’d find your way back to him. You’d walk through the door with that soft smile, telling him it was okay, that you could work through it.

But this time, you didn’t.

He tried calling once. Twice. But your voicemail picked up each time, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave a message. What could he say? That he missed you? That he was sorry? It felt hollow, insufficient.

He threw himself into work instead, taking on case after case, staying at the firm late into the night to avoid going home. But even the thrill of winning began to lose its edge.

Mike noticed first, his usual smirk replaced by concern.

“You look like crap, Harvey,” he said one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

“Thanks for the observation,” Harvey replied, not looking up from his desk.

“Seriously. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

Mike sighed, his brows furrowing. “You know, whatever it is, you can—”

“I don’t need a therapy session,” Harvey snapped, cutting him off. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t fine.

One sleepless night, he found himself sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by the remnants of the life you left behind.

The scarf you’d forgotten in the backseat of his car. The book you’d been halfway through, a folded page marking your place. And your notes.

You’d always had a habit of leaving little notes around the penthouse—on the bathroom mirror, in his briefcase, tucked into his suit pockets. They were silly things, mostly. Jokes, reminders, affirmations.

But they were you.

He pulled one out of the drawer, the paper crinkled and worn from years of being shuffled around.

“Don’t forget to smile today. It looks good on you.”

His chest ached as he stared at the familiar handwriting, the words blurring as his eyes burned.

Time passed, though Harvey barely noticed.

He stopped going out to drink with the associates. Stopped caring about his reputation as the untouchable, unshakable Harvey Specter. He still won his cases—of course, he did—but the fire that once drove him had dulled to embers.

Jessica tried once to talk to him, her sharp eyes softening with something akin to pity.

“Whatever’s going on with you, you need to deal with it,” she said. “Before it deals with you.”

Her words haunted him, echoing in the back of his mind as he sat alone in his office, the city sprawling out below.

It wasn’t until he saw you again, by chance, that something inside him shifted.

You were outside a coffee shop, laughing with a friend, your smile radiant even from across the street. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

You looked happy.

He wanted to turn around, to walk away and let you live your life without him. But then you looked up, your gaze meeting his, and the world seemed to stop.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you nodded—a small, almost imperceptible gesture—and turned back to your friend.

Harvey stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.

That night, he wrote you a letter.

It wasn’t long, but it was honest. Raw.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For not being what you needed, for not saying what I should have said. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know.”

He left it on your doorstep the next morning, his heart pounding as he walked away.

Days turned into weeks, and Harvey told himself he’d done all he could.

But one evening, as he sat in his office, his phone buzzed with a text.

“We need to talk.”

For the first time in months, Harvey felt something close to hope.

The text was brief, no more than three words.

We need to talk.

Harvey had stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, rereading the message until the words blurred.

It wasn’t a declaration, a reunion, or even an olive branch. It was neutral, cautious. But it was enough to make his heart pound.

He didn’t reply immediately. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, second-guessing every possible response. Should he ask when? Where? Or would even that make him seem too eager?

Finally, he settled on something simple. Name the time and place.

The café was unassuming, a quiet little corner of the city that Harvey had passed by a hundred times but never entered. He got there ten minutes early, an uncharacteristic move for a man who was usually fashionably late to everything.

He didn’t know what to expect. Would you come in angry, demanding answers he didn’t know how to give? Would you be indifferent, already halfway to moving on?

When you finally walked in, he felt the air shift.

You looked… different. Not in the way you dressed or carried yourself, but in the subtle confidence you exude. You didn’t seem like the same person who had stood in his penthouse months ago, broken and pleading.

And yet, to him, you were still everything.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady but guarded as you slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” he replied, his hands clasped tightly on the table to keep them from shaking.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, filled with everything unsaid and unresolved.

Finally, you broke it.

“I got your letter.”

He nodded, his throat tightening. “I meant every word.”

“I know.” You took a breath, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “That’s why I’m here.”

The conversation was careful at first, like stepping across a frozen lake and waiting for the ice to crack.

You asked about work, and he gave you vague answers, not wanting to burden you with the truth: that everything had felt meaningless without you.

He asked about your life, and you told him you’d been keeping busy. New projects, new people. You didn’t say much more, and he didn’t push.

But as the minutes passed, the tension began to thaw.

“I didn’t think you’d respond,” he admitted, his voice low.

“I almost didn’t,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “But then I realized I couldn’t keep running from this. From us.”

The word us lingered in the air, fragile and bittersweet.

Over the next few weeks, the two of you began to rebuild, piece by cautious piece.

It started with texts. Short, casual exchanges that slowly grew longer as the walls between you came down. Harvey found himself waiting for your messages, checking his phone more often than he cared to admit.

Then came the phone calls. They were awkward at first, filled with pauses and the occasional stumble over words. But as time went on, they became easier, more natural.

And finally, there were the dinners.

The first one was at a small Italian restaurant you loved, one he’d never gone to without you.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again,” he admitted over a glass of wine.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t. Not at first. But I realized something: I miss you, Harvey. Even when I hate you, I miss you.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you did. And if this is going to work, we can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his tone almost desperate.

“Show up,” you said simply. “Be present. Be here, with me, instead of always five steps ahead or stuck in your own head.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “I can do that.” But promises weren’t enough, and you both knew it.

There were setbacks, moments where old patterns threatened to resurface.

One night, after a particularly long day at the firm, Harvey found himself canceling dinner with you at the last minute. The second the words left his mouth, regret settled in his chest like a stone, but he knew there was no taking them back.

Your silence on the other end of the line was worse than any angry response. Finally, you said, “It’s okay, Harvey. I understand.”

But your tone—it wasn’t bitter, and it wasn’t sharp. It was tired, resigned in a way that twisted something deep inside him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, though he doubted his own words even as he spoke them.

“Sure,” you replied quietly, and then the call ended.

Slowly, he did.

He started leaving the office earlier, something that shocked even Donna. He’d show up at your place with takeout and an exhausted smile, but he was there.

You began to see glimpses of the Harvey you’d fallen in love with—the one who made you laugh, who challenged you, who made you feel like the most important person in the world when he actually let his guard down.

And Harvey began to see you too, not just as someone he wanted to keep but as someone he needed to fight for.

One night, months after you’d first agreed to see him again, he found himself sitting on your couch, his arm draped around your shoulders as you leaned into him.

“I never told you why I wrote that letter,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing against yours.

You tilted your head to look at him. “Why did you?”

He hesitated, his throat tightening. “Because I realized I’d rather risk you rejecting me than spend another day knowing I didn’t try.”

You didn’t respond right away, your gaze searching his.

“I don’t know if I can forgive everything,” you admitted softly. “Not yet.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said, his voice steady. “I just want the chance to earn it.”

For the first time in months, you smiled—small, hesitant, but real.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s try.”

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, Harvey felt something he hadn’t dared to hope for:

Peace.

[beauty-and-passion]

TBOB PART 3: OF BILL'S SOLITUDE AND BILLFORD (1/3)

What can I say? I’ve always loved the canon ship in almost every fandom I was in.

Welcome, everyone. Welcome to the third part of my endless rambling about Bill Cipher, The Book of Bill and Gravity Falls in general. Now it’s time for the ship, so sit back and relax, because there is a lot to talk about here.

Yes, I was one of the people who shipped these two eight years ago. And I shipped them as soon as I finished watching the series, because… well, there was more than enough proof that something was going on between them.

Unfortunately, the mentality at the time was “Bill tries to kill Dipper as soon as he has the chance? True love. One trillion proofs that Ford and Bill have something going on? How dare you think that, you are a Bad Person™”.

And yes, I know I could’ve written one post years ago and tried to explain Billford back then but… it would’ve been so, so tiresome. Especially considering that pedophilia was a-okay, but Billford shippers were terrible people Because Yes.

But hey, times change, people change and TBOB gives us enough proofs even a blind person can see them. So. it’s finally time to extensively talk about this ship - this time, from Bill’s point of view.

(For the disclaimer and everything else, refer to the first post. And read the previous ones too, if you like! They will help you understand some things I take for granted here.)

<- Previoust post - Masterlist

_______________________________

Billford has always been canon

The thing is: now as then, Billford has never been a ship about “and they ended up happily ever after”. There was never an intent to glorify abuse or to say that Bill and Ford had the healthiest relationship and everyone should have the same.

What was so captivating of this ship was the tragedy of it. The clearly evident infatuation. The obsession these two had for each other.

This is what pushed people (me included) to ship them: because it’s interesting. The dramatic possibilities, the angst, how deeply an obsession can go to the point you lose yourself to your partner… and yes, of course also the interesting images that can come up by imagining such different beings having something physical (if you’re not a coward and give Bill a human form). It’s not the typical fluff with a couple being lovey-dovey 24/7: it’s a lot more. There is a lot that can be explored. It’s wonderfully challenging, both on the writing plane and purely mentally.

… and yes, it's funny for crack and parodies. These two being cringe and pathetic or married and divorced at the same time is always funny.

Sure, at first we had just the show to support this ship. But oh boy, if there weren’t enough proofs already:

Ford’s house was filled to the brim with images, pictures and stuff of Bill. His goddamn windows are triangular-shaped. Not even the Vatican is filled with so many images of God - and I can assure you the windows are not Jesus-shaped.

Ford made a deal with Bill to be together “from now until the end of time”. Until the end of time. That’s basically a marriage, only even more extreme, because fuck death, we will be together until the last supernova evaporates. And before you ask: yes, it takes such a stupidly long amount of time, it’s bonkers. That’s real infatuation.

Ford consensually gave his body to Bill for possession. Just imagine the sheer trust you need to surrender your whole self to someone else. Not even a married couple can reach this level of trust. And definitely not “just friends”. Maybe BDSM couples can come a bit closer to what these two had.

As soon as Ford returned home after 30 years, Bill greeted him in a dream, called him “his old pal” and was all nice and friendly. No hard feelings, no reprimands, nothing but flattery and threats because, as we learned from TBOB, these two things go together in his head.

Bill asked Ford to join him 200 times more or less.

Bill gave Ford 200 nicknames more or less.

During Weirdmageddon, right after Ford tried to kill him with one of the things that could’ve destroyed him (the quantum destabilizer), Bill welcomed him with a smile, offered him a place among his freaks for the umpteenth time and, when Ford refused again, he turned him into his literal golden trophy wife and carried him around.

By comparison, when Preston Northwest offered his help, Bill shuffled the function of every hole in his face and ignored him completely right after.

Also: Ford tries to shoot me and fails by sheer luck? Please please please, be one of my freaks. Dipper tries to throw me a punch that will literally do nothing? Death. Bill doesn’t have double standards, nope nope.

To convince Ford to give him the equation, Bill’s first thought is to bring Ford into a private suite, serenade him and ask him to join him for… what? The 220th time?

When Ford refuses, Bill puts chains on him in the kinkiest possible way known to mankind, with an iconic image that screams of BDSM.

Somehow, all of this wasn’t enough. And so, we had Journal 3, in which:

Ford called Bill “his Muse”. Oh, my mistake: he called Bill “his blessed Muse”.

Literally lavishes Bill with compliments. So. Many. Compliments.

Says Bill will “seduce” you with never-ending flattery. Interesting verb choice here, Ford, are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell us?

Ford named a constellation after his Muse.

Once he went through the portal, instead of hiding away forever and good luck finding him, Ford held a 30-years-old grudge and decided HE would’ve killed Bill, no one else. That’s not a simple obsession between friends.

But after all of this, something was still missing.

Until now, it was quite certain that Ford had a COLOSSAL obsession about Bill. The religious fervor, the sheer trust, the depth of his grudge all made it very clear that Bill carved a deeply rooted place in his heart and mind - a place he kept for most of Ford’s life.

But what about Bill? Did he even care about Ford?

We had no idea. Sure, he showed some kind of care: he gave Ford special treatment during Weirdmageddon and seemed to value him enough to offer him a place among his freaks multiple times.

But when did this care start? Was it just because he needed Ford? What about their pre-betrayal relationship? Did Bill even care before?

The most plausible explanation at the time was that pre-betrayal Bill was simply flattered by Ford’s lavish adoration. Maybe he liked the guy a bit (otherwise, why waste time with him?) and humored him in his fervor, but nothing more than that.

But then the betrayal happened and Ford switched from adoring him to opposing him. He actively ran away, found ways to keep Bill away from his mind and came back with the sole intention of killing him.

At the time, I thought this was the moment when Bill started to be truly interested in Ford. Before Ford was just an adoring pet. Now he was more. Now he was interesting. Now he was worthy.

And that opened the door to even more angst possibilities! If Billford was just a “one-sided relationship” before, now it could’ve been the story of two beings who loved/cared about each other, but at different moments in time: Ford in the past, when Bill didn’t love him yet. And Bill in the present, when Ford wasn’t in love with him anymore. The perfect tragedy, ton of angst, love that.

But now, with TBOB and thisisnotawebsitedotcom, the tragedy that is Billford gets a new, angst layer. A beautiful, angst layer.

Because it’s not that Bill never cared about Ford or cared at the wrong moment in time: Bill cared right from the start.

_______________________________

Deeply alone

One detail about TBOB that people aren’t talking too much about is the sense of solitude that permeates it. There are parts in which you can literally feel Bill’s loneliness.

One example? The Bill Tells All section. I know it’s supposed to be a funny parody, but it’s also a perfect image of how alone he is. He’s so alone, he has to be host, interviewee and audience at the same time, because no one else is willing to listen or talk to him.

And in light of the information we got about his past, I think this is an extremely important part of Bill’s character and personality.

Let’s come back to Euclydia: the anthem/poem on the website emphasizes how close people are (“LOVED ONES WILL BE EVER NEAR”), so it’s very possible Bill grew up surrounded by his loved ones.

And then, one single event and everyone disappeared. All the people who surrounded him one second ago, were gone the second after. “There was no one left but me, covered in blood, alone in the universe.”: if this line means solitude for us, just imagine how much, much stronger that same solitude would be for someone who, until that moment, has always been surrounded by others and knew no other reality than that.

That’s another level of solitude: it’s a black void of emptiness, something all-encompassing and all-consuming. It’s a hole carved inside you that nothing will fill ever again. And it was you, the one who carved it.

Of course Bill became insane. Of course he chose to find a justification for his action, by saying that he liberated his dimension and that his people were holding him back. I don’t know what he would’ve done, if he hadn’t. Probably, he wouldn’t have found a way to survive.

But he survived. He repressed his trauma, justified it and kept going towards the stars he was aiming for.

Still, that void was inside him - and we know he tried to fill it. He tried by dating a literal void, for god’s sake. And he tried by surrounding himself with people.

That’s probably why he became who he is: a flashy, flamboyant figure, someone who loves to be the center of attention, because that means having people around. It means people listening to him and being with him and surrounding him again. It means not being alone again.

I mean, just look at this book: every page has something new and interesting, every page is a different attempt to keep you involved, to keep you around and listen.

But an audience can always leave. An audience can stop being around. And that’s probably why Bill searched for someone closer, someone who wouldn’t leave him so soon.

He searched for new loved ones.

_______________________________

Love and hate

Bill’s love advice put a real smile on my face, because sure, they’re funny, but at their foundation, they all share the same goal: to show to your potential partner your qualities and how you would be able to carry/provide for them and your offspring.

Why is it so funny? Because that’s exactly what every single living being does to attract a potential mate: showing off your colorful feathers, singing louder than others, fighting other rivals, showing how clever you are, using pheromones and special smells. And, for humans, something like, idk, showing how wide your hips were as proof that you would carry healthy babies. Or showing off how wealthy you are, to prove you can take care of your partner and your offspring.

Bill himself follows this mentality, considering advices like “have two of everything to show your wealth” or “show how much calcium you have (aka how healthy you are)”. Heck, he even has a seduction hat which is basically one huge phallic shape!

And, again, this makes me smile, not just because it’s a clear parody of those men who keep showing off their huge, large vehicles. But also because he usually wears a tall top hat. And how funny it would be, if a tall top hat was indeed a way to win a partner in Euclydia? What if that’s how his father got his mother? Please, I want a fanfic or Mr. Cipher entering a place with a top hat big and wide enough to win Mrs. Cipher’s heart (while not accidentally piercing through another shape). I bet it would be hilarious.

Funny love advice aside, I would also point out these two things Bill says:

Love and fear are right next to each other in the brain and, like most humans, Bill also can’t tell the difference (he doesn’t even think there is a difference)

“love is the pupa stage for hate”

The fact Bill mixes love and fear explains why he is like that in general - and with Ford too. If love and fear are the same thing, then there is no difference between flattering someone and threatening them. There is no difference between partying with his friends and scaring the shit out of them. There’s no difference between helping Ford and hurting him. And there’s no difference between allowing him to see Fordtramarine and “joking” about someone coming to steal his eyes.

Also: if “love is the pupa stage for hate”, then Ford coming back after 30 years hating him was completely normal for Bill. It was just how things were supposed to go: first he loved him, now he hates him. Still, same thing. Still worth a place among his freaks. Still worth flirting. For Bill, nothing has changed - just evolved in a natural way.

And yes, this is uber duper fucked up and great material for toxic Billford. But it also makes me think: how did Bill get this mentality? How did he manage to mix love and fear so much? When did it happen?

Inevitably, I think about Euclydia. And inevitably, I think that “the incident” is when Bill mixed the two things.

When he still lived in Euclydia, Bill clearly experienced both love and hate: his mother at least seemed to love him, the other kids didn’t. Bill doesn’t like his optometrist either and we have no clue about his feelings towards his father. Later in his life, Bill recognizes his family and his world tried to blind him/”snuff out his potential” - so, again, something more similar to hate than love.

Then, Bill destroyed his place. He had to deal with a trauma so huge (i.e. experiencing solitude for the first time in his existence), it left a void inside him. A void he decided to suffocate with lies - lies that, in the end, are just half-truths. His place was bad and his family was holding him back! But that was also the place that showed him love for the first time. His people were flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams! But among them, there was also the one who loved him right from the start.

I believe this is when the two feelings got mixed in his brain. In his attempt to justify and cope with his mixed feelings regarding the universe he just destroyed, Bill ended up mixing love and fear together and believing that love is just one stage of hate. Unable to deal with the vastity of solitude, Bill put together justifications for his actions and messed up his own perception of feelings.

The result is someone who is deeply, deeply alone and who desperately keeps searching for love to fill that void… but is unable to do that, because he cannot distinguish between love and hate anymore.

That’s why he has a lot of exes. And that’s why they’re all exes.

But hey, at least there are friends, right? Right?

_______________________________

Bill’s friends are full of potential (especially one of them)

The perfect friend for Bill should be:

alone, outcasted, rejected by society, possibly an orphan looking for a purpose in life (so exactly like him)

completely devoted to him

Which you can see by yourself that this isn’t exactly how a friendship should work. The friend exactly like you can still work, but the friend completely devoted to you who should do everything you want… well, that’s not a friend. That’s not even a pet, because even pets do not follow you around with such lavish adoration.

But somehow, in the vastity of the Multiverse, Bill managed to find some friends. And oh boy, what friends:

Pyronica is a beauty queen AND she has a twin sister AND she dated Hectorgon. Cool, but not enough. I need details. But, like, a lot. Her entire story would suffice (maybe).

Amorphous Shape is invisible to most of the Henchmaniacs. How? Why? Who is she, really? Where is she from? Where is her backstory? Why isn’t it here? I need it here.

Hectorgon was a goddamn sheriff and Bill just throws it like that?! I want his backstory too! I want to know everything about him!

Keyhole hates Pyronica? Why? What happened? Where is all the juicy gossip, Bill? We need the gossip!

And most importantly: a certain someone was part of Bill’s gang. Someone with a photo that has been covered, but it’s still partially visible. And as soon as I saw it, I jumped up on my bed and asked: “Wait… is this Jheselbraum?!”

The answer is yes and thisisnotawebsite confirmed it: she was one of Bill’s Henchmaniacs. And now the right question is: how much do you want The Book of Jheselbraum, from 1 to 10?

I mean:

In the partially crossed-out part about her in TBOB, Bill says she figured something related to dimensions

In the shaman page (TBOB) there is a code: WHICH HENCHMANIAC RATTED ME OUT

In Journal 3, Ford has been saved by her, who sucked him out of the 2D world of Exwhylia

Jheselbraum told Ford that Bill’s “thirst for power caused him to destroy his home dimension - including his parents and everyone else he’d ever known” (Journal 3)

Still in Journal 3, Ford says she spoke of Bill “without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign of terror end”.

In addition to that, let me add this part from thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code TANTRUM:

I KNOW YOUR CRIMES, CIPHER. TAKING A NEW HOME WILL NOT MAKE UP FOR THE ONE YOU’VE LOST. WHAT YOU DID TO THE COUNTLESS SOULS OF EUCLYDIA- Cipher stopped in his tracks. YOU CHOOSE YOUR WORDS VERY. CAREFULLY. Ciphers henchmen murmured amongst each other, confused. They seemed to have heard conflicting stories about Bill’s past. “You said you liberated the people of your dimension-” LIBERATED THEM FROM THEIR BODIES! DONT LISTEN TO HIM! HE’S A BABY!

Can you see how HUGE the potential is?

What I believe for now is that:

Jheselbraum figured out what Bill really did to his home dimension (i.e. destroying everything and not “liberating” it, as he said to his Henchmaniacs)

She started to actively find ways to stop him from doing the same thing again

She “ratted him out” with Bill’s new potential puppets on Earth

Bill found out she didn’t just rat him out, but found out the truth about Euclydia too and that’s what led to her escaping

She settled closer to a 2D world - maybe to learn more about Bill, maybe because she knew Ford would’ve appeared there

And speaking of that, we have the message on thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code SEVENEYES:

This is something someone else wrote to her. Someone who told her to escape to a crossed-out Dimension (who guesses that the crossed-out thing was the number 52?). Someone who told her it was against the rules, but it was also the only way to escape him (aka Bill).

And from her code, you can find out the other criminals found new homes as well.

In other words, we have a hidden spy story, in which someone helped Jheselbraum escape from Bill and, in turn, she helped all others escape Bill.

If you don’t want a book about her, about her story as Bill’s henchmaniac and about this whole thing, you are a huge. Fucking. Liar.

_______________________________

And with that, let’s close part 1 of this umpteenth endless analysis. The next one will come soon and it will be all about Billford.

Yes, I know I already talked about Billford here, but we still haven’t talked about the details in TBOB and Bill’s perspective on it. Also, it’s always nice to talk about Billford.

See you soon~

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Remember that time Azul told mc for her birthday that he will grant one wish free of charge ? Time to take him up on that ! Mc wishes that he would teach her how to make potion that would turn her into mermaid and for them later to go for a swim together ❤

pleas make Azul into his octopus form🥰 Ik it may sound weird but I would love it if he held her in his "arms" cuz she was getting too ahead of herself or smf😂

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul had a feeling he would regret this.

Making a mermaid potion in reverse, AKA one that would turn the potion’s target into a merperson rather than into a human, wasn’t complicated to create. Well, not for him at least, but it still took up valuable materials that NRC might not be so willing to part with. Regardless, it had been a risk he weighed when he first made the deal, knowing if you pulled through he would have to keep up his end of the bargain regardless of the costs. He figured that it would all turn out even once you did what he needed you to, but in the end, it proved to be much more stressful on his end regardless of all the fruit your efforts bore.

He was only going to observe from afar, warning you of the potions limitations and the effects it might have on your body. He had considered roping Jade or Floyd into teaching you how to move or swim properly, as often these potions didn’t conjure up octopus merfolk, but there’s something that tugged at his heart and made him turn the other day. The concept of the twins in the water, teaching you how to move, getting to be close with you in an intimate setting where you’re putting your entire trust into them not letting you drown or flounder if a real predator would pop up—

It left a bad taste in his mouth, but he would simply have to do. He’s in the water waiting when you approached the private beach area, behind a vacation home his mother had purchased on land for when she wanted to call on him. He kept his lower body hidden beneath the dark surface of the water but it was much harder to do after you had dived in, eyes open and taking in the beauty of the ocean that rested just out of sight in your day-to-day life.

Azul understood the appreciation for something new, while he had heard and learned many things about land culture before getting to actually attend NRC, he was still filled with wonder of how different things could be. He had hidden his curiosity well but he had absorbed every ounce of knowledge he could once he stepped foot on the surface, something he saw you trying to do now that you could see this unknown world right before your very eyes.

He’s thankful that he’s as quick as he is, watching the side of your tail get caught in a riptide; most merfolk were warned about them when they were little, as while the concept of drowning wasn’t in their wheelhouse it could sweep a little one so far away in the blink of an eye that they’d be lost and vulnerable. You weren’t small like a child but you also weren’t an expert swimmer, and he saw the way your body twisted as you tried to figure out why you weren’t moving the way you wanted to.

“Come here.” It’s a command that you couldn’t listen to even if you wanted to but you feel a tentacle slide around your waist, trying not to giggle at the suction cup that stuck to your skin as Azul pulled you to safety. Now that you looked a little closer you felt like you could see the change in direction within the water, looking back at Azul with an amused smile.

“Whoops.”

Azul sighed, releasing you from his grip though you seemed fascinated with him now. He had been the least interesting thing in the water up until that very moment, at least in his opinion. Now that your eyes were looking him over for the first time he felt weirdly vulnerable, missing the way clothes could offer a buffer from prying gazes (to at least some extent). He glared at you, considering if he should let the ocean take you away before you turned to watch some colorful fish dart by.

He wouldn’t be doing this again any time soon, regardless of how beautiful you might be inside (and outside) the water.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Birthday Pie

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

SPOILERS! set between seasons 7 and 8 of supernatural, there are spoilers for both these seasons

summary: you celebrate his birthday even when he’s gone

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.9k

warnings: sad, not at all a happy birthday for our beloved lil guy, language

author’s note: i’m sorry, okay? i’ve had this idea in my head for months and decided that today is a good day to release it? anyway, happy 45th birthday dean winchester! love you and very glad you’re alive and well and the series finale never happened! :)

January 24th, 2013 — Dean’s 34th Birthday.

You were barely able to drag yourself out of bed and into the living room where you were now seated and watching TV. It didn’t matter what was on, you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was completely focused on Dean. Your beloved Dean; who shouldn’t be wherever the fuck he was but instead safe in your arms.

He shouldn’t be spending his birthday terrified, missing you and his brother. He should be spending it with you, Sam, and Cas.

Sure, he wasn’t really the birthday party type of guy but each year since you met him you’d gotten him a pie and put candles in it for him to blow out. It’d started as a half-assed attempt to put a smile on his face when you learned it was his birthday and you couldn’t find a cake at the store.

He’d loved it.

“How’d you know I’d rather have pie?” he had asked, his face lighting up even more when you put two candles—a two and a four—in the center.

“I…had a feeling.” You had shrugged it off as not a big deal but deep down you both knew how much it meant to him.

And each year since then—come rain, shine, monsters, or the apocalypse—you made it your job to get Dean Winchester a pie on his birthday.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, joining the half-dried ones there already. You hadn’t been sad on Dean’s birthday since his year before hell. But it was different then, you had him next to you and you were savoring every second. You might have been terrified of what would soon happen, but you were still with him.

**

“If you’re not already aware, Dean,” Castiel started, “you turn thirty-four today.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Cas we—”

“Granted time seems to be passing differently here, but on earth it is currently your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, brother,” Benny joked.

“Yeah real fuckin’ happy,” Dean scoffed. “We’re stuck killing our way through this fuckin’ nightmare while the love of my life is spending my birthday alone.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Dean,” Cas assured him. “She has Sam, he’ll look after her until we get back.”

“No, you don’t get it. Birthdays were…they were our thing, if that makes any goddamn sense.”

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you smiled, placing the pie in front of him.

“Twenty-six! God, that sounds old,” Dean laughed a little.

“You’re kidding right?” you asked after singing for him as he blew out the candles.

“What?”

“Twenty six may sound old to you, but trust me you are still fuckin’ adorable.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned.

“You wanna do the honors, cutie?” you asked, handing him the kitchen knife.

“Gladly, sweetheart,” he said, taking it from you. You watched him cut a slice for you then an even bigger slice for himself.

“Dean,” you started as you watched him begin eating the pie. “I love you.”

He stopped eating and looked at you; “What?”

“I know there’s a lot about your life you haven’t told me, you’re lore you could call it, but I need you to know that I really do love you, Dean Winchester.”

“But how? I mean, I’m not exactly an open book and there’s no way…” he trailed off.

“No way, what?”

“There’s no way in hell you’d feel this way if you learned everything about me.”

Your heart broke at his words, and your expression definitely showed it.

“The amount of pure love I have for you is beyond measurable, Dean. And I might be crazy for saying this, and feeling this, but there is truly nothing you could say or do that would make me stop.”

“Really?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared to press his luck.

You nodded with a soft smile; “Really.”

“Well, look I’m not really one for…that…but I do…I do feel that way about you too. I guess what I’m saying is, uh, right back at cha?”

“See to any normal person that would sound like the ramblings of a crazy man,” you said, his smile only growing. “But to me? Absolute poetry.” You leaned over and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

He simply kissed you back, smiling against your lips.

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you whispered, blowing out the candles on the small pie you’d bought. It was a one-person pie because you knew if you bought a regular one that at least three-quarters would not have been eaten.

You took out the candles and picked up your fork. Staring down at the desert, you let more tears fall.

“It shouldn’t be this hard to eat a fuckin’ pie,” you laughed humorously. Your phone rang next to you and you answered it; “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” he sighed. “I just wanted to call and check up on you. It being Dean’s birthday and all, I figured you might…you know…”

“Be huddled up in bed sobbing my eyes out?” you said.

“Yeah…”

“I’m holding it together Sammy, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“I always worry about you, you know that.”

There was a short pause in the conversation as you took a deep breath and let a few more tears fall; “I miss him, Sammy,” you admitted. “I just really miss him.”

[alilarew23]

the first manifestation is [in] the body

i want you to genuinely ask yourself if the reason you’re struggling to shift states is really due to a lack of faith/belief in your power as god of your reality or if it’s because you’re biologically addicted to the stress hormones associated with “trying” to manifest your desires.

i think most people, like myself, discover the law of assumption at a time when their inner/outer worlds have crumbled.

they’ve lost something or someone dear to their hearts. they’ve been fired. the business deal they thought for sure they had in the bag fell through.

but here, someone on tiktok says, i have a solution. decide what you want. affirm and persist until it shows up.

now, to be clear, i am by no means against affirmations if they work for you, if you’re truly repeating phrases as a means of reminding yourself you already have/are that which you desire to be, or if said repetition helps you shift states.

if something works for you, great.

keep repeating.

but i think there’s a general misunderstanding surrounding the term “persist” that can (and often does) have seriously detrimental implications for people first learning about/applying the law, especially those who haven’t read or listened to material from neville or edward art (yes, there are other wonderful teachers, but for me, the neville-edward duo is where to start).

persist, put simply, means to know, to continually accept your assumption as true despite lack of immediate evidence in your physical world.

acceptance does not imply—and does not demand—any work on the part of the assumer.

acceptance is by nature gentle.

it is a pleasant, “yes, i already am. yes, everything already is. yes, my prayer has been answered. thank you.”

but there’s this energy a lot of supposed-teachers have attached to the term that makes those applying the law think they need to work.

PERSIST PERSIST PERSIST UNTIL IT SHOWS UP.

meaning, if you are not working, if you are not affirming and visualizing and scripting and SATS-ing every second until who knows the exact moment your desire materializes, it will not materialize.

which then gets people in the state of working, of trying, which by nature has force/anxiety attached to it.

which implies not being/having.

how can you work to get something you already have?

how can you try to become something you already are?

when people start to realize this, usually because they either get exhausted and depressed from all work and no results, or they manifest their first neville book that begins re-orient their relationship to the law, they might have the realization that, oh! this can be…mind-bogglingly easy.

like, i legit just decide i have/am something and go about my life and it appears in my physical world?

what a relief!

but then…immediate anxiety sets in.

NOT, at least i don’t think—and of course this isn’t always the case, there are exceptions—because they don’t believe in the law or intuitively know/feel their power to select and step into the reality of their dreams, the one inherently granted to them by their god-selves, but instead because they have trained their bodies to not trust—to not feel safe within—their power.

to not allow for the naturalness of having/being what they desire to effortlessly take over.

which is the key to successful manifestation.

it’s like, oh, ok, it’s done!

but five minutes later, the body says, where is all that anxious energy i’ve been hit with non-stop for the past seven months?

now, if they could sit with this discomfort, they might realize that, actually, that *lack* of anxious energy is a signal to the inner man/subconscious mind/whatever you want to call it that—hell yeah! we have this thing now!—hence the immediate build-traverse of the bridge of events, and a rapid materialization of said desire in the physical world because they are living in the end (present, not desiring)—and that realization might make it easier to stay in the being/having state.

but instead, there’s the bodily pull-back to the trying state.

which leads only to more exhaustion and frustration and depression and the cycle begins itself again.

but there’s such an easy fix.

i did it.

you can do it, too.

here it is.

STAY.

in that feeling of relief. of ease. of almost-disbelief.

at all costs.

it sounds so silly to say your life depends on you sitting in this sort of discomfort, because—what?

how could simply being/knowing/gently accepting be this uncomfortable?

it shouldn’t be, and i’m genuinely sorry for all of us who have had to do the work of un-learning the persist-work stuff, but also, maybe it isn’t work.

maybe this, too, can be easy.

gentle acceptance.

we already are. everything already is.

it is a blessing to exist in and accept this naturalness.