#brevity is not bad. please

[dirt-str1der]

1998 trigun literally wins because i was terrified that it would only be stampede and i was preemptively crying and hugging myself then the haul

[neil-gaiman]

This may very well get lost in the flood, but if you see this, I just wanted to say that there were a lot of things I thought I wanted for good omens 2 (a happy ending for one, of course!)

But my favourite thing that a writer can do to my experience of a story is to make me go "okay forget EVERYTHING I said before, this is the outcome I didn't know I needed." This show took my hopes and said "no u don't actually :) i got something better" and it had the audacity to be SO RIGHT.

The finale I *thought* I wanted would have probably had me giggling and kicking my feet and then moving on with my day while in a bright mood for a bit.

The finale I got had me absolutely devastated, inconsolable for maybe an hour, and then just...immediately rewatching. And talking about it behind a fortress of spoiler tags. And writing, and drawing, and being invested in theories and trying to find all the easter eggs and just...falling in love with the story and the characters all over again. And I can tell that feeling will stay with me for a whole lot longer than a couple days.

I'm bad at brevity, I apologize! This is just a very long-winded way to say thank you (and thank you to everyone else on the team) for giving us these idiots (affectionately) to have Way Too Many Feelings about!! Thank you for sharing them with us.

I'm running GO in the background, crossing my fingers and looking forward to a season 3—whether or not it'll be what I'm *hoping* for, I am just beyond excited for whatever story it is that you want to tell us, and I trust that whatever it is, it will be wonderfully told! 🩶🩶

(But also, please, for your consideration...I am in fact soft and innocent, I can only take so much damage before I cry myself to critical dehydration—do with that what you must, I shall leave my electrolyte balance in your hands and hope for mercy. You did say everything would be okay, and thankfully we all know a writer would never lie!)

I wouldn't lie about that, anyway.

[sleepingdeath-light]

chuuya nakahara + segmented smut alphabet ; 18+

requested by ; nobody / self indulgent

letters used ; f / g / k

masterlist(s) ; here

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

F — Favourite Position

self explanatory

Chuuya is solidly an ass/thigh guy and, as such, tends to lean towards positions that give him an ample view of either — or, even better, both. So anything the lines of doggy style, reverse cowgirl, concubine, and the like are all naturally going to appeal to him.

G — Goofy

how serious are they in the moment?

Generally speaking, Chuuya isn’t exactly the goofiest or most humerous person on the planet and that extends to how he acts during sex. Sure he’s not opposed to cracking jokes and making light of the situation when something goes wrong, but for the most part he’d rather keep his focus on making the both of you feel good over anything else (and if you start acting too goofy for his taste he might just straight up gag you if he’s in a bad mood at the time).

K — Kinks

some of their kinks

It almost goes without saying, but he’s a pretty kinky guy with a long list of things that he happens to enjoy and would quite like to introduce to your sex life. Though in the interest of brevity, I’ll only list ten:

Lingerie — loves buying lingerie for you, loves seeing you model it for him, and loves to fuck you dumb while you’re all dolled up in lace or leather or whatever other style your preference may be (bonus points for anything that accentuates your thighs, though, like garter belts or thigh highs that are just barely too tight… and extra bonus points if you wear all of that under his clothes). unfortunately he’s not always careful about undressing you and has been known to just tear the lingerie off of you if he’s feeling exceptionally impatient… oh well, he’ll just buy you some more sets to make up for it.

Bondage — well not just outright bondage, but seeing you in any sort of restraint (even if that restraint isn’t exactly visible, like his ability for exanple) is very hot to him. seeing you all vulnerable and wholly at his mercy just really gets him going

Size Kink — there’s just something so unbelievably arousing about you struggling to take his cock. like, yes, he knows he’s bigger than average but when you start sobbing and insisting he’s too big and it won’t fit… fuck it really feeds his ego in the best way — and don’t even get him started about how hot you look when he can see the bulge of his cock in your stomach or in your throat…

Dom / Sub — the idea of you willingly and wholeheartedly submitting to him, trusting him enough to give him free reign over your body and pleasure and mind, is so appealing to chuuya that he can’t even try to hide it. this also lends itself to something of a free use kink, but that’s another point entirely…

Praise Kink — he may curse like a sailor in the bedroom but you can guarantee that virtually everything else that comes out of his mouth is going to be some sort of praise or encouragement directed at you (unless, say, you’ve explicitly asked him to get a bit mean for a change). also loves to be praised by you, especially if you combine that praise with some sort of begging for him just to boost his ego a bit.

Begging — as mentioned in the previous point, he just thinks you’re really hot when you beg for it (be that for his tongue, his fingers, his cock, or for him to let you cum if he’s feeling especially mean) and this sort of flattery will get you everywhere with chuuya so do with that whatever you will.

Dumbification — there’s nothing hotter to chuuya than when you get so cockdrunk that you’re unable to do anything but go all limp and giggly and dumb while he fucks you through orgasm after orgasm. truly, he thinks you’re at your most attractive when he’s made a complete and utter mess of you and the only things you’re able to say are his name and ‘please’, and you will never be able to convince him otherwise.

Dacryphilia — pretty self explanatory here, and linked in large part back to his dumbification kink, but there’s something about you getting so overstimulated and lust-drunk that you start crying that just really gets chuuya going.

Marking Kink — chuuya has a pretty prominent possessive streak and loves being able to leave his mark on you during sex — and he especially loves leaving those marks in places he knows people will see. this is also a mutual kink for him (though he does, unfortunately, have to keep any and all marks you leave behind covered up because of his work), and seeing any of the scratches or bites or bruises you left behind after the fact never fails to get his face heating up and his mind wandering to all the things he’s going to do when he gets you alone.

Impact Play — this is heavily linked to his marking kink, but spanking your ass and thighs raw and being able to see the imprint of his hand after the fact never fails to get him hard and aching. and don’t even get him started on how much he loves all the sounds you make when you’re bent over his lap and begging for a break…

[hazelfoureyes]

Ok I need a Lucifer x Reader fic based on Griftwood by ghost pretty please ( just listen if you haven’t heard it you’ll understand)

Listen, I went the opposite direction I think you wanted? Lol gonna work on brevity and get more snack sized smut out on weekdays and entrees on he weekends

[Warnings/Promises: snack sized, Lucifer x GN!AngelReader, lil smut smut, Fuck Sera, Luci corrupts absolutely, all hail dat dick, sacrilegious as fuck]

🫸🏼minors DNI🫷🏼

Lucifer avoided the heavenly embassy for obvious reasons. The vast halls, the empty and useless pews, it was, in a word, 

“Creepy,” He hissed. 

He was surprised to find the reception desk manned. Very rarely did heaven actually send anyone down to hell. Oh, wait.

You were stunned already to see Lucifer, so when he poked your nose you let out a tiny squeal.

“Oh shit! You’re real!” Lucifer took a step back, “Sorry about that! Not used to an … actual person.” He gave a little bow, “Forgive me?”

The fact is no one wanted to go to hell for desk duty, so the job was actually a punishment reserved for the most misbehaved. You had to intentionally set fire to Sera’s robes to get that severe of a scolding. She was reluctant, but it had been threatened (promised) to you last time you (intentionally) caused trouble. Rumors were abuzz about Lucifer, and you just had to see for yourself what the Great Big Boss of Hell was like.

Rosey cheeks, bright sharp smile. He didn’t look as scary as you had imagined. You expected a seven foot eight inch tall behemoth with fire pouring from his mouth and blood stained horns.

The devil, the real one, looked quite sweet.

A tiny existential crisis washed over you. Maybe there was a reason they didn’t want people down here. Why they made it sound oh-so-terrible.

“You still in there?” He leaned over the counter, tapping at your forehead. Your hands flew up, capturing his finger and bringing it down.

Warm. 

He froze, a little shocked you would touch him. Your smile went crooked, cheeks blushed. 

“Uhhh you good?” He pointed with his free hand to where you still gripped his finger. You nodded, a hum of confirmation. The blush rose up until you were fully red in the face.

The realization struck Lucifer like heavenly lightning, “Oooh, I see what’s going on here.” A wicked smirk taking you by surprise. “Did you want to meet me, little one?”

You broke out into a sweat, “Yes.”

Lie! Why didn’t you lie?!

He leaned over the counter, “Did you do something bad to get sent here?” Was there fire behind his eyes?

Uneven breaths, “… yes.”

Lucifer’s knee came up and over as he crawled onto the desk, “Should the King of Hell reward you for such bad deeds?” His eyes had gone red now, your hand still on his finger.

Your knees began to shake, “Y-yes.”

His face was inches from yours when your legs gave out, both of you falling to the floor.

Horns tall, yellow pupils dilated as he straddled you. “I think you’ll find I’m a generous ruler.”

It made sense. As Lucifer bent you over the reception desk and fucked you from behind, you could completely understand why they made this job posting sound horrid. Heaven would be empty if every winner could freely interact with Lucifer. You’d damn humanity too, if that was the cost. His hips snapped against your ass with divine determination, sweet praises on his forked tongue. 

The sounds of your gasps and his skin on yours echoed through the pristine white and gold halls. Like a pastor giving his sermon, he made the most delicious promises as you bent at the altar. 

Could heaven hear you? Your chants of “God, Oh God,” shifting to, “Lucifer! Luci—fer”, when one of his hands came down, fingers stroking your heat?

“What do you pray for, my curious Angel?” He growled, a flame you couldn’t see licking past his lips. “I’ll grant you anything”

Your cheek was sliding across the marble, small line of drool smearing on your face. Claws raked down your back, the stimulation making you shake.

Your fingers reached for his thighs, failing to take purchase. Lucifer took both of your wrists in one hand and held them at the small of your back for leverage. Your legs bent up, toes curling as you came around his sweetly punishing cock.

Taking a few deep breaths, you rolled your hips back against him, “More.”

Lucifer laughed and lifted one foot onto the desk to add more force behind his thrusts, “Say please.”

am I too horny? No. No, the cardiologist is wrong.

╭──────༺♡̶༻──────╮ Masterlist ╰──────༺♡̶༻──────╯

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot

[riizegasm]

Soft as a Misty Rain || W. YX (Nicholas)

❀ pairing: &team nicholas x fem!reader

❀ genre: exes to lovers!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~3.3k

❀ warnings: explicit language, one very brief non-descriptive depiction of sex, nico is really bad at communicating, the weather as a metaphor for emotions

❀ summary: In the storm that hangs over your life, your ex appears like a lightning strike. As much as you hate to admit it, he softens the rain, allowing you to face clearer skies.

❀ a/n: At this point, I feel like I need to warn y’all that I write more than just angst. But I promise this one is not that bad!! Much more fluff than usual, which was hard for me, but I hope you enjoy it. As usual, likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated and encouraged.

masterlist

He comes to you in the rain. The tips of his hair drip water onto his face, sliding down the unblemished skin until they land on his fully soaked clothes. His faded Pink Floyd shirt sticks to his frame, highlighting every ridge of his abdomen. The normally baggy jeans he wears hang even lower than they usually do, their cuffs hanging in a puddle of his own creation. 

It’s a warm summer rain, the kind that appears out of nowhere and clears within the hour. Its brevity can’t outweigh its intensity, though, thoroughly soaking everything in sight. The flowers love it, basking in the brief respite from the intense August heat. The flower in front of you, however, is wilting from the power of the storm, soaked and shaking. 

“Nicholas?”

When he finally raises his head, letting his eyes meet yours from behind the inky curtain of his bangs, you can’t help but shiver. Despite the time apart, he has never lost the intensity in his gaze. It still throws you off kilter. It still has you wanting to hold him close and never let go. It still has your heart shattering. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispers. “I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

You would have thought that in the eight months that you spent broken up, he would have found someone else. You always assumed there was someone else for him, another person to confide in, another shoulder to lean on, another hand to hold. Despite the hollowness of his cheeks and the paleness of his skin, it’s hard to believe that there was truly nowhere else for him to go. 

You don’t know which scenario is worse: that he had no choice, or that he chose you. 

Seconds tick by, announced by the rhythmic drip of raindrops onto the floor of the hallway. Outside, a crash of thunder booms, practically shaking the entire building. It’s only then that you are able to snap yourself out of your reverie, moving aside to let the man into your apartment. 

Making Nicholas comfortable is second nature to you at this point, despite losing months of practice. You shoo him into the shower and warm up a towel for him in the dryer. The old hoodie and pair of basketball shorts you haven’t managed to throw out yet are neatly folded and placed on the bathroom counter. It doesn’t even cross your mind to take in his figure behind the glass of the shower pane, blurred from the steam condensing on its surface. Instead, you turn the air conditioner down and begin to heat a kettle for tea, knowing how easily he catches a cold. 

It’s a dance you know every step to, despite not having performed the choreography in years. 

The second time he appears is with a flash of lightning, suddenly standing near the foot of the couch. His eyes are downturned once again, hair still wet and concealing his gaze. He seems content to stare at the floor, so you take it upon yourself to speak. 

“Tea?”

Nicholas’s voice is hoarse as he responds, eyes still glued to the wooden planks beneath him. “Please.”

You hate the way one simple word has shivers running up your spine. It’s just that one word that transports you back in time—hands tangled in black and blonde dyed locks, lips moving fervently against each other, hips meeting in a filthy grind, a simple word uttered from spit-slicked lips. That couldn’t be further from the word’s meaning here, yet your mouth is flooded with the stale taste of second-hand cigarettes. 

As the storm rages on, Nicholas clutches the mug of tea in his hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic at every new boom of thunder. The building shakes and so does he. You wonder if your touch would be enough to warm the boy to his core, to halt every shiver. But it’s only after a particularly loud thunderclap that you realize his shaking is not from a lack of warmth. It’s from his own storm that has begun to stream down his cheeks.

“Nicholas,” you whisper softly, as if not to spook a woodland creature, “what’s going on?”

The man lets out a strangled sob, clutching the mug even tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t even be here, but fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Nicholas sniffles, finally tearing his eyes away from the steaming cup in his hands. “I’m sorry for still being in love with you.”

.         .         .

Nine months prior

A flurry of kisses are placed all over your face, breaking your concentration from the book in front of you. You can’t help but giggle as your boyfriend’s assault continues, the man seeming determined to place a kiss on every inch of exposed skin. There isn’t much, as you have started to trade in your lighter fall jackets for thicker sweaters. Nicholas doesn’t seem to mind, though, tugging at your collar to expose even more of you. 

“Babe stop it!” You whine between puffs of laughter. “The story was just starting to get good.”

Your boyfriend just smirks, continuing to place his lips on any inch of you he can reach. “Don’t care,” he mumbles between kisses. “You look so cute when you’re concentrating.”

Nicholas was rarely shy with his affections. He was the type to constantly shower you in praise, return home with little gifts and trinkets for you, keep a protective hand around your waist at all times. Despite how shy he comes off at first, he is nothing short of extraverted in his love for you. In the years of you two dating, he has only gotten more bold in his proclamations of love, both literally and figuratively. 

“I love you,” he mutters, lips attached to a particularly sensitive patch of skin behind your ear. “You’re so cute. My pretty girl.”

The warmth of his breath tickles your skin, causing your entire body to sprout with goosebumps. The teasing pressure on the sensitive spot kickstarts your heart to pump a mile a minute, the heat encompassing your body comparable to the flames in the lit fireplace before you. Nicholas’s touch has rewired your inner workings to be constantly excited, constantly anticipating the pleasure to come. 

But nothing comes. Nicholas simply pulls away from you, a sweet smile on his face. 

“I’m going to go meet Yuma for lunch. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

You smile, shaking your head softly. “Have fun, though. Tell Yuma I said hi.”

“I will.”

Nicholas leaves a lingering kiss on your forehead before pulling away completely. You can’t help but watch with a fond stare as he flits about the apartment. It’s endearing to watch the furrow in his brow and the way he worries his bottom lip with his teeth. Only a few moments later, he deems himself ready to go, calling out one last goodbye as he disappears through the door. 

When scanning the damage he left behind on his way out, your eye is caught by the bright green of the clock displayed on the microwave. 4:37 pm, it reads. You can’t help but be confused. 

A little late for lunch, isn’t it?

.         .         .

Eight months prior

He comes home reeking of cigarettes and smiling lazily. For a moment, you think he’s drunk, with his sluggish and uncoordinated movements. He trips over his own feet trying to get his shoes off, sighing frustratedly in the doorway. The sound has you rolling your eyes, increasingly growing agitated with your boyfriend’s actions. 

His nose is red as he enters the living room, sniffling frequently. The chill of December does that to people. But when his eyes meet yours from the opposite side of the couch, you notice the equally red eyes and the dried tear tracks staining his face. Instantly, your heart plummets. 

“What happened?”

Nicholas sniffles softly, reddened eyes slowly scanning your figure. He’s clearly pondering his words, face twisted into a grimace as if his own thoughts pain him. The hardcover book you had been reading falls from your slackened grip, making a loud thud as it hits the wooden floor. Neither of you move at the sound. 

“Y/N, I—,” Nicholas cuts himself off with a wince, biting back a sob. “We need to break up.”

After approximately two years, four months, and thirteen days, the thought of breaking up seems so outlandish that normally, you would laugh. Even if Nicholas looked you dead in your eyes on any other day and said he wanted to break up, you would laugh. Your nose would scrunch and your head would be tipped back as you let out a full body chuckle. You would playfully punch Nicholas’s arm and kiss him in the same breath. 

But you’re not laughing. 

“Break up? What? Why?” You can’t seem to stop the flurry of questions that leave your mouth. “What happened? Why now, all of a sudden?”

Nicholas shakes his head. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

The exhaustion in his voice sets off a ringing in your ears, as if sounding an alarm for your body. Despite the small inflections in his voice, clearly unsteady from crying, you know he means what he’s saying. Nicholas has never been the type to be careless about his words, especially when it comes to you. 

“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?” As you speak, your voice begins to take on a sharp edge, piercing through the living room. “After two fucking years you just decide you can’t do this? What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means that I can’t do this. I can’t do us anymore.”

A violent heat begins to overtake your face, metaphorical steam coming out of your ears as if you were a cartoon. In your prior breakups you had been sad, resigning yourself to whatever reason had split you apart. However, right now, nothing can overtake the scalding confusion that is consuming you right now. You imagine that you could single-handedly reverse the December chill, making your surroundings feel like the hottest of summers. 

“But why?” You wince as your voice cracks. 

“Because,” Nicholas sighs. “I just can’t. We can’t. I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

He leaves you in the warmth of your apartment as he faces the bitter cold of the winter. His reddened face is hidden almost completely by a thick beanie, layers of clothing doing their best to protect his frail body underneath. You watch from your bedroom window as his figure treks down the street, disappearing around a concrete corner. Only then does it begin to snow. 

.         .         .

Seven months prior

You are sobbing. 

.         .         .

Six months prior

You are crying. 

.         .          .

Five months prior

You are tearing up. 

.         .         .

Four months prior 

You are expressionless. 

.          .         .

Three months prior

You are listening. 

.          .         .

Two months prior

You are speaking. 

.          .         .

One month prior

You are smiling. 

.         .         .

Present day

You are sobbing. 

It only took those few words from Nicholas for you to break down, the storm overtaking your emotions mirroring the one outside your window. Your sobs oddly harmonize with Nicholas’s own, both of your sadness manifesting in the same way despite the very different reasons for it. It’s as if you exist in a strangely cast musical, with Nicholas in the role of the heartbreaker and you in the role of the heartbroken. 

But now, you can’t quite pinpoint whether or not your tears stem from that same heartbreak you experienced eight months ago, or if it’s brewing from something deeper. 

“You don’t get to just say that,” you hiccup. “After all these months of nothing! You broke up with me without even explaining why.”

Nicholas winces at the harsh tone of your voice, ducking his head to look at the floor. “I know. Fuck, I know. And I’m sorry. I just had to tell you how I felt…how I still feel.”

The ceramic mug makes a soft clinking sound as Nicholas places it on the coffee table, the tea it housed probably having grown cold. It’s enough to force the space into a bout of tense silence, the only interruptor being the steady patter of rain against the window panes. You imagine that the next boom of thunder will be strong enough to shake the apartment, strong enough to shock you out of this nightmare in which your ex boyfriend still loves you. 

You swallow thickly, forcing your tears to subside for a moment. “Then why? Why did you leave me?”

“Because,” Nicholas sighs. “I was scared.”

The Nicholas you used to know was rarely ever scared. He didn’t blink an eye when he would get weird stares over his unique fashion choices. He would laugh in the face of the most insidious horror movies and cringe at their jump scares. You deemed him your knight in shining armor, ready to slay any dragon that dared come close. 

“You? Scared of what?”

Nicholas smiles sadly. “Do you remember when we went Thanksgiving shopping?”

You remember it vividly. The day had been abnormally warm for November, so you were clad in one of Nico’s tee shirts and a pair of old yoga pants. The store was immensely crowded, so much so that the two of you ended up pressed together like sardines in the aisle. It wasn’t that bad overall until you and a random lady had both reached for the last can of cranberry sauce. She tried to argue you down for it, making a case that since she was older, she deserves the can and everything. While she was so busy yelling, you grabbed the can, stuck out your tongue, and left. 

“That lady was just yelling and yelling, and you grabbed that can, and took me with you. When I was following behind you, or I guess you were dragging me by the hand, I couldn’t help but think ‘gosh, I love you so much’. I loved you so much that it scared me.”

Something flutters in your core. “Nico—,”

“We’re so young, and yet, every time I looked at you, I couldn’t think about anything but growing old together. Hell, I used to stay up at night thinking about what our kids would look like. That’s how much I loved you, Y/N. And I felt like I was smothering you. You had your job and you would come home and read and cook and I would just be distracting you and begging for your attention. Do you know how sad that is? It almost felt like it wasn’t healthy. So I had to leave. I had to let you live.”

A tense silence overtakes the apartment, sucking all of the oxygen from the room. Your fingers busy themselves by playing with the frayed ends of a tattered blanket. It’s the one that Nicholas got you for your first Christmas spent together, forest green with red hearts etched across its surface. You wouldn’t dare to admit that you haven’t spent a single night without snuggling with it, tucking it under your chin and breathing in its faded scent. It’s the very scent that strikes you with a bout of confidence, looking directly into the gaze of the man across from you. 

“Nico, what makes you think that I would want to live without you?”

Plush lips part into a surprised “o” as Nicholas looks at you. His reddened eyes scan your face, as if searching for a reason to not believe you. It takes a few seconds for him to complete his assessment, mouth shutting silently. He nods once, twice, clearly mulling something over in his head, always extremely cautious before he speaks. You used to wish he was more forthcoming, and just said whatever was on the tip of his tongue. After all, it was what got you both into this situation in the first place. 

“I thought you needed to,” Nicholas confesses. “I couldn’t stand feeling like I was holding you back.”

You laugh soullessly. “You know that I stopped reading after you left. I haven’t picked up a book in months.”

“Why?”

You try not to coo at the confusion etched across the man’s face. “Because fantasy didn’t seem as magical if I didn’t have a spectacular reality to come back to. You were spectacular, Nico. We were spectacular.”

Many would say that the mundane simply couldn’t be spectacular, but you thought that couldn’t be further from the truth. There was something about cooking dinner for the two of you that lit your core up. Sharing chaste kisses over the pages of a book made you smile like no other. Playing dress up in the mall and buying matching accessories was simply joyous. Being with Nicholas was magical, in the same way that spinning straw into gold was. 

When he left, a permanent tempest hung over your head. Storm clouds pelted you with the harshest rains with no relief. A tornado of emotions constantly tore through your body. And just when the skies began to clear, here comes Nicholas flashing back into your life like a lightning strike. 

“So, what are you saying?” Nicholas asks, voice barely a whisper. 

“Do you want to be with me?”

“More than anything.”

The rain has softened against the window, slowing to a mellow drizzle. 

“Then let’s be together.”

Nicholas sniffles, eyes falling shut. “Please don’t joke with me right now.”

You can’t help but let out a wet chuckle at the desperation coloring Nicholas’s voice. It prompts you to cross the distance on the couch until you settle right next to him. His hands are still chilled when you grab them, resting them both in your lap. The calloused skin of his palms feels so familiar against your papercut riddled fingers. 

“Look at me,” you coo, smiling softly when the man across from you obliges. “I’m not joking. I want to be together as long as you promise to be upfront with me. And, you have to know that I love you. I want a future with you. That’s nothing to be scared of.”

“But—,”

“No buts. Promise me.”

Nicholas eyes your intertwined hands, softly flexing his fingers where they sit in between yours. It’s only after you give his hands a firm squeeze that his lips part in a smile. He laughs once, as if in disbelief, before meeting your gaze once again. 

“I promise.”

Your lips are only able to smile for a brief second before a mouth covers them. It shocks you for a moment, until you melt into the familiarity of slightly chapped lips moving against yours. You can feel where Nicholas can’t really stop smiling, letting out a small giggle when your teeth clack together. It doesn’t deter either of you, though, simply content to continue trading giggles and kisses.

It takes a handful of minutes for you two to part, the stream of kisses never escalating further. The small distance between the two of you proves to be too much for Nicholas, who wraps a hand around your waist to pull you even closer. He scoops your legs into his lap, allowing you to sit draped across him. It’s the perfect position to allow you to look up at him, admiring the soft slope of his nose and the pretty curve of his lips. You find yourself pushing back his fringe in order to more clearly see his eyes. They are still red rimmed, but it does little to obscure the simple adoration in his gaze. 

The intensity of his stare forces you to look away, attempting to fight the heat rising to your cheeks. You end up peering beyond the window, noticing the hints of sunlight that are beginning to peek through the clouds. You smile, watching as the world begins to be illuminated bit by bit. 

“Look, it stopped raining,” you tell Nicholas. 

When you turn to face the man, he is still staring down at you, a soft smile lighting up his face. 

“I had a feeling it would.”

.FIN.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of sex, violence.

Word Count: 894

Previously On...: Bucky rejected your sexual advances, but Nat texted you, so at least you have that going for you.

A/N: ANSWER TIME

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You stabbed your finger on the button to dial Nat’s number, the brevity of her texting style leaving you with more questions than answers. You were terrified it was going to go to voicemail before she finally picked up.

“‘Bout time,” Nat answered instead of a greeting. “How long did it take before you and Barnes got naked again? I’ve got money riding on it.”

“Jesus Christ, Nat,” you said, not wanting to waste time playing this game. “We didn’t, okay? Now tell me what the hell’s going on!”

“I told you in the texts,” she said, “and if you’d bothered to reply, I’d have answered any questions you may have had.”

You didn’t respond to that, waiting for Natasha get over your lack of response and start talking. “Fine,” she eventually capitulated. “Sam called Steve, told him about A.J., who is going to be okay, by the way– just a long recovery; and how he needed to go home. He said he didn’t want to leave you, and asked Steve to send down coverage.”

“Yeah, I knew that already,” you said, though you were relieved to hear the news about A.J.. “What else?”

“Well, obviously Barnes volunteered,” she said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “but Steve wasn’t having it, because he didn’t want to spring Barnes on you without clearing it with you first.” 

“That was thoughtful of him,” you said.

“Hmm,” said Nat cryptically. “Anyway, I was going to come down, myself. Sun and surf and stripping with my best friend? Sounded like a fucking vacation.”

“Natasha,” you warned, urging her to stick to the point. 

She sighed. “Yeah, okay. So, Bucky gets a call from a SHIELD med facility out in Wilmington, Fucking Delaware, of all places.” Nat paused, waiting for you to speak. When you didn’t, she asked: “Care to explain what that was all about, Pocket?”

“Not at this exact moment, Natty,” you said, truly not wanting to get into your surprise pregnancy/miscarriage two-for-one evening. 

You could practically hear Nat’s eyes roll in annoyance at you through the phone– she despised not knowing things, which was what made her such a damned good spy. “Fine. Carthage finds out Bucky’s taken off, and when she asks where he went, Steve tells her he went to be with you, that you needed him. Pocket, this girl fucking flipped her shit. Like, I half expected her to turn green and start growing through her clothes. I’ve never seen anything like it that didn’t involve Bruce Hulking-out,” she told you.

“She was screaming how it wasn’t fair, had some choice words to say about you, which I won’t repeat, because I’m your friend, by the way, then starts talking about how ‘it wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ and ‘this wasn’t what she was promised.’ It was weird. Just… fucking weird. 

“Steve tried to calm her down,” she continued, “but she wasn’t having any of it. Kept saying he ‘didn’t understand,’ and how now she was ‘gonna die,’ and it was all your fault. Steve tried to restrain her, but she clocked him. He needed to call in Thor to help wrangle her. They got her sedated and put her in her room, but when Cho went to check on her a few hours later, she was just… gone. Ransacked her room, punched holes in the walls, packed up all her shit.”

“Jesus Christ,” you murmured. “Nat, this is absolutely beyond. I mean, it’s more than a crush, it’s a fucking obsession.”

“Tell me about it,” Nat agreed. “She left behind her Stark phone, her coms, and her tracking device. Steve and Tony made the decision to list her as AWOL, and they’ve got SHIELD crawling around like ants looking for her, but there’s been no sign of her since.”

You took a shaking breath. “That’s a hell of a lot to take in, Nat.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, “that’s not even the best part.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“You have no idea.”

“Out with it, Natalia, I swear!”

Your friend scoffed. “You’re no fun, but fine. You remember our little conversation with Sam, right? After she fucked up the Malaysia mission?”

“Where he said he thought she set them up, yeah.” You remembered, alright, though it felt so long ago now. “And I checked the Tower’s systems; she hadn’t accessed anything she shouldn’t have.”

“Except for Bucky’s files,” Nat clarified to remind you.

“Except for Bucky’s files,” you agreed, not understanding where she was going with this.

“You know how my part was to reach out to my old KGB contacts, see what I could find out from them?” Nat asked, and you grunted in affirmation. 

“Well,” she continued, “I just heard back, not long after I started texting you. Turns out, our BFF didn’t escape from a Hydra base.”

You felt a cold chill go down your spine. “What are you saying, Nat?”

“I’m saying I was given some very interesting security footage,” Nat continued. “Carthage never escaped Hydra, because they willingly let her out.” You let out a shocked gasp, and Nat paused for dramatic effect, making you want to reach through the phone and shake her. “They let her out,” she continued, “with an objective: to bring home the Winter Soldier.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[dreamjoymemoir]

Had the idea of Black Swan with a reader who has to make a joke out of everything, and she just sort of observes until she shoots down a joke and sees a new side of them...

hope you like the idea!

that's interesting! thanks for requesting black swan, she's super cool and i hope i wrote her fine 🙏

-with all her mysterious grace, black swan takes your jokes in stride, responding with a soft chuckle or a narrow of her eyes depending on how amused she is. you might even get her to giggle loudly if it's really good. it makes her curious, this lackadaisical way you see the world. is this really how you feel? she's met quite a lot of people in this universe, from no-nonsense geniuses to whimsical fools, and she understands that a person's outward behavior is just a small part of the whole. her irresistible curiosity leads her to poke a hole into your worldview just to see what happens.

-so one day she responds to your joking with a deadpan comment that's perhaps a little sharper than she means it to be. the reaction is immediate; she watches you blink and give her a surprised, kicked-puppy look, and you quit with the jokes for a while. it makes her feel very bad! she didn't realize your confidence was so fragile, and your silence speaks for itself.

"oh sweetheart, i'm sorry. i didn't mean any cruelty towards you." her lips form a small frown, making her regret evident. "your sense of humor is a unique and colorful aspect of your personality. please, don't mind my senseless remarks."

-she's tempted to prod into why you reacted in such a way, but she'd like to avoid upsetting you further, so she'll wait for a more appropriate moment to sate her questions. if you're amenable to it, she'll pat your head affectionately and smile to reassure you that you're not in any trouble.

-whether or not you tell her so, the picture of your identity becomes clear to her as she spends time with you. you like to bring lots of brevity and smiles to the room with your jokes, but your ego itself is easily deflated; it's difficult for you to be confronted with anything particularly serious. she feels sympathy for you, even if she's observed the lives of many people and human nature no longer surprises her. if she does have to conduct a serious discussion with you, she takes care with her words as she touches your hand and asks you to listen carefully. the gentle tone of her voice soothes any anxieties you may have, and perhaps you'll be more okay with putting your jokes down for the moment. you can trust her! she loves all facets of you, including the parts that are weak or fearful.

[trekscribbles]

Failsafe: Chapter Eight

...I came across the John Rogers line "Eliot's job is to be the failsafe that never fails". And I couldn't help thinking... What happens if the failsafe does fail?

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3.)

Now on ao3

Sophie tossed her hair over one shoulder and pushed open the door to Wilcox Flowers, still turning her conversation with Nate over in her mind. It hurt that after all these years, after everything they’d been through, he wouldn’t listen to her suggestions. Nate was spiraling, and he didn’t even seem to notice. Parker grew quieter every day while Hardison tried to convince them all that everything was fine, and Sophie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were balanced on a precipice without a safety net.

She should have known that bringing up a new team member would lead to a fight. She’d already been in a bad mood when she met with Nate, and he had a tendency to heighten her emotions. That morning, she’d woken up to a voicemail she had been so sure would bring good news, only to be hit with eight simple words that cut all the deeper for their brevity.

Sophie, it’s Quinn. No sign of him. Sorry. 

That was it. She had no one else to call. She’d tried every location she could think of, every safe house he’d ever mentioned, every one of his friends she could track down. Quinn had been a last resort, one last attempt at picking up a cold trail. Now she had nothing.

Eliot was beyond their reach.

“Where’s the receptionist?” Nate asked in her ear.

Sophie shook her head as she passed the empty desk and continued through the lobby, past the greenhouse entrance and two other doors on her way to Wilcox’s office. “Restroom?” she guessed.

“Hardison,” Nate said. “Cameras.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You focus on your job,” she told him. “And let me do mine. Wilcox is ready for this deal. There’s nothing to worry about.”

But Nate was worried, increasingly so, and over every little thing. He was taking Eliot’s absence hard—they all were—but Nate’s behavior almost bordered on paranoia. She was sure another team member would put his mind at ease, someone who could round out their numbers and watch their backs. Someone who could free up Nate’s mind to focus on getting Eliot back instead of obsessing over every tiny detail of the insultingly simple cases they’d been taking over the last month.

Wilcox, for example. He was a florist, for God’s sake. Sure, he’d been shorting his employees on their paychecks, but it still wasn’t the kind of job they normally took. They weren’t a labor union. These people needed lawyers, not thieves.

Logan Wilcox was waiting for her in his office, which, admittedly, was decorated rather richly for a man in his profession. He stood and extended his hand, and Sophie let him take her fingers with a smile.

“Mr. Wilcox,” she said in a faintly southern accent. “I’m so glad you called. Have you made a decision about my little offer?”

Wilcox closed the door behind her and drew out her chair. “Please, sit. I just have a couple of questions about these connections of yours.”

“Of course,” Sophie said, settling herself on the chair and crossing one leg. “Sunny Farms Greenhouse would be the perfect partner—”

“Not that one,” Wilcox said. He sat at his desk and leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m talking about the Russians.”

Sophie blinked. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“The Russians,” Wilcox said. “I know all about them. I know all about your meetings with them, and I know you’re trying to get me to betray my clients, and it’s not going to happen.”

“Mr. Wilcox,” Sophie said, flashing a confused smile she didn’t even have to fake. “There must be some misunderstanding. I’m just a representative from Sunny Farms, that’s all. I don’t know anything about Russians, or your clients. If you don’t want to make the deal, that’s fine, but I—”

“Oh, I’m making a deal.” Wilcox stood and straightened his tie. “Just not with you.”

“Sophie,” Nate hissed in her ear. “Get out.”

No kidding.

Sophie pushed back against the desk, shoving her chair back and lunging to her feet as Wilcox grabbed for her arm. “Really, Mr. Wilcox,” she gasped. “Let’s be reasonable—”

He made another swipe for her, and she planted her feet and punched him in the nose.

Wilcox shrieked a word that made her want to hit him again, but she was too busy bolting for the door. She ripped it open and slammed it shut as he staggered after her, sparing a second to kick off her heels before running down the hallway.

“The door is locked,” Parker said in her earbud. “I can’t get into the building.”

Sophie hesitated outside an open door—another office. “What do you mean it’s locked? I just came in.”

“Wilcox must have more people with him,” Nate said. “Parker, find another way in. Sophie, do you see anyone?”

“No,” Sophie said. “There’s nobody else here. I can see the front door, it’s just—”

The office door creaked, and Sophie let out a startled cry as a man lumbered into view from behind another desk. She took in the sight of his suit and work boots, the dark look on his wide face, and—oh—the knife in his hand.

So much for “nothing to worry about.”

Sophie snatched a painting off the wall and hurled it at the man, who ducked and shouted but did not drop his weapon. “Never mind,” she said, running again. “Wilcox has at least one more man. With a knife.”

“Get out,” Nate repeated. “Parker?”

“Looking for a window,” Parker said.

Sophie darted down the hall, the exit impossibly far away, and heard the crashes of Wilcox’s and knife-man’s office doors slamming open. Wilcox yelled for her to stop, and her heart made a frantic, unfamiliar stutter in her chest.

For the first time since she joined the crew, there was no one to save her.

“I’m coming, Sophie,” Nate said, his words panting in her ear. He was running, but who knew how far away he was? He wouldn’t get there in time. Parker was outside somewhere, but if Wilcox had more men, they’d be outnumbered, and if Parker got hurt trying to help her—

The greenhouse door burst open, and Sophie swerved to avoid the man charging through it. He was between her and the exit, and she had nothing—no weapons, nothing to defend herself with, and Wilcox and the man with the knife were behind her, and there was nothing she could do.

“Police are on their way,” Hardison said. “Hang on, Soph, just—find a place to hide.”

The bathroom. It was tucked into the southwest corner of the lobby, and it was a single-person toilet—lockable from the inside. She ran for it, scrambling to open the door as the footsteps behind her grew louder and heavier, and managed to tug it closed inches from their grasping fingers. She jammed her thumb into the button lock and held onto the knob as the hands outside tried to twist it open, her eyes squeezed shut, trying not to think about her bare feet on the bathroom tile.

Please, please don’t let me die in a toilet.

“Parker,” she gasped, clutching the vibrating doorknob and breathing through her nose. “Found a way in yet?”

“Almost there. Where are you?”

“Bathroom,” Sophie said. She stifled a shriek as one of the men threw himself against the door, and then… nothing. The handle stopped rattling, and Wilcox’s muffled voice went quiet. She couldn’t hear anything from the lobby, and after a moment, she peeled her clenched fingers off the knob and cast around for something to use as a weapon, just in case. There wasn’t much in the little room, but a quick search of the cabinet under the sink produced a spray bottle full of some kind of chemical cleaner, which Sophie figured would slow a man down if she hit him in the eyes. She went back to the door and stood before it, bottle raised, fighting to calm her pounding heart.

The handle half-turned as someone tried it again.

“Parker,” Sophie whispered.

There was no answer. Sophie took a breath, backing against the sink, readying herself for one final attack as the lock clicked open and the knob rotated. 

The door opened.

“Sophie,” Parker said, leaning her head in uncertainly.

Sophie exhaled, dropping the spray bottle into the sink. “Parker!”

“Why are you still hiding?” Parker asked.

Sophie leaned to look into the lobby around Parker’s shoulder. “Well, I didn’t know it was you, did I? Next time say something.”

“I figured you’d be out here,” Parker said. She held up Sophie’s discarded shoes, which she must have picked up on her way through the hall, and stepped back. “Why hide after you knocked out the bad guys?”

Sophie accepted her shoes with a frown. “What? I didn’t…”

She trailed off as Parker moved out of the way. Wilcox, knife-man, and the man from the greenhouse were unconscious on the floor, seated with their backs against the reception desk and their hands zip-tied on their laps.

“Sophie?” Nate said, his voice still breathless. “Everything okay?”

Sophie met Parker’s gaze. “You didn’t do this?”

Parker shook her head, her eyes widening.

“And you didn’t see anyone else?” Sophie pressed.

“I came in through Wilcox’s office window,” Parker said. “They were like this when I got here.”

“Nate,” Sophie said. “Where are you?”

“I’m almost there. Coming up to the front door now.”

“Stop,” she said. “Look around. Do you see anyone?”

Nate paused. “Who am I looking for?”

Sophie looked at Parker again.

Neither of them said his name.

[hannahbarberra162]

Can we get a izou story snippet? Pleaseeee if not don't worry, ily

Of course Nonnie! I'm writing the second chapter now but I'm not sure when it will be done. I'm hoping this week but I can't promise.

Also, if you left me an ask, please know I'm getting to them. Unfortunately brevity is not one of my strengths and all these delicious ideas turn into like 5k+ word one shots (looking at you Yan Sabo Nonnie - I'm cooking up something good for you). I'm not complaining, I love reading everyone's ideas and suggestions. It just all takes time to write :)

“Commander Izou, my h-home is to the right,” you stated with uncertainty in your tone as Izou carried you in his arms to your residence. He told you that you would pack up whatever you most needed and that he would take you with him to his ship. You’d protested initially but he had left no room for argument. He could scent your fear and felt your trembling fingers wrapping themselves around his neck as he carried you through the snowy town. He’d have more time to explain later that you’d be safe, that nothing bad was going to happen to you ever again. But for now he wanted to put as much space as he could between you and the horrible people to dare call themselves your family.

You were wearing flimsy cloth shoes that were unsuitable for the winter climate on the island. By the rips on the sides and wear on the soles, you’d been wearing them a long time. Yet another reason Izou wasn’t upset by the destruction his brothers were wreaking on your employer. 

“B-but Commander, you don’t need to hold me, I can -” you’d been trying to get him to put you on the ground since he’d first swept you off your feet, before you’d even made contact with the snowy sidewalk.

“Carrying you pleases me,” Izou said simply. Given your reserved nature as well as the strict social hierarchy you were raised with, he knew you’d defer to him.  It was a dance he hadn’t done in a long time, playing along with the social cues and mores of Wanese culture but in this case it worked to his advantage. If he tried to explain that you were underdressed for the weather or that he felt the need to feel your meager weight in his arms, you’d protest further to prevent inconveniencing him. Truthfully, it did please him to carry you, to have your scent so close to his own, to feel the reassurance of you in his arms. He’d carry you forever if you let him. 

“Ah, this is it,” you indicated, pointing to a large brick house with smoke coming out the chimney. At least they’d given you a proper place to live, he thought to himself. As Izou stepped on the cleared path to the house, you shook your head. 

“N-no, sorry. The house behind this one,” you said quietly, pointing to a shack set back towards the snowy woods.

Of course.

Izou noted the rickety shack and the rags covering the windows - either to keep in heat or to keep out prying eyes. Swiftly walking towards the hut, he opened the door and set you down inside.

“Gather your things,” Izou said softly, putting his hand on the small of your back to encourage you. The inside of the single room hut was as dismal as Izou imagined it would be. There were gaps in the thin wood walls, letting in the harsh winter air. Your tiny bed was crammed into the corner, leaving enough room for a table

“I apologize for the state of my house, Commander. If I had known someone like you would be joining -” you were already bowing to him again, your hands stiff at your side. Izou bent down to put his hands on your shoulders and righted you to standing.

“Do not apologize. Collect your things,” Izou ordered in a gentle tone. You frowned but nodded and walked over to the small bookshelf on the wall. You grabbed an old, battered tome, wrapping it like you were swaddling a baby in one of the few blankets on your bed. Holding it to your chest, you put it in a basket and saw Izou watching you.

“Ah, the cookbook my father gave me before I left Wano,” you said in answer to Izou’s unasked question. You’d mentioned leaving Wano a few times but Izou hadn’t heard of many people leaving the country in recent years. He’d have to get the full story out of you on the Moby. Moving towards you, he noted a picture of himself tacked onto the wall. It was from his most recent Wanted Poster (an attractive photo, if he did say so himself). You followed Izou’s eyes towards the picture and hung your head.

“This is embarrassing. Please do not take offense, Commander,” you begged while looking down at your feet. Izou laughed softly into the sleeve of his winter yukata. 

“What man would take offense at a beautiful woman having his picture hung on the wall? Please, continue to gather your things. I would like to take you away from here. This building offends me,” Izou said. You were spurred into action from his words. You gathered a few clothing items and a lacquer hair comb, likely also from Wano based on the style.  “I am finished, Commander. I await your next instruction,” you replied seriously, like you were one of the men under his command. He’d have to get you to relax eventually, to accept help and seek it out from him. The Alpha in him wanted to grab you and take you back to his rooms, to show you he could protect you. But Izou knew you were traumatized and nervous, unsure what to do with yourself while you navigated the relationship between them.

[zorossugarmama]

Jace x Cregan Headcanons

Part Three

There are lengthy talks about what kind of wedding the two would have. First there are the wedding traditions of the North. This is most preferable for Cregan. While Jace wants both a Targaryen wedding and a Valeryon wedding. Three weddings doesn’t sound that bad does it? Cregan would argue but Jace has enough support from both his houses to do it. 

After the war for the Iron Throne and its inherent succession, Cregan finds it hard to open up about a lot of things. He’d done unspeakable things during the war and a deep shame lies within his soul. Jacaerys tries to talk to him, to let Cregan confined in him, yet Cregan being a stubborn Northern relents. It causes fissures in their relationship and thusly, Jace is at an impasse. He doesn’t know what to do. This is the first time he has ever had problems with Cregan.

Conversely, Jacaerys has developed an insensitive side to his character. The war for the succession of the Iron Throne has hardened his stances on things he never thought would matter. Like those who can attend court, those who are allowed in the Red Keep, and more so who he aligns himself with. He’s taken on the Northerner say of ‘The North never forgets’ and has taken it further in cutting ties with most of the nobles in Westeros.

In this Jace also expects a certain brevity and harshness in court that he has built himself. In turn, he lashes out when his emotions and temper have been pushed too far. His mother, Rhaenyra looks on in worry. Yet, Jace, taking after Daemon, refuses to acknowledge this side of himself as wrong. To him, it is what needs to be done to maintain order and steadfast loyalty amongst his friends, family, court, and the people of Westeros.

Cregan, after the war, has taken up more time to hunt. Not in the way that allows him to release his emotions but rather run away from them. His guilt is so deep seeded into his soul that he fears that if he looks at them, feels them, or even acknowledges their place that they will consume him and turn him into someone who lacks the compassion and good will his mother saw in him at a young age. This rips at him and ultimately he goes down a path that he doesn’t know is a dead end.

Now with something more light! Jace, in another time, if war hadn’t waged its hateful hand across Westeros, he would have been innocent. However, Cregan knows this innocence isn’t really pure innocence. Only Cregan knows that while Jace may be innocent he takes everything in a dirty way. Jace can’t help it, but Cregan thinks its cute.

I'm pretty sure perfume is a thing in Westeros and Cregan would definitely wear way too much. It's a pleasant smell, burnt oak and musk, but you can smell him long after he's left the room. Cregan please use perfume normally! Hehehe.

Jace aside from being a good war tactician (and makes it his personality) he also has a habit of using his outfit of the day to customise his personality. One day he’s carefree like the casual outfits he wears while other times he’s so uptight like the formalware he wears in court or on special travels. He really just bases his personality on his outfits.

[ampa-larra]

Didn’t really wanna say anything but this is actually quite concerning

TW: R18 dubcon mention

There’s a solangelo Anon author in ao3 that wrote a (not tagged) dubcon smut and is being extremely rude to people (+ I think they’re also the ones who’re harassing tumblr users given they’ve been saying similar things or they’re a group idk, i dont really care about them, I just care about solangelo :p)

I criticised their work in ao3 for being unhealthy for the ship assuming that they thought what they wrote was healthy and then seeing them in the comments say that Nico needs to be a bottom because, and I’m quoting here, “being a bottom would make his story a lot sadder” which is a wILD take; I wasn’t able to say that they should have at LEAST tagged it as dubcon but I was blocked before I was able to reply again. For brevity sake, I won’t go into more details but the rundown is:

I comment “this is not it.”

They said it was intentional and insulted me

I said “lmao”

They replied “ I will write a more disgusting fic blahblah“

I got weirded out so I just ignored them

but nooow they just admitted to being a minor and this is where it began being really concerning:

To other minors who are reading this I’m not telling you what not to read or not do. Just please be safe. As a person who consumed a lot of.. questionable media/stuff when I was a kid to cope from the loss of my mother, I know how easy it is to step into a world where you’re clearly not ready for. Just try to step back a little, take your time and just be nice to yourself and to others

Anon author made some harmful takes on queer relationships (and honestly just relationships in general) let’s not have that mindset in 2025 pls and especially when tsats is all about Nico and Will trying to understand each other in order to have a healthy relationship. AND KIDS. If you have the same mindset as anon author pls pls pls we have elders in this community that you can ask!

I should say that this is a top/bottom “discourse” of fictional characters LOL Need I say more on how stupid this is?

To the anon author, you might think being edgy is cool or whatever but when you grow up you’re gonna cringe so bad LMAO

at the end of the day, yeah we’re talking about fictional characters here, but with how the world is going on right now, I - for one- am only coping through reading about my silly blorbos but NOT arguing about who should top or bottom

Just don’t be rude in general, fandom spaces isn't open for rude butts

lowkey I’m finding this a bit entertaining because of how absurd everything is but considering that there are people being harassed I’m like yeah, not entertaining anymore huhu and they're great people too! I'm not gonna tag them because I don't know if they're comfortable getting into this conversation bec. I, for one, will be fed up by all this nonsense. Let's just all give them the love and support they oh so deserve!!! <3 <3

idk anymore, I just got off from work and my brain is fried I don’t think I’m even making sense lmao

so what did you guys had for lunch, I ate porridge! Yum!

[bleue-flora]

Write the autitic c!dream essay🙏🙏

Why I think c!Dream is Autistic - Part 1

[context]

[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3]

Welp… I guess while on the topic of neurodivergence now is as good as time as any to do this. So, at long last…

Since every version of this essay ended up way too long I’m going to break it into 3 parts, and I'm going to make more generalized statements for the sake of brevity. So, if there are things about this or autism in general you would like more clarification on or know more about, my asks are always open (though I do ask that you please wait to flood my inbox until after you’ve read all parts). I would also like to add that for the same reason of length, I am not going to go in depth on all of the facets of autism and diagnosing it. I am not a psychologist, and this essay is not about defining autism and going into full depth about what it is, but about the specific aspects of Dream and the dsmp that I think point to autism, based on what I know and more importantly my experiences as an autistic person. Having said that, just so we are on the same page - Autism means that our brains are literally structured differently (also known as neurodivergent), which means we think differently and process the world differently, it does not make us inferior or broken or less than larger society (neurotypicals), it only means we are human beings who are wired differently.

Now, for part 1 I’m going to briefly go into the traits Dream has that I think point to autism, keeping in mind that this is not necessarily all inclusive, these are not necessarily autism exclusive, and some of these can be effected with masking and personal growth. 

Highly obsessive - in general and for specific interest, to the point of not taking care of oneself, like forgetting to sleep, eat, shower, or just not caring enough to do so. 

Strong willed, determined and dedicated - not going to give up easily, willing to stay up training or farming for long hours or put in the work especially for our obsession. Our priorities aren’t always productive, but we are not ones for laziness.

Isolated - outcast, odd ball out, set apart, on the outskirts, loner, alone even if surrounded by people.

Highly intelligent - smart, clever, big brained, skilled, knowledgeable to the point of ground breaking (ex: Einstein, Elon Musk, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Leonardo da Vinci…etc)

Trouble with emotions and feelings - from recognizing them, processing them, letting ourselves experience them, understanding them, leading us to often then lash out, explode, or have a meltdown.

All about the facts and truth - sometimes to an abrasive and candid point where it can become more important than how people feel or the main point.

Logical mindset - making decisions based on logic and strategy rather than on emotions to the point of struggling to understand others when they follow no such logic

“Black and White” thinking - right and wrong, good or bad, yes or no, on or off, love it or hate it, friend or foe. Everything is in extremes.

Rule follower, one to fight for justice and for others - we are stubborn and in our strong conviction we are out against injustice and misinformation, fairness and what is right and true is imperative. 

Unable to forgive and forget - hard to let things go. Often have good memories and are able to remember things with the same detail as if it were happening again and not years ago. It doesn’t really fade with time and that makes us easily hold grudges, and hold things and behavior against people.

Resistant to change -  doesn’t matter how big or small nor whether it’s good or bad, we are enemies of change. We like to understand so uncertainty and new things are often disagreeable.

Able to recognize patterns - able to see the full picture, see history repeating itself and people’s behavioral tendencies, which makes us good at scheming and masterminding. We hate change so we want to predict things to avoid being surprised. 

Trouble articulating our point - stuttering and stumbling over our words, because our brains are moving too fast for our mouth to keep up and it’s hard to explain ourselves because our brain works differently. (we’ll talk about this more in part 2)

Struggle with body language? - I mean it’s hard to say given the Minecraft format, but to me wearing a mask could be to avoid having to make eye contact (which I hate) and appropriate facial expressions and stuff like that, which are pretty important in diagnosis. So while some headcanon that Dream wears a mask because he's too expressive and doesn't like being exposed I actually think it might be the opposite and saves him a lot of effort and brain power to not have to worry about his facial expression. :)

Stimming - (yes an ADHD thing but also an autistic thing and it's very common for someone to be both - like me ;D) vocally and physically often when more stressed, again hard to say for a Minecraft man, but I see him constantly moving like pacing the cell or jumping around and stuff as stimming and he does vocally stim on occasion as well.

Or in other words - Reasons I think c!Dream is autistic:

C!Dream = me, me = autistic -> c!Dream = autistic… boom, shortest essay ever XD lol jk 

But seriously it is a major reason. I read a tumblr c!Dream character analysis (don't remember who's) back before I even joined tumblr and related soo much, which is pretty concerning when you relate to a villain - because like wait does that make me a psychopath? but I have empathy and I care and I'm not out to hurt people so why would I relate so much? And that's when I realized I think it is because he’s autistic like me so we think a like... I mean seriously the similarities are scarily uncanny down to things that have happened to me in real life…

Anyways, thank you for reading. I hope I made sense and got the idea across even by not going into super detail on all the points.

[sexdykes]

tips for brushing teeth regularly

i have struggled with brushing my teeth regularly for a while now but i have recently gotten better at doing it a couple times a week now instead of like, once a month, and i figured i should share some things that helped me.

generally speaking, the reason why someone isnt brushing their teeth will fall into one of the following categories:

forgetfulness

not liking the taste

not liking the texture

not enough stimulation during the task

lack of spoons

its a good idea to try to identify which of the categories you fall into. i am mostly forgetfulness but the others are mixed in there too. they also often overlap quite a bit

forgetfulness/lack of spoons

not every one of these tips will work for both, but a lot of them overlap enough that i figured it may aswell be one category for the sake of brevity

try keeping your toothbrush in your shower or next to your bed or somewhere that you are likely to see it and have time to use it. i have three toothbrushes in different places in my house

incorporating brushing my teeth into my shower routine has really really helped me ( i mention it a bunch, sorry in advance)

allow yourself to brush your teeth at any time of the day, not just when you "should" be. brushing your teeth at 1pm before lunch is better than not brushing your teeth at all

if they help, set alarms reminding you to do it

i keep a set of those floss/toothpick combos next to my bed that i use whenever i am watching a youtube video or something which is especially good when ive missed a couple days

if you have housemates that youre willing to ask, see if you can brush your teeth with them

easier said than done, but try not to beat yourself up when you dont brush your teeth. youll just start to associate it with that bad feeling

taste

there are starting to be some fun flavors of toothpaste, its worth trying to get one that you like the taste of

if you cant find one that you like the taste of, dry-brushing is better than nothing

brushing in the shower helps really rinse out your mouth properly so you no longer taste any toothpaste (otherwise i usually have to keep going back to the sink every two seconds)

texture

if you can stand it, mouthwash is your friend

experiment with different kinds of brushes or toothpaste as some brushes are softer/tougher and some toothpastes froth more or less

if you cant do toothbrushes at all, using your finger is absolutely okay, or wet cloth of some kind

both taste/texture

try to find a way to scrape off buildup on your teeth. like i already mentioned, I keep floss next to my bed and that is quite helpful when trying to scrape stuff off. a cloth would also work i imagine

general tips

try watching something or listening to something while brushing your teeth

dont be afraid to get silly with it!

get a fun toothbrush! they are usually advertised to young kids and so might be a little small for your mouth but a toothbrush is a toothbrush!

same for fun toothpaste! and mouthwash!

i saw someone talk about how they got 7 different flavors of toothpaste to have a different kind every day of the week

if you can, try to leave the toothpaste in your mouth for as long as possible (without swallowing it of course)

floss!!

if you can, use mouthwash!

i know that it is super hard to do sometimes, but brushing your teeth is so important.

if you have any tips of your own please share them!

[rhetthammersmithhorror]

Is this a rant? This feels like a rant. Please pardon any bad grammar.

Tumblr glitch and my archive isn't showing up —

My usually empty message box had two messages (lacking any introduction or greeting) from the same person demanding to know why I'd turned my archive off. This person proudly displays their 80,000+ instagram following next to their name.

They'd followed me in the last 24 hours, obviously just to dm.

I'd never heard of this person so I checked out their Insta. It's loaded with my gifs (turned into bad looking pixelated videos). There's no mention of my tumblr (Rhett Hammersmith's International Haus of Horrors — Hammersmith Horror for brevity).

This happens a lot on other platforms and sometimes tumblr. It's just the way it is.

So I explain to this individual that it takes time to select frames from a two minute sequence and condense them into a two second sequence. It's a skill—a useless skill—that I've developed over the years.

It's not as simple as just "recording the screen".

I like to make gifs with a beginning, middle, and end. Or, if possible, a nice seamless loop. I'll make several versions until the timing is just right. I sometimes combine elements from two unrelated scenes to create a new scene. I also color correct the frames, tweak the contrast, and sharpen the details, etc.

You get the picture.

But it's not just about the creation of gifs. I have to hunt the films down, buy dvds, watch the films, do the research, etc.

Some of these movies are truly terrible. You have no idea the amount of agony that's endured while trying to extract a bit of art from them.

Just kidding — I honestly love "terrible" movies.

So anyway, this person was none too happy when asked if they just wanted access to my archive for content. They angrily called me a stalker (the irony was lost on them) and stated they're a professional video maker who uses $300 software!

A whole $300?! Wow! They must really be a pro!

So yeah, I make these gifs out of a love for weird little movies. People like the content and they share it. That's what it's about. But, would it hurt them, would they lose followers, if they gave the original content creators a little credit?

I've made gifs for years and have never asked for anything but a little credit. Is that really too much to ask?

Oh well.

C’est la vie, I guess.

Thanks for reading all this.

Rhett

[conclaveconfessions]

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first ever confession.

This movie has entered the fabric of my life at a strange time and the way it’s woven in is also strange, in and of itself. I’m not religious by any means, but gods, Lawrence’s homily on certainty has just got me really thinking about faith and its relationship with secular thought and humanity. I think I can see more clearly now how very connected these two realms are. (For the sake of brevity, I won’t delve into the details of what I’ve been thinking about.)

But like I said, it’s been a strange time for me. And a challenging one. I’ve figured out that I do in fact want to medically transition in the future. I’m changing so much as a person: in school, at work (which is also at school coincidentally), at home. Especially at home.

I don’t want to live with my family much longer. Hell, I don’t wanna see any of my other relatives again if I can help it. I see so much of my family in the cardinals — and not in a terribly favorable way. The bad outweighs the good for me and I’ve decided that I’ll have to leave my parents’ house within a year. No later than that. I’m well within my right to do so as an adult entering his late-twenties. I know what to do and I think I have a pretty sturdy support system.

But damn it, the doubt doesn’t stop pestering me. I suppose I can’t really complain much; Cardinal Lawrence wouldn’t either probably and maybe he’d even be pleased by my internal growth. I don’t know though. I don’t. If only there had been another homily but about doubt, about uncertainty!

(Not quite looking for advice, just moaning and groaning to anyone who will listen lol. Do what you will with this ask and have a good day/night op.)

Without doubt, there could never have been faith; for religion, or even for a brighter future.

[dufferpuffer]

"Why didn't anyone do anything to help Harry" Alastor Moody did.

Arthur too, bless him - but Mad-Eye doesn't fucking hold back. And he's only known Harry for a few spotty meetings over a year.

“Well — shall we do it, then?” “Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,” said Moody. ... ... “Good afternoon,” said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to Uncle Vernon, coming to a halt right in front of him. “You might remember me, my name’s Arthur Weasley.” ... ... “We thought we’d just have a few words with you about Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, still smiling. “Yeah,” growled Moody. “About how he’s treated when he’s at your place.” ... ... “I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house —” “I expect what you’re not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,” growled Moody. “Anyway, that’s not the point,” interjected Tonks, ... ... “The point is, if we find out you’ve been horrible to Harry —” “— and make no mistake, we’ll hear about it,” added Lupin pleasantly. “Yes,” said Mr. Weasley, “even if you won’t let Harry use the fellytone —” “Telephone,” whispered Hermione. “Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter’s been mistreated in any way, you’ll have us to answer to,” said Moody. ... ... “Are you threatening me, sir?” he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare. “Yes, I am,” said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that Uncle Vernon had grasped this fact so quickly. “And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?” barked Uncle Vernon. “Well . . .” said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. Uncle Vernon leapt backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. “Yes, I’d have to say you do, Dursley.” He turned from Uncle Vernon to Harry. “So, Potter... give us a shout if you need us. If we don’t hear from you for three days in a row, we’ll send someone along....”

OotP, Chapter 38 (edited for brevity)

Met this boy a handful of times and says: "The Muggles treat him bad? Nope. I ain't standin' for that." Clunks over, scares the shit out of them - and makes promises he intends to keep as a support network for Harry.