#and then i don’t feel compelled to work on whatever it is being asked about…. 💦

[causticsunshine]

hi!!! i was wondering, when are u going to update your momrry fic?? tsm!!

hi anon!

i’m assuming you haven’t seen the updates i’ve been giving, but: every fic wip i have currently standing will be finished, but due to extenuating circumstances ie having a lot on my plate in several different areas, i cannot give an exact time frame!

very happy to hear you’re enjoying! it’s the first thing on my docket to finish right now, but the second chapter should be done soon 🩷

[gurugirl]

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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[fastbrother]

Desperate (M, 1.3k words)

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Tags: From Sex to Love, Grumpy Harry, Reclusive Harry, Slutty Draco (non-derogatory), unhealthy coping mechanisms, middle-aged Drarry

Author's note: Wrote this for @kamaela's birthday. Thank you for always being so kind and encouraging! 💕

* * *

For eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy starting Hogwarts, the only interesting question about school was who was going to come in second in his year. Imagine his surprise.

For forty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy starting his twenty-fourth year of unemployment, the only interesting question is who is he going to sleep with next.

Some days, it feels like he’s slept with everybody worth sleeping with. Other days—well.

* * *

When he was young, Draco Malfoy thought he liked women. He slept with a handful of girls, all very proper and sweet.

Then the war came, and he was in it, and he was tortured by the Dark Lord himself, which rewired his brain somehow, because after the war Draco Malfoy did not like women anymore. Nor anything proper. Or sweet.

Draco Malfoy liked to be fucked like he’d be murdered next.

* * *

Harry Potter is a big old grump. He lives in what should have been Draco’s house by birthright, nurses a terrifying beard currently in the process of turning grey, and only ever goes out in Muggle London, like the uncivilised brute Draco knows he really is. Draco dreams of being fucked by Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, the slayer of Dark Lords. And whatever rude people say, Draco’s a man who works for his dreams.

* * *

“Harry Potter. Out and about. What a surprise.”

Potter barely spares a glance for poor Draco. His eyes are glued to the Muggle TV above the bar, in the process of broadcasting some beastly excuse for movement that the Muggles call sports. There are five empty glasses in front of him, and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“Fuck right off, Malfoy.”

“Ah, I’m afraid not,” Draco says, and sits on the barstool next to Harry. “You go, if my presence bothers you so.”

“I don’t give a shit about your presence.”

“Beautiful. Have you taken to writing poetry, by any chance?”

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Potter says, slowly turning those grotesquely green eyes towards him. “You look like someone who makes enemies in every room he walks into. How come you’re still alive?”

“I have my ways.”

“Aha,” Potter says, emptying his sixth glass of whiskey, eyes back on the TV. “I’ve heard about your ways.”

“Would you like some first-hand experience with them?”

Potter lets out a chuckle, a loud and brutish sound.

“Have you been following me?”

“Hardly. I’ve been coming here every night for six months. Ask Robert.”

“Who’s Robert?”

“I’m Robert,” the barman says, pouring Potter’s seventh drink.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Robert,” Potter says, and raises his drink. “So. Has he?”

“Yes.”

Potter turns to Draco. Offers a vicious smile that makes Draco’s body tingle in all the right places.

“I used to come here all the time. Before the Prophet published a photo of me. Six months ago.”

Draco shrugs. “Can’t a boy try his luck?”

Potter leans forward and pulls Draco’s stool closer to him.

“You’re no boy. You’re a slut.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco moans, biting his lip. “I am. I’m a bad, bad slut.”

* * *

Harry Potter fucks like he goes to war. There’s no fear there, no second guessing. Draco could die now, bent over a dirty sink in a dingy Muggle bar, and he’d be happy. He should die, actually, because what else is there to experience? He has peaked, and life can only be a disappointment from this point on.

“Please,” he begs when all is done. “Again.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Potter says, pulling up his pants. “But there are people queuing outside.”

“I’ll get rid of them. I’ll kill them. Nobody will miss them too much, I’m sure.”

“How about this,” Potter says, fixing his hair back in a ponytail. “You keep coming here every night for another six months, and maybe I’ll drop by again.”

“Don’t play with me, Potter. You know I will.”

“Oh, I know.”

* * *

Draco expects Potter to torture him for at least a couple of weeks, but he strolls into that cursed Muggle pub the next day. He’s wearing jeans and a ripped t-shirt. Truly living up to his reputation of decorated ex-Auror and beloved hero, this one.

“My, my,” he says, sitting next to Draco and gesturing to Robert for a drink. “What a good pet.”

“Aha,” Draco says, draping himself all over Potter’s offensively attractive attire.

“Let me get a drink in me first,” Potter says, struggling to keep Draco at arm’s length.

“If you wanted a drink, you could have gone to another pub.”

* * *

Robert bans them eventually. Draco’s about to Obliviate him but Potter solves the issue by inviting him to his house.

“You mean, my house,” Draco corrects him.

Potter doesn’t seem impressed. “How about we call it a night, then.”

“Fine. I relinquish all rights to that home. You can have it forever. You can have the Manor, too, if you want.”

Potter laughs, and grabs Draco’s arm. “I love how desperate you are.”

“Oh, I’m desperate, alright.”

Five minutes later, Draco’s thirst is finally quenched when Potter bends him over a Black encrusted dining room table. Draco discovers he has quite the taste for family intrusions.

“In front of my great-grandmother’s portrait next, please,” he begs. Potter, the charitable soul he is, complies. Predictably, his great-grandmother calls Potter Muggle-loving filth.

“He is, granny,” Draco moans, face squished against some dusty yet tasteful wallpaper. “He’s the filthiest person that’s ever lived.”

* * *

“Are you some form of house pest? A Black family curse? Why can’t I get rid of you?” Potter says when Draco shows up on his doorstep, carrying a bottle of wine and appetisers as any man of the world would.

“Get rid of me, then,” Draco says, and walks in.

* * *

Potter is on an agenda to steal Draco’s elves and have them clean his shithole of a house. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why he’s taken to drinking with them.

“Stop entertaining the staff. You should be entertaining the Master. And there’s no smoking in the sunroom.”

“There is, now,” Potter says, lighting up a second cigarette with his wand. “There’s a new Master around here.”

“Master Potter,” the elves say in unison, drunk on the Butterbeer Draco keeps for his nephew.

* * *

It’s all fun and games until Draco catches feelings.

“I’m sick,” he tells anybody who cares to listen, and also those who don’t. “Je suis gravement malade.”

“Pull down the shades,” he tells the house elves from under the heavy duvet. “Owl the Healer.”

“Maybe Master Malfoy should tell Master Potter how he feels.”

“Clothes! Somebody bring clothes!”

* * *

“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve fallen ill.”

Draco peeks at Potter from under his duvet.

“It’s true. I’m dying.”

The bed jounces when Potter sits down next to him. He puts a hand on Draco’s un-feverish forehead.

“It sure looks like it.”

“I just want you to know, I lied about the Manor. I’m leaving everything to my elves.”

Potter’s hand moves down Draco’s face.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“You have?” Draco says, his illness intensifying.

“Yes.”

“I thought I was a curse you couldn’t get rid of.”

“You are. You’ve been slacking on the job lately.

Something sharp rattles in Draco’s chest. He moves away from Potter’s touch, and hides under the duvet.

“Hey,” Potter says, leaning until his hand finds Draco’s waist through the thick material. “What happened?”

Silence.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Slowly, Draco shakes his head under the duvet.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Draco nods.

Draco hears ruffling and squeaking, and then Potter gets under the duvet. He’s hot, like a cat.

“Where did all your eloquence go?” Potter says, gathering him in his arms. “What happened to all your fancy words?”

Draco buries his head in Potter’s chest. Takes a deep breath.

“I turn stupid when I’m in love. It’s a debilitating illness.”

“You’re a debilitating illness,” Potter says, and kisses his forehead. “And I’m chronically ill.”

[yenqa]

night secrets

sypnosis — in which the two of you reveal your deepest secrets to the other in the middle of the night.

warnings — profanity, hurt/comfort, angst, crying, mentions of bruises/injuries, lmk if theres more!

pairing — spiderman!niki x gn!reader

wordcount — 1590

a/n — happy bday niki!! sunghoon work coming soon guys i swear

The shine of the moon peers through your window, lightly illuminating Riki’s soft expression looking at you. You two are tangled together on your bed, facing each other.

His hair is slightly ruffled, and you can tell he’s tired just by his eyes. The room is silent, the only noise being the infinite white noise of the fan tucked onto your bedside table.

You can feel a chunk of your hair lifted, being felt by Riki’s gentle hand, he softly combs through it—untangling each knot that you had made while laying down.

He treats each strand as if he’s strumming a guitar, replaying the same chord over and over again until moving to the next.

It almost feels surreal, you’ve been hopelessly in love with this man for years and now you’re lying next to him. You lift your hand to his cheek, brushing it slightly—making sure that he isn’t some illusion your mind made up.

You let out a breathy smile on your face, admiring his sharp features that make your boyfriend.

Fate had a play in your lives. If that attack hadn’t happened during your first year of highschool you wouldn’t have been next to Niki right now, three or four years later.

Though fate had also made you trip over yourself in the hallway yesterday, fate has also placed Niki beside you to catch you. Fate was a scary thing to think of, how is it that everything happens for a reason? As crazy as it is, you would have wished for your life to go any other way.

It’s quiet in your room, but not an awkward silence. In Fact you enjoy it—but something inside you compels you to voice your thoughts to him.

Staring at his face, you try to imagine how he’d react to your thoughts, a few hours ago—when you were both wide awake he would’ve laughed and made some corny joke about it. But it’s different now. The moon’s out and the darkened sky makes you more vulnerable than ever.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, pausing his hair combing.

You’re not even sure your voice works after keeping silent for what felt like a couple centuries, but you answer anyways, “It’s nothing, keep brushing my hair, please?”

He chuckles quietly and you can feel the slight vibration in his chest, “Nothing? You’ve been staring at me weird for the past minute.”

“Promise you won’t judge me?” You hold up your pinky finger, though you can barely see it, you feel his arm shuffle to interlock with yours.

“Okay um—this sounds really corny but I’ve liked you since forever. I know I told you I started liking you last year because of that one time that villain came to our school and you protected me then went to help others but—I’ve liked you since seventh grade, and It feels so—so crazy that I’m laying in bed next to you right now, y’know?”

Everything you say sounds so rushed out in your world, but in Riki’s it feels like time is slowed, seventh grade? Even when he was a total loser who wore neon shorts to school? Even though he comes to school—or even to your home with bruises and injuries everywhere that taint his reflection in the mirror?

“You’re being so quiet—Why are you being so quiet?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and Niki can’t help but showcase a big grin.

“I didn’t know you were so in love with me” His hand moves to teasingly pinch your cheek, ignoring the scowl on your face.

Ah. This was the reaction you should’ve expected.

Annoyed, you turn your body around to face the wall, but he grabs your waist, turning you around to face him once again.

“I love you too, Y/n. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t deserve you with everything I’ve done.”

You squint at him, trying to make out whatever flaw he thinks he has, “What do you mean “everything I’ve done”? If being the perfect boyfriend is everything then I think that you’re perfectly up to standard?”

His mouth opens slightly, as if he has a secret that’s dying to come out, one that seems to fight his way to his thoughts.

“Y/n, I have a secret for you too.”

Shuffling in your position, you look up at him with curious eyes. “What is it? I won’t laugh or tease you I promise.”

He sits up, and you follow. He ruffles his hair slightly, as if trying to get rid of his nerves. You grab his hand softly, playing with it to calm whatever nerves he has.

A sigh leaves his mouth, “I am uh—I’m Spiderman.”

His voice is shaky, as if it was caught in his throat and he had just forced it out. But—you can’t tell if he’s being serious, I mean it’s not like you knew Spiderman personally so you couldn’t really compare and contrast.

Though Niki was always a jokester, you decided that not believing him was the safer option. “Ki—that’s not funny. I thought we were being serious.” You furrow your brows, unable to read his face.

“I’m not joking! Look—”

White webs emerge from Niki’s wrist, shooting straight into your wall. You let out a gasp, tightening your grip on his wrist to find any evidence of a prank. You look at him with your mouth still as he patiently lets you search his arm for any evidence of silly string or something.

“Niki, if you’re joking I swear I’m going to fucking kill you.”

His hands raised in surrender, “I just showed you my webs! I also have my suit in my bag, I carry it everywhere with me.” He points to his duffle bag in the corner of your room which conveniently has a glimpse of red sticking out of it, squinting, you swear you can see the black design.

“And that night when that super villain came!” He frantically adds, “I left not to go help other people—but change into my suit so I could get rid of him!”

Your body is frozen, internally clicking the pieces together. All of the sudden, you know why he randomly appears with bruises or injuries or if he leaves in the middle of something important and comes back out of breath.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Your mind scrapes through everything you thought of him ever, unable to even comprehend that your friendly neighborhood spider man was just a teenage boy. Specifically the one standing right in front of you.

More importantly, you’ve seen the things people have done to spiderman. Publicly shaming him or even just getting tossed around by villains. And instead of getting a thanks from the city and some kind of prize, he’s judged for making a mess while saving your city.

Your mouth lays open slightly, unable to even think of the mistreatment he’s been getting, the amount of help he needs but can’t get without hurting anyone, the amount—

“Can you say something other than are you joking? Or are you serious, please?” His words are similar to yours just a minute ago, there are words you’d want to hear, and words you wouldn’t. There's an obvious decision you make.

Ignoring his plea, you envelope him in a hug, tucking his head in between your head and your shoulder. Letting him sit comfortably for a few seconds. The words barely come out of you, “I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” His words are muffled, he’s confused. But it comes out in a soft tone, almost fragile. You lean back, cupping his face in your hands.

“You’ve gone through so much with no help at all. I mean—you’re just a boy. And you’ve saved the city what—at least five times and you don’t get any credit for it at all. You come home with injuries every day because you’re busy saving everybody's asses—”

He leans back into you, dampness fills your shoulder as his body starts to tremble. You panic, lightly rubbing his back. “Fuck—I’m sorry, please don’t cry. I love you and I’m proud of you—please don’t cry.”

Your words only evoke more cries, until he’s full on sobbing on your shoulder. Every few seconds he sniffles.

Unsure of what to do, you whisper sweet words into his ears, letting him cry out all his worries as you continue to do your best to console him. Though your shirt will surely have a huge wet spot on your shoulder, you have hundreds of more to wear.

You couldn’t ever imagine what it would be like to be Spiderman. Having to be responsible for saving the city at least every week, having to come home limping and not being able to tell anyone why or even getting the appropriate help. Having to lie to your loved ones to protect them.

You couldn’t imagine ever having to go through the suffering he goes through, just to have to do it again the next week.

So, you continue to stay still. He cries until he runs out of tears, you softly lift his face to face yours, placing a soft kiss on his lips before tucking him into bed, whispering a soft “I love you, and I’m so proud of you, Niki.” you lay down next to him, intertwining your fingers and succumbing to your own drowsiness.

perm taglist : @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

[breathlesswordsbloodyknees]

Narrative Doom

Introduction

I've been playing around in and exploring this space where Sauron as Halbrand was genuinely seeking redemption, trying not to manipulate events but merely nudge them.

In my view, at this point he's in survivalist bed-rotting mode post-goo-form when he meets Galadriel. (I think he's more of an opportunist than a schemer in this era. Not that he doesn't have those schemes, but I think he's pushing those bad bad urges down. I have a web of scenes that I consider in this view for some other day)

I’m building much of this piece on these previous work: (link) (link) (link)

It's led me down some interesting philosophical rabbitholes, and I'd like to share.

Now, important to note, Sauron is a Maia—not a 'human' by any means. He's an ancient spiritual being who doesn’t feel the way us teeny tiny mortals do.

But on a broader scale: Tolkien’s work, like fiction as a whole, reflects and explores the human experience, so we’re riding that train.

All this with the framework of not absolving him for anything that came before or comes after. I plan on expanding into his evil alongside Morgoth and his actions in Season 2 at a later date.

But right now, we’re just exploring this blip of a moment where I consider Sauron could be genuine in repentance.

This is more an analysis of Sauron, but I feel like it has a lot to explore for Haladriel fans. There's some critique of Galadriel's choices here, but I want to make it clear: I'm not assigning blame. More just digging into the complexities.

And, well, I don't think this ship would be as compelling if it didn't have complexities.

Spoilers:

All of TROP S1

Vague themes/lines in TROP S2, mostly from S2E1.

The Good Place spoilers for overall theme and a few season 4 lines, but nothing outright about the plot.

Trigger Warning:

Be warned, I’m going to delve into some dark themes in a very personal way. Including but not limited to abuse cycles, personal trauma, harmful behaviors, and empathy within all of that.

I won’t lie, this work was hard for me. Painful to untangle. I would encourage you to have empathy and compassion for yourself, as well as me, while you read. I tried to put warnings before I go into these themes. Please take care of yourself.

---

To start

Sauron’s narrative, at its simplest, is a cautionary tale: If you let your ambition and drive for power go too far, you turn to evil. Higher values over sinful pleasures. Pride goeth before the fall.

But on a deeper level, being solely a cautionary tale, an overarching villain, a lesson to learn, what does that mean for the complexities of Sauron in The Rings of Power?

Charlie Vickers puts so many layers and so much emotion into his character. Yet he keeps it to a lot of imperceptible movements that, I found out last night, get almost completely lost in low resolution. I can see that being a part of some of the stricter interpretations of Vickers' Sauron. But there’s a vulnerability there that touches on some deeply raw thoughts.

—

So the relentless question in fandom: Does he mean any of it with Galadriel or is he just the Great Deceiver?

I'd like to ask, how much of it is just some deeply relatable ‘human’ behavior? Deflection, defensiveness. Half-truths, twisted truths, fibs.

Because as he says on the raft, he did tell her the truth, that he had done great evil in service of Morgoth. He never lied to her.

(An aside: I personally don’t give the “my ancestor” thing much weight as a true lie, I mean it’s his backstory and he had more reason for it than the Darkling did imho)

But really, who doesn’t try to hide and smooth over the worst ugly evil nasty bits of themselves and their past? We want to shine in the eyes of others—it's a fundamental desire to most.

—

On the other side, touching on influence and ambition:

Aren’t we all trying to sway events and leave an impact in whatever way we’re capable? Don’t we all attempt to sculpt the world like clay? Isn’t that really all we can do in this world?

And don't we often tell ourselves that we’re doing it for a better outcome? Even actions deemed ‘good’ and ‘heroic’ create ripples that have negative impacts, if only just for the orc babies.

I’ve been thinking a lot about orc babies.

—

Galadriel, from their first conversation on the raft in S1E2, backs him into a corner. She’s relentless in her quest for revenge against him and he’s whoops—sitting right there, doing the side eye meme. He’s gotta be self-preservational. And that rings true to me more than outright deceit. (At this point)

But I think over the course of the season, playing as Halbrand, “Lost King of the Southlands”, he’s trying. Trying to be “the hero she seeks”. Trying in the only way he knows how, which is…well, not great, he really toes the line. But he’s trying to ‘choose good every day and choose it again tomorrow’, while he’s on the path she set him on. So it’s a step by step journey towards the light, but the path is ever slippery.

And inevitably, as we know, he fails.

—

TW

So what does that mean for those of us who feel like we’re trapped in the narrative, hurtling toward a doomed end through harmful behaviors we can’t escape? Tied onto the train tracks, staring down what feels like an inevitable fate.

When all you’ve known for ages is subjugation and torment and abuse, what do you become? (Which makes Mairon even more painful, with his origin of beauty and light. Like a whisper of I was once admirable too)

I keep coming back to the image of grooves, well worn. And well, under the influence of an abuser and beyond, I too have done evil.

Holding the good you’ve aspired to and the evil you’ve done in one space; it’s a sharp, heavy feeling like holding coals, like touching a hot pan, something to run and hide from. And looking at my deeply ingrained behaviors from childhood, along with trauma that’s happened throughout my life...I see those grooves echoing in jagged bloody ways that feel comforting, even natural.

For a long while, it’s been the only way I knew how to self-soothe, these behaviors that can cause harm to myself and others. So I’ve been twisting around the question: Can we ever truly be free of the evil we’ve done? If it’s all we’ve ever known, baked and beaten into our bone marrow?

In Sauron’s case, the answer is no. His story unfolds the way it was written. The bad guys perish, the good guys win.

(though there’s the “they meet in Valinor” after canon theory, hope ever shines through)

—

That all brings me into The Good Place and that show’s moral thesis.

Spoilers for The Good Place:

More or less, the show states “people improve when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don't?” and “What matters isn't if people are good or bad. What matters is if they're trying to be better today than they were yesterday.” (S4E8)

Scanlons’ What We Owe to Each Other and the rabbithole of contractualism that I haven’t fully delved into.

I resonate deeply with what The Good Place says. All with the understanding that you have to put on your own air mask before you help others, don’t set yourself on fire to keep other people warm.

But I do believe we should help each other in what ways we can, rather than writing people off entirely.

So, I struggle with Galadriel’s moments of “shutting the door” being considered wholly empowering. Light prevailing, resisting the allure of darkness and the draw of power. It is indeed all those things, especially for her journey. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame her.

But there’s an itching here for me and I have to scratch it.

—

In S1E8, if we’re assuming he’s genuine, he put it all out there in the raft illusion. It was his biggest, his all, his hope. A leap of faith. Real vulnerability with an internal truth that was like holding coals.

He did what was ‘right’. He reached for support, for understanding, for community, What We Owe to Each Other.

(though we can’t ignore the scene before that where he’s wearing Finrod’s face. But I haven’t followed that thread yet).

He made a play for a better future.

And she—light and goodness and holiness in her hair, denied him.

“You are Morgoth’s friend”, “There is no such future.” Boiling him down to his worst parts, reinforcing his worst fears.

Is that all we ever can be?

---

TW

When do we write off people like Sauron, with all his history of wrongdoing? People like my abusers or even myself? When does the potential for redemption become irrevocably lost?

How much empathy should we show, and what are we obligated to offer? What do we owe to each other? All of this while carefully balancing the line of not condoning or becoming an apologist, along with taking care of yourself first.

It’s mind-boggling.

---

The answers are out there: self-compassion, self-forgiveness. Change comes from within. Balance. But it's the same way people say go outside, exercise more, drink more water to fix depression. When you're in the throes of darkness, those words feel hollow, trite. And that glossy sunlit path is more than treacherous when you walk it, especially alone.

So again, I say, I scream: Should we not still help each other?

It's not just internal and external separately, we need both. I have to believe that. Internal change and external support.

—

Conclusion

In the end, I'm really only left with more questions. This barely scratches the surface of what I've been brewing on, I could go round and round for days. I mean, that’s what I’ve been doing this week.

Regardless, all the typical takeaways feel hollow. Choose light, choose hope, every single step, no matter how hard.

It’s never quite that simple, on a very visceral level. And for some of us, like Sauron, it never materializes.

It all just eats and scratches and twists inside me. Ultimately though, I think Caitlin Seida said it best about hope and redemption and the struggle in her poem, Hope is Not A Bird, Emily, It’s a Sewer Rat. Which I greatly hope you’ll read and find what I have in it. (link)

So I guess we keep being scrabbly little sewer rats, hoping to claw our way out of the dank dark cave. And y’know, it may not mean much, but I’ll be here, down in the muck. Right there with you.

Maybe that’s all we owe to each other.

Follow-up

[7ndipity]

Quiet

Hobi x Reader

Summary: Just a lil blurb about Hobi realizing that it's okay to not always be his sunshiny self around you.

Warnings: not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @seleneacyoflove for requesting this, as well as the lovely anon who sent this headcanon! This is short and kinda eh, but I hope you’ll still like it💜

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Quiet was something that Hobi had learned to avoid over the years. Quiet was awkward, quiet meant concerned glances and inquiries. In his work, quiet meant stagnation. Even on his own, he had come to dread the silence.

But after weeks of packed schedules and non-stop traveling and rehearsals, fatigue had finally weighed him down enough that nothing could possibly compel him to move from the place where he’d spent the better part of the last hour, resting heavily against your side on the sofa, head on your shoulder while your hands traced absent-minded patterns on his skin.

The two of you hadn’t gotten to spend any time together in weeks, but mercifully, you had managed to match up your schedules so that you had an entire weekend together to catch up and reconnect.

Normally he would be bouncing off the walls with excitement; no work, no worries, just you and him and two days of freedom to do whatever you wanted. And although he was happy to finally have time with you, he was so unbelievably tired that he found himself drifting, unable to find the energy to add much to your conversation throughout dinner, just quietly basking in the comforting rhythm and cadence of your voice.

Eventually though, you fell quiet as well, letting silence settle over the two of you as you cuddled together watching tv, his eyes on the screen but not taking in anything that was going on, his mind wandering further as a faint sense of guilt began to swirl in his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” He suddenly said in a quiet voice.

You looked down at him, confused. “For what?”

“For not being here.” He said, playing with your fingers as he avoided your eyes.

You intertwined your hand with his, stilling his movements.

“You are here.” You said gently.

He shook his head. “Not properly, not how I want to be.”

He was always known as everyone’s sunshine, their energy, their hope. But at moments like this, when he was so drained and distant, he felt like he was letting you down.

He was pulled from that train of thoughts by the feeling of your lips against his cheek, glancing up to meet your gaze, your face full of understanding.

“That’s okay. Everyone needs quiet time, there’s nothing wrong with that.” You said. “I don’t mind being like this with you.”

And in a way, it was such a simple statement, but the sense of relief that it caused to wash over him was so profound, it was like he could breathe properly for the first time in he didn’t know how long, his whole body relaxing back against you, letting his head slowly droop to rest on your shoulder again.

You were still looking at him with a small smile. “Is there anything you need me to do? Do you want to just go on to bed?”

He shook his head, snuggling closer to you.

“Can we stay here?” He asked. “At least for a little longer?”

“We can stay here as long as you want.” You replied, letting your fingers resume their previous activity, tracing tiny designs along his arm.

“Thank you.” He whispered, the silence that surrounded the two of you for once not feeling suffocating to him. Instead, it felt comforting, like slipping into bed at the end of a long day. It felt peaceful, safe.

“Anytime, baby.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters

[creativriot]

“Haha I’m just gonna doodle a quick comic about a silly lil headcanon, I’m just livin’ on my own lil island of the internet, no one’s gonna see it-“

WHERE TF DID ALL OF YOU PEOPLE COME FROM???

But seriously tho, I feel compelled to thank everyone for the positive reception to my shitty little comic ^_^;

I don’t really have all of the lore for this AU fleshed out, but this is lowkey a boost for me to try to work on it more and make it the best that it can be!

Yes, Manic and Scourge are the same hedgehog in this, Scourge being a persona Manic adopts after a fall from what grace he had. Granted I’m not sure if it’s out of anger or jealousy over Sonic’s reputation or perhaps both, but yea Manic gets whatever the opposite of a redemption arc is called.

As I said things are a little blurry BUT! My ask box is always open : ) (apologies for Anons being disabled, but I’ve seen people use that feature to bully some of my moots and if anyone tries that shit I wanna be able to block em pronto. Negativity and causing problems just ‘cause has no place here.)

[amore-reads16]

Part 5

Overview- things are getting even more tense in the quadrant and the secret relationship that Y/N and Liam are hiding is becoming a problem. There are too many secrets to hide and reveal and Y/N needs to find her footing and keep herself and Liam safe.

Note- I don’t know if there are any Merlin lovers but this giff is perfect for Liam’s reaction to Violets antics in this chapter lmao.

After your talk with Liam you had gone to your own room. You had both discussed how you were going to manage to convince Xaden that you were staying away from Liam, but that should be relatively easy to do as Xaden had convinced Liam to basically become a body guard for Violet Sorrengail. You knew the Sorrengail family pretty well because of your parents you were in the same circles. But you didn’t know the youngest that well despite being of the same age. She was a nice enough girl from what you knew of her and she had been holding up extremely well in the quadrant considering her frail body and the long list of people that wanted to kill her, but you weren’t particularly fond of the idea of Liam spending all of his time with her. She was no threat and you trusted Liam not to do anything, but just the idea made you uneasy. No girl would want their significant other spending that much time with another girl. No one. But you had no say in the matter and causing a fuss would only draw attention to something you didn’t want attention on. So for now you were biting your tongue.

You were currently in the library sorting out some books as it was your duty as a first year when you suddenly heard voices from behind the bookshelf you were standing at. One voice you recognised immediately, it was hard not to when it haunted your dreams and kept you up at night. Of course, just your luck that Liam and Violet would be here. It would be wise at this point to walk away, but today you weren’t feeling wise and instead was feeling nosey and jealous.

“So whatever happened between you and Y/LN? You two were pretty close for a while” Violet asks.

You hear Liam pause for a minute thinking about what to say before he responds “it’s a long story, I guess, but we just didn’t work out”

“Why? The last I saw was you basically chasing after her in the corridors begging her to let you explain something. That doesn’t sound like things just not working out to me” Violet says clearly prying making you wonder why she would be so interested. Jealousy rears its ugly head again.

“Well well aren’t we nosey today Sorrengail. What’s it to you anyway? You interested in her? Because she’s single now I could try and set you two up if she’ll ever speak to me again” he jokes making you shake your head at him.

“What? No! I just- I just thought that maybe something got between you two. Well someone…” she trails off, too embarrassed to finish that sentence

“Who?” Liam demands instantly making your stomach churn. Please violet Sorrengail do not say Bodhi or Liam will loose his shit you quietly pray.

“Xaden” she replies. WHAT. You almost choke on your own spit, so shocked at the name that just left her mouth. Xaden? XADEN? Why the fuck would she think that.

There is a short moment of silence before Liam bursts out laughing so hard it almost compels you to blow your cover and laugh with him. You hear Violet let out a huff as Liam continues to laugh, probably in her face, making her even more annoyed and embarrassed.

“Xaden?” Liam manages to choke out “why ever would you think that?”

Violet lets out another huff “well when she fought Bodhi on the mats the a few weeks ago he couldn’t keep his eyes off their fight and he almost looked worried. I just assumed that maybe there was something going on between them. And then when she walked off the mat she went right up to him and whispered something to him. I- it looked like they were together” she rambles. She couldn’t be further from the truth you thought shaking your head. Now your jealousy had completely dissolved. It was crystal clear that Violet Sorrengail was not interested in Liam. She had the hots for Xaden Riorson. Gods help her.

“Sorrengail it is so transparently clear what is going on here” Liam seemed to had arrived at the same conclusion as you “you like Xaden don’t you?” He asks and you could practically see the taunting smirk on his face by the tone in his voice. You almost felt sorry for the girl. She must be mentally insane to ever have a crush on Riorson. Yeah he is hot as hell, but clearly fucked in the head you think.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard you say yet Mairi. I was just… curious” Violet responds “and I never even-“ you don’t hear the rest of that sentence as you quietly walk away, your jealousy now dead and your patience gone. You don’t exactly want to hear Sorrengail deny her obvious feelings for Riorson. You had more important things to do.

Putting your last book away you feel a hand slip around your waist tightly. Shit. You elbow the intruder in the stomach grabbing their throat pinning them against the book shelf.

“Liam!” You shout realising who had just grabbed you and who you had just assaulted in the middle of the library.

“Woah! I knew you liked it rough but here? In the library? That’s a new level of kinky” he smirks and you let him go.

“You’re a dick! What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?” You ask.

“Well the whole point of our relationship now is being sneaky” he smugly responds grabbing your waist again to pull you against him.

“Jesus Christ and what part of this” you gesture between the two of you “is being sneaky”

“Well I guess no part, but I just couldn’t resist” he laughs quietly “I knew you were there. Before. When I was talking to Violet”

The smirk on his face makes you want to slap him “and?” you ask.

“And you were jealous. I could feel it through the book shelf basically radiating off you” he teases.

“What like you were with Bodhi ?” you argue back.

“Don’t” his jaw ticks.

“And anyway I have nothing to be jealous of it’s quite clear that the wing leader is the one she wants, not you” you say smiling slightly remembering how much Liam had laughed when Violet thought Xaden was the reason you and him had been on the outs.

“That was hilarious and you should have seen her face gods-“

“You can tell me later” you smile patting his chest and removing yourself from him “we can’t keep on doing this in public. It’s only been a few weeks and we have already been too public” you sigh.

“I know but it’s so hard when you walk around in those lathers that make me want to-“

You quickly cut him off “I’ll see you later Mairi” you wink giving him a quick kiss on the lips before walking off making sure to swish your hips.

“Now that’s not fair” you hear him mutter.

…………………………………………….

Later on that week you were walking to the session you have with Dain and Professor Carr to mature and control your signets. Which of course was a secret to everyone else, except from Liam and apparently the marked ones, and if anyone was to ask where you were, you were in your room sleeping off one of the frequent migraines you got (which you actually didn’t). Rounding the corner almost at Carr’s room your body slams into a rock solid object confusing you immensely. There is no way you had just walked into a wall… no that was not a wall. You look up confused and dazed as to what you just walked into only to see non other than Xaden Riorson. Of fucking course. Ever since your talk with him, in fact ever since that night with the hooded figures, he was everywhere you looked. Perhaps you just hadn’t noticed him before but that seemed impossible as he commands any room he walks into. But now it’s like it was his mission to invade your life. Which made keeping you and Liam a secret even harder.

“Sorry” you quickly mumble and attempt to step around his massive figure but he steps with you obstructing your path.

“Where are you going” he asks brow raised.

Like that was any of his business you think “I don’t think that concerns you” you say tone clipped at the audacity of this man.

He stares at you for a long moment and his jaw clenches as he speaks “you wouldn’t be heading to see Liam would you?”

You startle in shock, there is no way he knows surly ? “No you basically threatened my life and my brother’s life if I was to do that, so why would I risk that over a stupid boy?” You try to sound persuasive but the way Xaden is eyeing you up as if he can smell your lies is unnerving.

“Not basically I did threaten your life” he replies quickly.

That’s it you’d had enough of his attitude “you’re such an assho-“ you don’t get to finish the sentence as suddely Liam and Violet appear at your sides. Liam looks apprehensive as to whatever is transpiring between you and Xaden, whereas Violet is eyeing the two of you up judging the situation.

“Woah hey guys what’s going on here” Liam asks trying to get in between you and Xaden but failing miserably.

“Nothing I was just alerting the wingleader to how much of a dick he is being” you reply with a sarcastic smile aimed at Xaden.

Xaden scoffs shaking his head slightly as he glances at Violet taking in her appearance before levelling his gaze back to you “and I was just reminding cadet Y/LN of her place”

“You know what Xaden you can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine” you spit, frustrated as hell.

“Okay let’s just cool it for a moment-“ Liam starts but you don’t let him finish.

“And what the hell are you doing?” You ask him turning your body to face his

His face startles for a moment confused at why you are mad at him “well- I- I was just seeing what the problem was-“

“No” you stop him again “what are you doing talking to me? I told you Mairi I don’t want you to ever speak to me again so for the last time, and I mean it, leave me the fuck alone before you get yourself hurt” you threaten hoping that Liam catches on to your performance.

He gulps and hurt, real hurt flashes in his eyes, he clears his throat “right, sorry, I just thought-“

“I don’t need you swooping in to save me. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself. Especially around jerks like him” you point over to Xaden who is standing cross armed his gaze flickering between you and Liam trying to read the situation.

“Jerk? That’s the best you can do?” Xaden, the jerk, says with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Shut it Riorson.” You reply and are about to call him every name under the sun before a firth person enters the gathering you have somehow formed. Great.

“Cadet Y/LN” Dain approaches confused at the sight of the four of you. Perhaps the most unlikely group of four. “Professor Carr is looking for you and asked if I’d escort you to him immediately” he says staring Xaden down as if he could take him. You liked Dain, but boy was his ego overinflated if he thought he could beat Riroson. The man was an asshole but boy was he skilled. “So if you all don’t mind” he continues “I’ll be taking Y/N now”

Liam, who has often expressed to you how much he loathes Aetos, furrows his brows “actually I do mind-“

“Liam” Xaden cuts him off

“Of course let’s go” you say to Dain as you walk away. You hear another set of foot steps near you and Xaden overtakes you and Dain glancing back to look at you once more. The look is filled with the warning he gave before and you know he will not take any more bullshit from you. Good you think it was time things got a bit interesting around here. Game on Riorson.

“And you are telling me there’s nothing going on there” you just about hear Violet say as you round the corner to Carr’s office

“Come on Violet let’s just go” Liam sighs.

………………………………………

After the showdown in the hallways you had made sure you slipped a note under Liam’s door to meet you in your room after curfew, but after the way you spoke to him you was unsure he would even come. Today has been a long day and the ‘meeting’ with Carr had drained you. Mentally and physically. Your signet had been growing more strong recently and you thought it may reflect your need to heal the fragements that was your life at the minute. Everything used to be so whole and you used to feel complete. But after learning of the truth, being subject to threats from Riorson and now having to watch your boyfriend saunter around the quadrant with the youngest and most gorgeous Sorrengail you no longer felt the happiness you used to. You felt fear. Not to mention the cryptic moment you overheard between Dain and his father after your session today. That had just pushed you right over the edge. Being a double spy was tiring.

Liam walks into your room stopping your spiralling thoughts. Usually he walks in with a spring in his step, happy to see you. But today he sluggishly strolls in and immediately stands in the centre of your room whilst you are sat on your bed.

“What’s wrong” you ask and Liam starts to pace.

“I think he knows” he ominously says.

“Who” you ask confused at what Liam is acting so frantic about.

“Who do you think, the Easter bunny?” He snarls back finally stopping his pacing to look at you, hands on hips “Xaden of course”

You gulp back a reply “Oh”

“Yeah oh” he sighs and then lets out an agitated groan.

There was no way he was acting annoyed at you. Like this, any of this, was your fault “Why are you pissed at me?”

Liam lets out a incredulous laugh which is short and clipped “Well you aren’t helping the situation, baiting him at any chance you get!”

You roll your eyes back so hard you think they might be stuck permanently at the back of your head, the audacity! “Baiting him? I’m defending myself Liam! In a situation that you put me in in the first place ! Ever thought of that?” you yell.

He shakes his head and gives you an annoyed look “Let’s not go there. If you don’t like the situation leave it”

“You can’t be serious” you laugh but not because you are humoured, because you are in disbelief.

Liam moves closer to where you are sat on the bed and if you didn’t know him you would almost feel a need to be scared of him “I am. You can’t argue with Xaden and expect him to leave you alone” he bluntly says.

“He’s not going to leave me alone Liam! He’s always watching me!” You shout back getting up from your bed to get closer to him.

“And you’re always watching him!” He argues back

“Oh. My. God. Because I have to! It would be stupid of me to not be looking over my shoulder with him always lurking in the shadows. It’s not just my life on the line here. It’s not just my life I’m sacrificing to be with you, to help your revolution. Remember that!” You spit at Liam. He looks at you for a moment in a strange way something swirling in his eyes that you can’t quite put a finger on.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be up in his face every minute it’s like you have a crush on him or something” his tone lowers and he can barely look at you in the eye. It’s jealousy. That’s what you can see.

“You’re kidding me? Don’t tell me you’ve let Sorrengail and her school girl infatuation with Riorson cloud your judgement enough to think that I in any shape or way have feeling for Riorson!” You shout feeling defeated that you have to keep on defending your self to the man you love.

“I’m not saying that but-“ he starts but you cut him off immediately.

“No buts Liam. We either trust each other or we don’t! This will never work without trust. It’s full disclosure now remember” you grab his hand holding it tightly in your own using your other free hand to grasp his face making him look fully at you.

He takes a deep breath in and grabs your hair playing with it gently “Fine I get jealous. But how can I not when I feel like you talk more to Xaden then you do me. I know it’s not your fault but we barely get any time together and the time we do get is sneaked and rushed. I hate it” he explains and you agree with every word he says. It is hard. But just because something is difficult that doesn’t mean that you give up.

“I hate it too” you admit.

“So how do we change it” he asks.

You sigh pulling away from his hold as you now start to pace your room slowly as you think. “I don’t know. I don’t think we can completely. But how about I start to back off Xaden. You try to get Xaden to back of me and you. And then maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to find some more time together without the fear of being watched”

“It’s worth a try” he agrees going to sit on your bed “Come here” he says holing his hands out and you fall into his hold sitting on his lap.

“I need to tell you something” you say quietly.

“Go on” he whispers clearly exhausted with everything that is currently weighing down on his soul.

“I overheard the end of a conversation that Dain had with with father today and it was strange” you start

“I’m listening” he ushers you on.

“They were talking about his signet and Aetos said something about Dain using his signet for the greater good despite how uncomfortable it made him. I don’t know the extent of what was said because it was so muffled but I got the impression that Dain’s father wants him to use his signet on someone to try and get some information out of them” you explain.

Liam stiffens for a second “Who”

You shake your head trying to think but nothing comes to mind “That’s what I don’t know and can’t figure out. I’m assuming some criminal or something but I don’t understand the urgency behind it. I thought I should tell you so you could tell the revolution perhaps they could figure it out”

“Thank you.” He says quietly planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I said I’d do whatever it takes to help didn’t I?” You smile and play with his hair combing your fingers through it.

Liam looks at you deeply as if he’s thinking about something and is working up the courage to say it out loud. “You did… look about what I said before. I was just being jealous and I didn’t mean it. I trust you completely. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone the way I trust you. So no matter how hard this gets and what I say out of pure jealousy just know I love you. And I want you. Always and forever.” His confession makes your heart melt and you don’t know what to do about that. What do you do when you are head over heels for someone so much that it consumes your very being?

“God your sappy Mairi” apparently you decide to make a joke about it. Well played Y/N.

“Hay! Say something nice back” he laughs and you know in that moment that the two of you were made for each other. You balance each other out.

“Come on quick one say something loving back…” Rhella your annoyingly nosey dragon decides to butt in.

“I love you too you loser”

[whiskeyswifty]

Sometimes I can’t tell what is genius and what is accident with Taylor, genuinely like I’m not diminishing what she does. For instance, the recent album phenomenon where almost right away, every single person, critics included, made their own “TTPD Edit” if you will. A trimmed down selection of the 31 songs that either they think made a tighter album, fit into a narrative they liked, created a new narrative, or whatever compelled them. Obviously I don’t think Taylor wants anyone to cut any of her songs off an album she herself made, of course. So here is where I err on the side of accident. But then… I think about how the number one thing all artists, even Taylor sized ones, are tasked with is creating engagement around a product. Taylor for this album tried to start the “fortnight challenge” which went absolutely nowhere. However, the fact that everyone, haters and lovers of ttpd alike, have made their own edits, which is an incredibly active form of engagement and stream booster, is an astoundingly brilliant stroke of….. luck? Genius? I can’t tell. I can’t fucking tell!!! Maybe it wasn’t accidental and she was intentionally clever to drop an obscene amount of songs that resemble more of a sketchbook than a solid story or even sonic cohesion (again not a knock just a pretty objective observation compared to previously more cohesive works of hers and others). An album almost… stay with me here, almost too messy that it begs you to finish it up, clean it up. Engagement that was so compulsive and universally experienced by everyone that its unreal to me how that’s unintentional. And she’s especially intuitive in this arena, finger on the pulse, mirrorball woman that she is. The data dump release format feels almost like a strategy in that way. But I can’t quite believe she would ask of us to pluck our own apples from her abundant but still carefully cultivated tree and make our own pies. She encourages us to incorporate the songs into our lives yes but don’t tell her how to do her job, surely not! So I guess even if it was accidental, I suppose that’s still somehow a form of genius to me, that even her impulses are in tune with how to best engage a modern audience. Having been in this business, and on this end of it, for so long that she can just sense when to drip feed us and when to stuff us like foie gras geese. Does she fundamentally understand that audiences hate being told what to do, as she feels the same way herself, and knows how to guide engagement without forcing it? Is that also insane? Giving her TOO much credit? Idk I can’t decide but it’s a stone I turn over and over in my brain. She figured out that the house always wins and so she became the house. Astounding.

[fafnir19]

Witchcraft isn't for Boys

As I walked into the house, I couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment towards my new stepmother, Sandra. I’m Luke and have recently turned 18. As I don’t have any income as student, I still live together with my dad. My father, Joe, had recently remarried, and now we were moving in with her. There was just something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was her overly cheerful demeanor or her constant need to be in control. Whatever it was, I couldn't stand her. Months went by, and Joe was away on another one of his business trips. It was during this time that I stumbled upon Sandra's dark secret – she was a witch. And not just any witch, but a powerful one. Sandra was faced with a dilemma. Should she kill me to protect her secret or train me to become a witch like her? Ultimately, she chose to train me, even though it was highly unconventional for witches to train boys. As my training progressed, so did my magical abilities. With each spell I mastered, my athleticism seemed to grow as well. I was transforming into an athletic jock.

One day, overwhelmed with heartbreak, I approached Sandra and asked if there was a spell that could make me more irresistible to the opposite sex. She gave me a choice - I could have the spell but at the cost of my name. After much contemplation, I decided that sacrificing my name was worth becoming utterly irresistible. The ritual was performed, and Sandra bestowed upon me the name Logan. The spell worked like a charm, and all the girls started chasing after me. However, the spell had some unintended side effects. My wardrobe underwent a drastic change; I found myself wearing tight pants, open shirts with rolled-up sleeves, and loafers. I looked like a character straight out of a trashy romance novel.

On top of that, since it was a parent's privilege to name their child, I now saw Sandra as my motherly mentor. I had transformed into Sandra's ideal son, a far cry from the teenager who detested her presence.

One day, out of the blue, Grandmaster Dorian paid us a visit, only to discover me by Sandra's side. Needless to say, he was livid that Sandra had taken it upon herself to train a boy without his permission. Sandra apologized and defended her decision, highlighting my great talent. A few days later, while Sandra was away, Dorian came by again, this time with a peace offering for me. He brought clothing more fitting for a wizard - tight black velvet pants, a form-fitting black silk shirt, and black slippers. Dorian suggested that I try on the clothes. Intrigued and flattered, I obliged, even if I thought they looked somewhat silly. Once I had the clothes on, I realized they were enchanted. My body hair vanished, and my family jewels shrunk. The silk shirt opened by itself, revealing my hairless chest.

To my astonishment, Dorian explained that it was my punishment for being trained without his consent. My shrunken balls would make me obedient to him, and the loss of body hair and exposed chest would serve as a reminder that I was merely a boy who needed to be guided by a strong man.

Dorian took me to his place, and with a snap of his fingers, I found myself on his couch. His magic compelled me to spread my legs as he positioned himself in between them, stating that he was going to make me his apprentice. Much to my surprise, my body responded with arousal. Dorian, wearing a wicked grin, remarked that it seemed my "engagement" with him had already been decided. Under Dorian's tutelage, I began to learn the art of dark magic. With every lesson, I became smoother, more conceited, and a bit of a bad boy. Dorian's plan came to fruition, for I transformed into a smooth-talking, snobbish bad boy. I now donned tight black pants, boots, and hip-length bomber jackets that accentuated my athletic physique. My hair was slicked back, and I had become a damn good-looking young, arrogant, and ruthless warlock.

Sandra was no longer viewed as a maternal mentor in my eyes. Dorian asked Sandra how she felt about what he had done to me. He insinuated that he had been too lenient with her in the past. Furthermore, he hinted her that he would soon make me her superior, eagerly awaiting the day I would rule her with an iron fist and cruelty.

[oreo102]

Yaz is cool as fuck and people don’t appreciate her enough, a very long ramble

TLDR because this is so long: yaz is really cool and a compelling character and not enough people talk about how good of a character she is, both with and without the doctor, enough

In the first episode we learn as soon as we meet her that yaz wants to help people. She is tired of getting parking disputes and wants something more serious, and after meeting the doctor immediately starts helping her even if she isn’t supposed to be, and later it’s implied (I don’t think it was ever confirmed?) that she originally became a cop because one helped her when she had ran away/was suicidal, maybe?

Throughout season 11 we see her be the most empathetic/caring (episode 3 with the racism Ryan specially was facing, episode 6 with her grandma’s first husband, episode 7 with dan from kerblam, 8 with the kid who’s grandma was killed for “being a witch”, 9 with the blind kid), and is also very loyal almost immediately (“more of the universe.. more time with you!” “No. I’m with you, whatever happens” and more I’m forgetting)

She also has a very similar sense of justice to the doctor, practically immediately and comes to share her view on a lot of topics (she was hesitant to take the gun in TPOTD, she wrote wwtdd(which is adorable btw) on her palm, she defended Tesla, stands up to the master, once again more I’m forgetting probably)- hell, when seperated from the doctor without instructions/for a long time she takes 13s place as leader

Circling back to loyalty: she spent 10 months obsessively trying to find the doctor, she slept in the second tardis, she probably (I think it’s implied?) neglected her own health, social life, and job (if she still had one at this point) just to obsessively try and figure out how that tardis worked, to figure out how to get back to the doctor

And that was after she walked into a portal to an alien planet, not caring about danger because it’s what the doctor would do if it were one of them (she was already half way there by the time Graham finished asking who was going first, walking quickly and had a very determined look on her face. I really do believe if it had come down to facing the master or cybermen she would’ve to ensure 13s safety), which btw, is one of my favorite scenes in the show

And then s13. Gods I think I could talk about yaz in season 13 and those last 3 specials for days. A) Dan is more her companion than docs, let’s be very clear- they spent 3 years trapped in an unfamiliar time together with yaz acting as the leader (see above about her taking on the Doctor’s role when the doctor isn’t there to)

She handles 13’s outbursts and venom astonishingly well through the whole series but esp in s13, when she is double guessing her identity and even more unwilling to share than before, like it’s downright elegant that yaz is able to ignore 13s jabs sometimes, cuz personally I would’ve thrown hands. Although she doesn’t let the doctor walk over her, she doesn’t just accept the bullshit, she argues with the doctor quite a bit (telling her she is fully at fault for the situation at the beginning of s13 ep 1, telling her to stop leaving them all the time, shoving her when she shows back up after the 10 months)

As mentioned before the “what would the doctor do” being written on her hand is a really good touch and it does well to show just how much yaz looks up to 13 and how much she loves her (a very much amount, like infinitely)

This is getting very long so I’ll try to wrap it up somewhat quickly. Anyway, I really love yaz’s coming out scene (although I detest Dan outing her), it feels very natural and is filled with a lot of great emotions that we don’t see her have very much- like, she cries! Yaz, while shown having emotions, isn’t shown sad very often (which considering she was depressed as a younger teen and might still be, could just be her repressing those emotions) and is shown as scared much less, it’s nice to see those emotions on display

Speaking of emotions on display: “stop leaving us” is one of my favorite scenes/lines. Getting to see just how anxious yaz gets when the doc leaves, just how much she hates being separated from her, is a really nice insight to how she thinks- the doctor has already left her twice before (neither times were her fault, though) so who’s to say it won’t happen again? Easier to stay by 13 than to be crushed by her disappearing without warning

(Also side note but after that the two don’t separate much/if at all, showing that the doc did genuinely listen to her)

I’ve heard people say that they didn’t enjoy Legend of the sea devils that much but personally I love it- both because holy shit they’re so gay, but also because it again demonstrates that yaz is genuinely so smart and capable and there’s really no wonder 13 fell for her so hard (because she did. 13 fell so hard) I also like that this episode shows that the two play off each other and trust each other a lot, even if they aren’t always in sync

And finally onto the power of the doctor! Yaz’s best episode by far and my favorite of the entire series!

Yaz. Is. So. Fucking. Amazing. In this episode. She really shines so much which is saying a lot because she usually shines anyway. She looks so ready to punch the master if only he’d give her a reason, ready to shoot him (maybe not fatally… maybe) if he threatens the doctors or her own safety

She openly defies him, she leaves him stranded on a planet and if not for the plan she might’ve never came back for him, she flies the tardis! All on her own! We can assume that the doctor helped teach her but how much of that knowledge is from those 10 months? (I like to think that the first time yaz helped fly it was completely by accident)

Do the doctor holograms share knowledge? Cuz if not, that implies that she figured out it can change interface on her own and used it in their/her plan.

She saves the doctor! Multiple times! Runs out towards a fucking laser to make sure she’s safe (another favorite scene), she flies everyone home while the doc rests and recovers, she is just so cool in this episode!!

And honestly, I hate her ending. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic that she survived, really truly fantastic, if they had killed yaz I’d have balled my eyes out and sworn doctor who off for a second time, but her ending? No.

I do not think she should’ve stayed with the doc, I believe she loved (romantically, she’d love every doctor platonically but) 13 only, she’d be traveling the stars with 14 or 15 but I think over time she would’ve slid into that grief, that the doctor is still there but hers isn’t. But just having to go back to normal life? Go back to her family and job and life? That’s bullshit

Graham and Ryan got the psychic papers, yaz could’ve too (which btw that’d make a fun spin off I think), or she could’ve gotten the doctors coat (which would’ve been the cutest thing ever), or even her sonic! (Least likely) but- nothing? Nothing? No!!

She and 13 should be allowed to be immortal space wives together (with river, maybe) and nothing bad should ever happen to them

[biscuitblinkeu]

Are you hurt? [5]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2314~

ToSumUp: Lots of surprises in one day, yes? You don’t get quite the warm welcome coming home from grocery shopping.

A/N: Chapter dedicated to my anon, happy birthday! I hope you have a wonderful day and enjoy the chapter <3 Also, just wanna say thank you guys for being patient and for all the nice comments! P.S this chapter was supposed to be way longer but I had to cut it off because I wasn’t gonna finish the gaps at the end before Anon’s bday ended 😭

Rosie was asleep on the couch when you came home, her hair spread across the cushions like a river of flowing gold. The odd position she was in let you know she tired herself out, she even forgot there was a potato chip still in her hand. Laughing under your breath and highly amused, you fixed the cover over her. 

You felt compelled to get cameras— a recurring thought— to catch her doing something silly or find out whatever it is she does when you’re not home to end up like this. It would be similar to those pets on social media who respond to the talking animal-like object with a secret camera… and they would tilt their head in confusion or bark. 

But, again, Rosie’s not a dog. 

You shook your head, an action you hoped got rid of such thoughts (no matter how many times she reminded you of one), and situated yourself on the ground beside the couch, you stared at her face for a while, admiring her beauty. It’s something you know you’d never get used to. Your gaze dragged across the bit of freckles on her nose and cheeks, to her long eyelashes that were dark against her skin. You watched as they fluttered as she dreamt. 

A sigh left her lips, and she turned to her side, facing you. She had a soft pout shaping her lips, and you found yourself staring at them longer than you should’ve. She was so adorable asleep… What?

You blinked owlishly, heat rising to the back of your neck after realizing how creepy you were being. The last thing you wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. Just as you were about to retreat, you realized the potato chip was still nestled between her fingers, and, worried she’d crush it and make a mess, you reached out to pluck it from her hand, only for her eyes to flutter open. They were bleary, clouded with sleep, and caused a stir in your stomach. She blinked at you, a blush slowly appearing on her cheeks.

Startled, you toppled onto your elbows. “R-Rosie?“ You stammered. 

Crunch.

The crisp sound made you both look at the chip now crushed in her palm. She sat upright, now thoroughly embarrassed and wide awake. 

A smile grew on your face, and you dismissed the apologetic look she was giving you. “Here,” you said, grabbing the empty chip bag on the nightstand. “You can put that in here.”

“Did you sleep well?” You asked when she finished transferring the crumbs into the  chip bag.

Rosie nodded with a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. The action revealed more of her slender stomach and the soft curves of her waist.  It was distracting, and you quickly tore your gaze away from the sight to focus on the chip bag in your hands, thus not noticing the sly smile on her face. You played with the sides of the bag, pinching the aluminum plastic between your finger tips. She tapped your forehead to get your attention again, her brows raised in question, and mouthed How was work?

“Ah,” you said, relieved for a distraction. “It was fine— same old stuff. We have a new worker joining us, and so far she seems nice, a little clumsy though. I’m in charge of helping her out.”

She knew by now you weren’t one to love interacting with people— you would rather stand back and observe, finding interest in the actions of others, how they moved or expressed themselves. She thought that was why you were able to read her so well, how you were able to understand her despite the fact she didn’t have a voice. 

However, she didn’t know why she felt a twang to her heart at the mention of your new coworker, a feeling of unrest growing in her stomach. She felt anxious about today and didn’t know why the feeling still lingered. 

Rosie reached for your hand with a frown, noticing a bandage wrapped around your index finger. 

You looked at it, remembering your little accident earlier. “Oh, it’s nothing serious, just a shallow cut. The stapler nicked me when I was trying to refill it.” 

A staple..er? Rosie stared at you quizzically. 

“It’s a tool used to clip stacks of papers together and it’s sharp in some areas. I was refilling it when it clamped down on my finger,” you explained. 

Her mouth made an ‘O’ shape and she nodded, but you could tell she still didn’t understand. Either way, you were prepared to answer anything she asked you— who were you to deny her curiosity? 

“Are you hungry?” You asked, standing up. It’s been a while since you ate lunch, and knowing she had just woken up, she was probably hungry as well. You opened the fridge and staring back at you was a jar of mayonnaise, a single egg, a half of tomato, and two pieces of cheese. You bit the inside of your cheek, wondering how you didn’t notice the lack thereof earlier. “Looks like I’ll be going grocery shopping,” you murmured, closing the fridge. Your grandmother always told you to buy ingredients, which you took to heart, cooking your meals instead of ordering out. She also insisted you become a chef one day— which obviously didn’t happen. 

Rosie was watching you from over the couch, and when she noticed you were staring back at her she looked away, pretending to be interested in her hands. 

“Do you want to come with me?” You offered tentatively, noting her mannerisms. She definitely wanted you to ask– if the way her head whipped toward you and began to nod rapidly, if the way her eyes brightened and a smile tugged at her lips was any indication. “Then that’s settled, why don’t you put a coat on? And some warm pants.”

…

The doors to the grocery store slid open with a mute whoosh and a bell sounded out as you walked through. Rosie, still holding your hand (to which she insisted on the moment you walked out the door to make your way here), appeared shocked at the technology before staring in awe at the assortments of fruits and veggies that lined the entrance-aisle. You believed it was safe to assume she’d never seen a supermarket before, or seen this much food in one place, and it was evident that she had no idea what to do and looked quite apprehensive. But, she followed you closely behind nevertheless.

You grabbed two large baskets after realizing all the carts were being used (or missing), handing one to Rosie. "Can you hold this for me?... Thanks." You then began your journey of looking for ingredients. For tonight, you planned to fry something, perhaps chicken-- spicy chicken-- and maybe some white rice, vegetables and whatever else you find.  Your eyes fell on an aisle marked "spices," and your eyebrows furrowed, you definitely need to restock (flavorful food comes at a price, after all). Rosie seemed to realize where you were headed because she took the lead, yet peered over her shoulder every once in a while to make sure you were still there.

Every few feet Rosie would hold up an item she plucked off the shelf, and when you nodded she would put it in the basket before walking away with a smile to find something else. You simply shook your head in amusement, glad she was having fun. Figuring she would come back and find you, you moved to the next aisle slowly, so she would still be able to locate you nearby. You did this because you knew how it felt being separated from a parent in the grocery store, lost but trying not to look lost as you searched for your family, a growing sense of dread worming its way into your stomach the longer you looked.

Rosie wandered the aisles with a subtle boldness– she wasn't as uneasy as when she first walked in– looking for something else to find. She liked the smiles you would give her when she found something useful. She liked the smiles you gave her when she found something useless, too. Either way, she was on a mission. Or, maybe it wasn't a highly important mission because the moment she passed an aisle that contained brightly packaged, illustrated items, she swiftly turned and entered it. Her eyes widened, and she looked at the different packaging, with, what she believes is edible, a variety of "foods"-- all shapes and sizes. Everything looked so appealing, and she was simply dying to know what was inside. Maybe you would get it for her?

As Rosie was contemplating which package to get, she was approached by a group of guys– looking like they were in their early adult years or so, unbeknownst to her. One guy who was being jostled around and whispered to was pushed towards her, the others staying behind and snickering behind their hands. He took a deep breath, pulling his phone out his pocket.  “Hi, I think you’re really cute and wondered if I could get your number?”

No answer. 

He tried again, yet still received no answer. He looked back to his friends who merely shrugged. So he waited. They gave her a moment to see if she was just “lagging behind” but she kept staring at the packages—practically burning holes into them. But she was thinking hard. Very, very hard and intensive.  Which one should she choose when they all looked good? She’s never had this type of food, and never had to pick something out for herself, either. The servants in the palace would do it for her, not trusting her ability to pick out something that's not….”human-originated”. Would you like what she got? 

Would you smile at her again for her choice?

She wanted to know. 

Completely absorbed in this new task, Rosie took both of the packages and walked away, leaving the guy standing there dumbfounded.

“What just happened?” He murmured.

Just as you were about to go off and find Rosie, feeling that she was taking longer than usual to come back, she entered the aisle, looking very serious. She stopped in front of you. “Rosie?” You questioned, then the candy packages she held garnered your attention. “ Oh, are you interested in those? Do you want to try them? They're a little sour, but I’ll get them for you.” You smiled at her, relieved nothing bad happened, and found her behavior endearing.

You put them in the basket before informing her you were done shopping, the two of you making your way to the self-checkout. She trailed behind you like a puppy (yes, the reference again), grinning so hard her cheeks began to ache, feeling accomplished and happy beyond belief. She smiled at me again!  And she knew it was something she wanted to see a lot more, a sight that made her heart speed up.

…

You arrive home with arms with multiple bangs strung on them. You unlock the door and let Rosie in first, instructing her to put the bags on the dining table. As she’s doing that you make one trip to the kitchen with bags, put them down, then go back for the last of them. 

You’re just outside your door frame, bending down to reach for the bags, when the wind gets knocked out of you, and your arm is pulled behind your back. “What–” Your leg is swept from under you and you fall to the floor with a thud, a hiss leaving your mouth, a pounding beginning to resonate behind your skull. You groan, feeling pain throbbing where your body made contact with the ground. 

A shiny black shoe invades your vision, and you hear a woman's voice. 

“Where’s Rosé?” She demanded, and you had a feeling it was something you were expected to answer, but you didn’t have it in you to care. 

“What?” You murmured, blinking rapidly, trying to get a grip. There was a weight on your backside, keeping you down, and you figured its whoever is wearing those black shoes. Must be a tough guy.

Hah.

“Don’t play dumb, human,” came a gruff voice. Ah, so there were really two people.

"Aren't we all human here?” you mumbled, finding what he said weird. This smart comment earned you a tug on your arm, which was already pretty far pushed behind your back. You yelped.

You heard a sigh of frustration. The woman spoke again,  “Get off of her, KK.”

Just as he was removing himself off of you, rapidly approaching footsteps were heard, and a body shoved him away, running to your side. “Rosie?” You furrowed your brows. She should go back inside, you didn’t know if these people were dangerous or not. Nonetheless, she helped you sit up, and you did so with a quiet hiss, meeting her frantic eyes. She checked you over, and when she deemed you okay she whipped her head to the side and glared at the woman and her bodyguard. And what a mean glare it was; you’ve never seen that look on her. 

The feline-eyes woman appeared shocked at the action, and in a meek tone called her name. “R-Rosé? What— why are you...?” 

Why is she protecting you? Her captor. You’ve done horrible things to her. 

The woman looked unsure, confused. 

“Um…” Your uncertain voice disrupted Jennie’s train of thought and her eyes flickered to you, something akin to annoyance passing through them. She glared at you with such ferocity you thought you might actually see flames emitting from her eyes. You winced internally; you don’t even know this woman (Rosie seemed to, though) and can tell she already hated you. “You two seem to know each other, right? Why don’t you take this inside?… I don’t want to bother my neighbors.”

[ninadove]

top 5 miraculous ships?

This one is also surprisingly hard, because Miraculous is the shipping show by excellence, and they’re all pretty compelling! That being said —

1. Feligami

Hopefully there’s no doubt about it by now. They single-handedly kicked me out of a months-long writer’s block, and ever since I’ve written paragraph over paragraph about them... with no intention to stop! 💜❤️

2. Lukadrien

With how much I talk about the Sentikids, you’d almost forget Luka was my favourite character back in season 3! Every time I write him, he and Adrien go heart-eyes over each other. It’s almost against my will at this point.

There’s so many interesting things to explore about them, from the angstiest to the sweetest. Luka feeling left out in Wishmaker only to bask in love in Migration. Adrien opening up about his Aspik trauma to someone who can understand. Luka being, to this day, the only person who figured out Chat’s identity. Two very pretty boys who are unlucky in love and terrible at getting what they want... Has anyone ever written Luka x Cat Walker? Lukatwalker? I think someone should write Lukatwalker. Don’t look at me, I have too many WIPs already!

3. Lukadrinette & Adrino

See, that’s where rankings get complicated, because where the Hell do I put Lukadrinette hmm? Hmmmmm? I love the three of them together more than I love Adrinette and Lukanette individually, but less than Lukadrien on its own. It’s a question of balance, I think.

And at the same time, Adrino. There’s just something so comforting about them. The warmth of it all! The dorky flirting in Rocketear! Nino being willing and ready to throw hands with Gabriel since the early episodes of season 1! I love Lukadrien, I love Lukadrinette, but there are universes in which my brain won’t accept any endgame other than Adrino. The Reverse is one of them — all it took was that one conversation between Adrien and Claw and BOOM!!!!! Clawdrino!!! They’re kissing as we speak. I follow the brainworms where they take me.

“But Nina!” I hear you ask, “why not get the best of both words by writing Lukadrino?” to which I reply that you are so right. I’m very curious to see where that might lead us. Unfortunately I am, as previously established, battling an army of WIPs, so the exploration will have to wait.

4. Ladynoir

For the Strikeback of it all. And the London special of it all, too! Marichat was my favourite side of the Love Square for a very long time, but recently I’ve had a craving for…

5. Adribugnoire. Or whatever it’s called.

I’m a hurt/comfort enthusiast, so this surprises absolutely no one. It’s perfect to explore Mari’s crushing responsibilities and her relationships to the people in the know (Kagami Felix Kagami Felix Nathalie Kagami Felix Plagg Bunnyx Kagami FELIX FELIX FELIX). It’s perfect to explore the Sentilore, which you know is my brand. It’s perfect because if I’m going to put a character through the angst machine, you better believe it’s going to be Adrien. It’s perfect because have you seen Bug Noire??? She’s so pretty!!! The London special spoiled me so much!!!

Special mentions:

Julerose and Marcaniel are very cute, of course. DJWiFi I think works best as a QPR, but I might be biased because Kittybella!!! I love Kittybella. Zoenette is also cute. I love Alyanette and especially Loveyalya, the pining is simply excellent. Speaking of the Loveybug AU, Loveyblanc… All these dynamics are so fun to play with, but I rarely get around to it because the Sentikids take up so much of my writing time. As they should! 💚💜❤️

And then there’s the box of ships I don’t want to be canon/endgame, but which I think bring something extremely interesting to the story. Feligami would not be as compelling as it is if it weren’t for Adrigaminette. The plot would not exist at all without Gabeminath. Cholila has so much narrative potential. I’m not rooting for them, but I enjoy what they bring to the table!

Thanks for the ask! 💜❤️

[cuubism]

I don’t even know if you accept writing prompts, but just *Imagine* this

Dream, has no fuckin idea how Hobs immortality works

His sister just said “you could find out” and gave no other word other than the IMPLICATION that hob is immortal, so aside from knowledge that hob has been withheld from her gift, dream doesn’t know how the whole immortality thing works for hob

Meaning the first time Dream sees Hob DIE

I feel like he’s in for a ride

I always pictured Hobs immortality as a Deadpool kinda thing. He does TECHNICALLY die from whatever killed him, but he pops back as soon as his body heals. Not a fun experience, definitely some trauma involved (being drowned as a being that doesn’t die permanently seems ROUGH) but all in all Hob can walk away from everything pretty alright.

Now if Dream DOESN’T KNOW THAT. If he thinks hob is simply un killable, that could lead to a WORLD of delicious Temporary or Presumed death angst.

*looks at the ancient unfilled prompts lingering in my inbox from years ago* of course i take prompts what do you take me for! :D 😂 i love them, i don't always manage to write them

in retrospect 'you could find out' is QUITE mysterious and ominous, thanks Death.

yeah i usually imagine Hob's immortality working like it does in The Old Guard, where he basically does die but he comes back after a few minutes. i'm still undecided on whether he heals faster than normal, like, for plot purposes it's easier if he does, but there's something compelling also in the idea of hob having to struggle through the same long healing process as other people, just with the certainty that he will heal. i also always ask myself, can hob be permanently injured? like, if he lost an arm, would it... grow back? i don't know the answer to that. i like the idea of him being able to have scars for Symbolism, but him not having scars is also compelling, like, having no real record of anything that's happened.

drowning would... suck, especially as it probably took him ages to break free of his restraints so he probably drowned over and over and over...

dream seems to get in the 1789 scene that hob couldn't be killed by being attacked. but i feel like... like Death is not the only powerful force in the universe and she isn't all powerful. i could see dream being worried about hob being like, destroyed in some other way? like his... Being being destroyed? i don't think there's any being or creature in the story's universe that can't be killed in some way, even Dream can be killed - or, I guess, Morpheus can, is more accurate. so the fear could still be there. either way, seeing hob die would still be a hell of a shock, even knowing it's temporary.

i actually wrote something really similar to this in an as-yet-unfinished fic so i think instead of starting another wip (i have soo many ack) i will just share that scene

[ preface - there was a whole Fight and the Corinthian cut Hob across the throat (rip) and then Bounced because Dream was kind of, well, distracted ]

--

When Hob woke, Dream’s hands were around his throat.

Pressing, holding. Trying to keep him together.

And he was… just absolutely drenched in blood. It lay slick on his hands, smeared up his wrists, soaked in blacker patches on his black shirt and coat, he’d even managed to get a few droplets on his face. Dear God. Hob had almost forgotten how much blood could come out of a human body. It had, fortunately, been quite a while since he’d had to watch somebody exsanguinate.

Their gazes met. Hob’s bleary, Dream’s swirling with colliding galaxies.

“See?” said a voice out of Hob’s eyeline. “I told you he’d come back.”

Hob craned his neck carefully to see. A woman was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, apparently unconcerned by the scene of theatrical death and carnage playing out before her.

“Dream,” she repeated, when Dream didn’t move. “I told you. Let the man breathe.”

For all that her words were spoken lightly, there was a note of concern underneath them. Hob didn’t think it was directed at him, though, even if he had been to one to get his artery sliced open. The woman’s gaze kept flickering over to Dream.

“I had to be certain,” Dream ground out. His voice rumbled against Hob’s ruined throat.

“You don’t trust my word?”

“I had to be certain,” he repeated.

Hob wrapped a careful hand around his blood-soaked wrist, squeezing until Dream looked at him again, and rasped, “Hey. Can’t die, remember?”

Then his chest spasmed and he coughed up a truly horrific amount of blood. Dream released him, with some reluctance, allowing him to turn on his side, and Hob coughed until his throat was clear.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and spat one last clot of blood onto the absolutely destroyed living room rug. “Goddamn. That was a new one.”

“See?” said the woman, gesturing at Hob. “He even has a good attitude about it!”

Dream did not seem comforted by this. His hand fell to rest on Hob’s shoulder and gripped tight.

“Oh, I’m Death, by the way,” said the woman, catching Hob staring at her and waving at him. “Hey.”

“Um,” said Hob.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Death hastened to reassure him. “I’m not here for you. Or, I mean, I kind of am, but not to collect your soul, just because my brother here is a worry wart.”

Hob looked back and forth between them. “You… were worried Death would take me… so you… called her here?” he asked Dream incredulously.

Death sighed. “Not always the brightest bulb.”

Dream watched him intensely. “I needed to be sure she would not.”

“Dream, I told you—”

“I had never… seen you die before.” He held Hob’s gaze, but his expression wobbled into something close to fear. “It was… challenging.”

Hob supposed that knowing, abstractly, that your friend couldn’t die didn’t hold much water when seeing your friend die.

“Oh, Dream,” he murmured. Dream only looked more pained when Hob said his name. Hob found his wrist again and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?”

Dream swallowed, a very human, nervous thing. “Evidently.”

“Come on, let him up,” said Death, and helped Dream haul Hob up to his feet. They dragged him over to the couch, where Hob sat, hand pressed to his still-aching neck. What a strange moment this made, he reflected. Two Endless, one covered in blood, dragging a half-dead human across the living room. Hob was going to have to give up on his life making a lick of sense anymore.

Dream’s fingers flexed, still slick with Hob’s blood. He wavered on his feet, then said, “I should— the blood,” and disappeared in the direction of the washroom at a rapid pace.

“Can’t he just—” Hob waved his hands in a gesture he hoped conveyed change his clothes magically.

“Could,” Death agreed, perching on the arm of the couch. “But he’s feeling an emotion so I think he needs a minute.”

“Ah.” Dream’s stricken expression hovered in Hob’s mind. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing that forced split in his friend’s composure at all.

“You’re good for him, Hob,” continued Death.

“Because… I got my throat cut and kind of almost died and upset him?” Hob said, expecting her to correct him.

“Yup!” Death agreed cheerily. Her eyes lingered on the hallway that led to the washroom. “Among other things.”

As if any of that was reasonable. Hob leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You all are so cryptic.”

Death laughed, but didn’t elaborate on what she’d said any further.

Hob lingered on it, though. You made him upset. Hob hadn’t seen Dream upset before, not like that.

Did he ever get upset like that? Or, rather, did he let himself?

Hob quickly found himself also watching the hallway for Dream’s return. He half-wondered if he’d just bolted back to the Dreaming, or maybe gone after the Corinthian, if he’d escaped after Hob had… died.

When he didn’t return for several minutes, Death let out a long breath and got up to go after him.

Now alone on the couch, Hob clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, gritting his teeth as a shiver of shock ran through him. Sort-of-dying sucked, but often, Hob had found that the aftermath was worse – human bodies were meant to either die or live, not land somewhere in between, and each time he’d recovered from situations he should have died in, he’d faced a sort of belated panic response, fight-or-flight kicking in with no danger present.

He stood jerkily, stumbling to his bedroom, where he stripped off his absolutely ruined shirt – he was going to have to burn that, he’d look like a serial killer throwing it away – and jeans, and scrubbed off the blood as best he could with a spare towel considering Dream was still hogging the washroom.

He’d just gotten on a clean pair of jeans and was reaching for a shirt when the door clicked open. Dream stepped in, so quiet he was less person and more shadow. Gone were his long coat, and his boots. His black skinny jeans and long sleeve shirt were functionally identical to what he’d been wearing before, but Hob had a feeling the actual blood-soaked ones from before had been destroyed – if they’d ever existed outside of dreams in the first place.

He stepped quietly, barefoot, over to Hob, and Hob looked up and down at this change in attire. “Planning to stay awhile, love?” he asked, a weak attempt at levity.

Dream stopped before him. His eyes were deep and very dark. “You are shaking.”

Hob chuckled self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out that sort-of-almost-dying is a bit of a shock to the system. It’ll pass, though.”

“It will pass,” Dream echoed, expression unreadable.

“Has before,” Hob said, tension prickling up his spine at the utter stillness of him now. And not the relaxed stillness that Hob had become accustomed to when they sat and drank together at the inn. No, this was the stillness of water about to overflow. Surface tension.

“Before,” Dream repeated, again.

Hob smiled weakly at him. “Promise.”

Dream’s night sky gaze flicked over his face. His shoulders were even narrower without his coat, and the lack of structured fabric made him look softer, human, normal.

But Hob’s friend, his love, his stranger had never felt less normal. He moved in like the approach of nighttime, hovering clouds and darkness and rain, a blanket pulled over one’s head that might cocoon or suffocate.

Hob would have accepted either.

Dream caught him by the jaw with fingers soft as lamplight, murmured, “Promise,” and kissed him.

[makoredeyes]

Hello, I hope you're doing well! This is probably an odd question, feel free to ignore it. I wanted to ask you as a fellow writer I admire, who is mostly focused on unpopular/dead/deep lore characters. Do you also sometimes feel like what you're writing is irrelevant and unexciting for everyone, except yourself? If so, how do you deal with this? For me sometimes this sudden realization is so crushing, that I cannot bring myself to finish a single work.

Hello! That’s not an odd question at all in fact it feels pretty relevant tbh. (Omg sorry long reply you got me going 💙)

I think I have several kind of interrelated answers for you so let me lay them out.

1- I am powered by autism and a MIGHTY hyperfixation. I have no choice I am compelled. I am blinded to all other things and so while the little bit of feedback that I do get is AMAZING and so extra sparkly motivating it is not entirely what compels me (but BOY does it help)

2- I joked with a friend just last night that, “this season is, as usual, does not have NEARLY enough Felwinter content and so I must therefore create my own.” - as she pointed out, there have been exactly TWO seasons with ANY Felwinter content at all and I wasn’t playing destiny yet for one of them. My point being, sometimes you gotta create what you want to see yourself. I’ve always found myself in some really niche corner of whatever fandom I’m in and have to do this a lot. Probably how I got to writing and drawing etc. fun thing is tho you find a really special group of people who think and love like you that way, and if it’s a smaller crowd, it’s all the more intimate for it Imo. I’ve made some super special friends in the last 9 months or so in my weird little corner here and it’s magical and I think that quality over quantity filter is awesome. (But yeah i know the validation machine is SO good too)

3- the BEST magic of borrowing from obscure content, generally unknown or undeveloped characters or lore is the creative freedom. The headcannon swapping the worldbuilding the background gathering… the RESEARCH! Gleaning what little bit I can from what we DO have. Who the fuck is timur?! We don’t know. I borrowed the beautiful designs for his face and general personality that Sylenth has developed because she’s done such an amazing job and was kind enough to allow me to play with him as she made him, and took that as jump off point for my writing etc but I have all the wiggle room in the world with but a few widely dispersed canon signposts to lead my direction and that is just so fucking fun for me.

(And that doesn’t mean more mainstream characters like Osiris don’t have their creative appeal to me either. I will deep dive on lore and character analysis for YEARS but living in the peripherals is comfy for me)

Those are all the positives to my work, but yeah, sometimes I do feel a little dejected. I have definitely felt a drop off in reader response weirdly in converse to the effort I put into my writing. Housefire has evolved into much more of a cohesive Plot(tm) that is going somewhere very specific from its origin of a few interlinked fluffy anecdotes and funnily enough about the time I started really digging my heels in and plotting and planning and putting in twists I was REALLY excited about, people started responding less. Some of my favorite fics are the least popular. Some of my art I am most proud of gets the least attention but that damn doodle of poor Felwinter getting splattered by a warsat has 200+ more notes than my next most popular art. (The shitposts always win Damnit! 😩🤣😅)

I get frustrated and yeah sometimes a bit discouraged sometimes and I spend Way Too Much time sitting here refreshing my notes because I am a sad lonely person chronically online just way too thirsty for a little validation or a conversation with someone but like. Every piece gets better. Every piece SOMEONE appreciates. Every piece **I** enjoy and is also a chance for all of that when I share it with the world and that’s exciting and good, and like I said the people in this community as niche and little as it is, are really something special, and some of the people that have come into my circle because of it make it SO worth it.

**I was done but then I read your ask one more time and I’ll add this since it popped into my head last-second:

If we are creating works for dead characters we love, we are keeping them alive.

How magical is that??

[abi-cosmos]

Like Ivy

Explicit, 40k words

Tags: Roommates. Serial killer Dean Winchester. Professor Castiel. Non-con elements. Major character death (Sam Winchester). Smoker Dean Winchester. Minor Dean/Victor Henriksen. Halloween. Knifeplay. Murder. Unreliable narrator. Angst with a happy ending.

Summary: Dean Winchester was raised to be a killer, but after losing his brother Sam, he could do with a chance to lay low and rest up.

Luckily, a 'roommate wanted' advertisement stuck to the window of a coffee shop leads him to Castiel, a professor at a local college who offers him three weeks' accommodation.

At first, Castiel gets under Dean's skin, but a friendship develops within the isolated house they're living in. Dean starts to feel drawn towards him, and despite how haunted he is by his past, or how Castiel seems able to read his mind, he can't help but take things further.

But Dean isn't the only one with secrets, and the line between friendship, love, and obsession gets bloody and blurry.

Preview:

Dean swallows, probably not the time to swap stories of cold tinned soup and Poptarts. “You teach?” he asks. “Or, is it more of an office job?”

“Both.” Castiel replies. “I research, but I also teach. Mythology, mostly lost languages—”

“Lost languages?”

“Enochian, it’s the language of angels.” Castiel says, bringing the fork to his mouth.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean uses the moment to take a drink of water, his fingertips tapping along the table as Castiel swallows and looks at him like it makes perfect sense. “Angels?”

Castiel nods. “If you’re interested, I have books—”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Dean loads another forkful. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m not really into fairytales.” 

Dropping his head into his shoulder, Castiel targets into the center of his iris. “Tell me again, Dean, what line of work is it that you’re in?” he asks.

It’s just a question, but Castiel delivers it like a loaded gun pressed into his chest, and Dean is compelled to answer. He twists his hand around his fork, fumbling for the correct reply. Murderer probably isn’t gonna cut it. “...I’m a mechanic,” Dean replies, his voice hard as he gives Castiel what he wants.

Cas leans closer, the room growing darker as his shadow falls over the table. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so fast to pass judgment on others,” he replies.

“It wasn’t…” Dean starts, pausing to take a breath. “I wasn’t being judgmental.”

“It sounded like you were.” Castiel replies, his voice is icy, but the enjoyment of making him squirm is clear. He’s not smiling, but he’s locked on Dean like he’s a chew toy. 

Darting his eyes onto the plate, Dean’s tongue swipes over his dry lips. The tension in his body hurts, every muscle fired up to flight or flee. “You don’t often hear about angels, that’s all. Not exactly normal conversation,” he says, an attempt to diffuse whatever is happening.

It doesn’t work.

“That still sounds judgmental.” Castiel drops his voice lower, into the deepest crevices it can find.

Dean chooses silence as Castiel watches him. Eating with nothing but the mechanical hum of the refrigerator and a fantasy of gagging the son of a bitch. There's enough deadly nightshade locked in his car to knock Castiel out cold, and Dean would enjoy waking him up with a knife to his throat; watching him shiver and shake.

He's practically asking for it.

They share occasional glances across the table, magnetic in pull but hailstones in depth, and Dean is sure that Castiel can see inside his head. 

Watch out for murder and infatuation, coming this October to @deancashorrorfest