#char: hazel

[wordsgood]

(a few of) my ocs, sorted by who they'd romance in sdv

if my ocs were in a stardew valley au, who would they romance??

Rae: this is both the hardest and the easiest, because Rae is both a misanthropic loser and a bisexual disaster, and she'd hate that nearly every woman in pelican town is somehow exactly her type. but Rae would fall in love with Penny, it's written in the stars. YES, she would be into Leah and Abigail right off the bat, YES, she would try to dance with Maru at the spring dance, YES, she would secretly love getting trashtalked by Haley, but then she would find herself dressing Pam down for being a strain on Penny's health, she'd be bringing bits of weird stuff she found on the farm to the trailer, she'd even be voluntarily hanging around the kids just to spend more time with Penny... being Penny's girlfriend would bring out the best side of Rae, her more attentive and self-effacing and protective side, and I think that'd make both of them very happy. and cute.

Loreleaf: in the farm I made specifically for creating a Loreleaf farmer, I went with Shane, because I was curious about why everyone loved Shane and figured why not, and I think their matching 'ugh, existence is the worst' energies match well, but I'm actually on the verge of breaking up with Shane and going with Harvey. but, if I'm being honest, Elliott is the only one for Loreleaf. he's Loreleaf's exact opposite, all vivacious and bombastically kind, and it would break all of Loreleaf's walls down in approx. 3-5 business days. they would be adorable. Loreleaf is, in canon, basically illiterate, and in AUs, he's severely dyslexic and doesn't like reading, so I picture a lot of 'I don't understand what you do but I support you???' and also a lot of beauty and the beast-style reading-out-loud montages. also also, fight me, Elliott is a brawny boy, and I think scrappy skinny trashboy Loreleaf getting bridal-carried by his fancy lad boyfriend/husband is a very good mental picture.

Hazel: in the giant pan-novel SDV AU that lives in my mind, I think Haze could end up with a few people - Abigail, maybe, or even Emily - but my favorite option is currently Harvey. in my previous farms I haven't interacted a lot with Harvey but just the contrasts between the two are promising. melodramatic, self-obsessed Haze with a pretty down-to-earth guy like Harvey would be, first and foremost, very funny, but I also just like Haze trying their 'I'll be the bad guy and make you leave FIRST!" schtick on him. somehow I don't think it would get very far. not to mention Haze has all those health problems and Harvey might actually get them to slow down and let him take care of them. it'd be really cute, at least with the version of Harvey that lives in my head.

Sixes: this one is a little bit weird for me to realize, but, like, it's Haley, huh? Sixes is a guy who is drawn to difficult personalities because he is a difficult personality. anyone who would act remotely nice towards him when he's in Bitch Mode is not someone he can hang with, because when he's in Bitch Mode, he knows he's being irrational and overreactive and he doesn't care. Haley wouldn't put up with it. and Sixes wouldn't put up with her Bitch Mode, either. I haven't done a lot with Haley in any of my farms so I don't know exactly how she is once you actually friend her, but I can just see these two passive aggressive drama queens trying to out-snipe each other as a form of quality time and verbal affection. no one would get them together and that would suit them just fine.

Jatatyla: Jat might have been easy because of her well-documented love for bitchy blonde femmes but Tracy and Haley are not actually that similar outside those attributes, so she doesn't have to fight Sixes for Haley's hand. while she isn't trying to make Rasmodius fall in love with her (she will fail), Jat is pretending not to be head over heels for Leah. Jat seeks out stability to balance her own tendencies towards chaos and Leah is just about as stable as you can get. She's kind, self-possessed, easy-going, independent... Leah screams Jat's type. Jat dreams of braiding Leah's hair and being her trophy wife once Leah is a world-famous artist dragging her to gallery openings and galas. also, Jat will egg Kell's house.

BONUS: Doli Lin, Lev, Ashleah, Robyn: as the resident POV Aros, Doli Lin and Lev and Ashleah live with their friends, on their own, or perhaps in an Aro Bungalow near the forest lake where they can learn wizard stuff from Rasmodius, who is also aro. it's not aro wizardry or anything, it's just they're the only ones who have time to learn magic because they're not running back and forth with gifts all the damn time. they are very happy with this setup.

[aroaceleovaldez]

the “canon” fatal flaw that bugs me the most is that Nico’s is allegedly supposed to be “holding grudges” but LITERALLY EVERYTHING HE DOES SAYS OTHERWISE

the only instances we get of Nico even remotely doing anything with a “grudge” is him spontaneously, randomly, on rare occasion referencing being grumpy at something - THAT HE IS ENTIRELY VALID TO BE UPSET AT - and then does nothing with that. other than maybe continue to be vaguely grumpy about it and then drop it. In fact, Nico is consistently EXTREMELY forgiving to people despite him having perfectly valid reasons to not forgive them. Percy literally choked Nico and ditched him in the Underworld and Nico STILL brought Percy to the River Styx and faced off against Hades to bring THREE gods and an army of the undead to Percy’s aid, despite Hades actively suggesting alternatives to Nico and encouraging Nico to not do that.

Nico’s fatal flaw is so clearly either that he does not let go of things (not the same as holding grudges) OR that he’s far too willing to put others before himself, often directly putting himself at risk instead. He’s too self-sacrificial. He was explicitly willing to trade HIMSELF for Bianca and extremely resistant to letting go of her. He put himself on the line facing against Hades to help Percy MULTIPLE TIMES. He risked getting in trouble with the Underworld to bring back Hazel. He WILLING WENT INTO TARTARUS to try to close the Doors of Death himself. He offered to shadow-travel the Athena Parthenos for Reyna despite knowing it would most likely kill him. Etc. etc. The closest Nico has ever gotten to “holding a grudge” was being mad at Leo for faking his own death, and even then he was only Mildly Annoyed and got over it pretty quickly after Leo returned.

Nico “holding grudges” is a load of bull. Percy’s loyalty? Annabeth’s hubris? Absolutely true. Percy’s loyalty to Annabeth and Annabeth’s hubris are what got them pulled into Tartarus (also, interestingly - Percy’s hubris in TLO and Annabeth’s loyalty taking a knife for him is what nearly got them killed then). Nico, though? Nico’s willingness to put himself on the line for the sake of others is what nearly got him killed in BoTL and TLO and HoO and brought him to Tartarus multiple times, now! “Holding grudges,” yeah, right.

[bandtrees]

been picking through fop anw with pals and it is really really really good. makes me happy fairly oddparents has an actually good show. its got delightful animation (2d-style-3d my beloved! i love the texturing and the style and the general fun things done with art, with homages to the original 2d like everywhere) and so much love for the original show and overall heart and its great and i hope we get another season. peep it on netflix if its up your alley it deserves the love

i like this gay thing also ⬇

btw why are twitter people ukefying him he has a 9 to 5

[gundamfight]

[moa-broke-me]

Hey, I have this mortal percico WIP I could use a little advice on if anyone wants to see it.

[sweetsaucyhazel]

The Witch, Hazel: Morning Spread 7/28/24

theme of the day: char, inverted (introspection after conflict, starting over, fertile ground, challenging self)

what lies beneath: conquest (victory, pain, loyalty to a cause, aggression, conflict)

advice: life, inverted (grinding down, profound challenge, growing into strength, and learning from difficulty)

takeaway: having hard times, even tragedies, is a necessary part of life. process your feelings, grieve what you have lost, and then move forward wiser and more confident. choose to be a pheonix over and over again.

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Three

SUMMARY: joel’s misery is palpable. you’re oblivious to it. until you’re not.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.9k, you are welcum.

WARNINGS: angst. reader is an eagles fan (do NOT come for me, they are my boys. go birds 🦅). F L U F F. mentions of reader’s dad. tommy and joel are jerks, but joel redeems himself. tommy can suck a fat one. i kidddd <3 this is probably the angst-iest this story’ll get because im addicted to the fluff so. enjoy. 🤞🏼 not proof read or edited, i cannot be fucked for that.

TAGS: if you would like to be added for future installments, then let me know besties!! if i’ve forgotten anyone that’s asked to get added, then please slap me. @millersleee @goodvibesonly421 @j0elmlllers @scorpio-echo

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s hands seize the steering wheel of his truck—the same one that’s presently stationed on your driveway—knuckles turning sheet white for the hold that he has is completely unforgiving. And sore.

He’s irascible. Livid. His anger is sheathed by shame and hatred for himself as the way that he conducted himself this morning was unseemly. Even for Joel, it was appalling. And though you didn’t appear to have any reservations, he knew that he bothered you. Your face didn’t allude to irritation, nor did your tone or mannerisms, but Joel was more than conscious of your internal hurt.

He just knows you that well.

But now he’s sitting—legs numb and cheeks charring red—striving to conjure up an apology that’ll help to shirk any ill-feeling that you may have toward him. Because he was a fucking jerk this morning.

And it was all because of an Eagles sweater, believe it or not.

9.42 AM

Birch Grove is bustling. It's considerably brighter, this morning. The doom and gloom that enveloped your small town yesterday has now dissipated, leaving nothing but small puddles of rainwater and grit in its wake, and it’s beautiful. A sight to behold when you’re leaving your house today.

You avoid the wetness on the road—hoping not to muddy your shoes—and bounce onto the sidewalk, admiring the oil slick that blankets damp gravel on your way over to Joel’s. You swear that there’s a divot in the concrete that holds semblance to a heart, but you’re not sure if that’s just a delusion from lack of sleep or some sort of sign from the universe telling you that perhaps it’s time to find a significant other.

Nonetheless, you take in the scene. How yesterday—in the midst of a storm—not a single body littered the crosswalk, therefore leaving Joel’s little coffee shop completely empty. But today—now that the air has cleared and rain almost dried up—it’s like nothing had even happened, and the entire town is out in force. Like they always should be.

Joel watches in awe as you make tracks across the street toward the cafe—wondering how he ever deserved such a buoyant presence like you in his life despite the fact that he’s a perpetually miserable middle-aged man—and busies himself so you don’t think he’s been ogling you this entire time.

But then the bell rings, Joel’s eyes flick up—against his own will—and you bound over the threshold with the biggest smile. He swallows extremely thickly.

“Good morning.” You say, as happy as ever—clearly on a high from your not-date—and pad through the room toward him. “Can I please have a—“

“You’re late.” 

One of your perfectly tweezed brows raises. 

“For work.” He elaborates. Joel clears his throat. “You’re late for work.”

“I got the day off.” You remind him. He vaguely remembers you saying something about this elusive break on Monday, but was honestly too distracted by his brother attempting to use the coffee machine. 

Joel nods, taking your favorite mug off of the shelf. You smile at the sentiment. 

“Ah, you’re going shopping. Right?”

You nod. Your stomach gurgles when your eyes satisfy the gaze of a perfectly plump cinnamon roll. Not too thick, not too over-done, and the right bun to icing ratio. It’s sitting—alone—in one of the little cake cases.

“I am.” You reply, taking the glass dome off of the top. Like last time, you swipe the sweet treat right from underneath Joel’s nose. Only, today, you slide two dollars across so he can’t complain. 

But he wouldn’t anyway. Not today. Because he admires the fact that you’re ungovernable, while simultaneously respecting him. To an extent, anyway. 

“I can get you some fall decor.”

“No—“

“He needs to spruce this place up.”

His eyes roll when he’s pouring the frothed milk atop your latte, hardly going unnoticed by his larger-than-life, sometimes a bit too overbearing brother. 

Tommy acknowledges you by saying your name, and you grin back at him. It’s nice to see one of the Miller’s with anything but a stoic expression slapped against those rough, rugged features. Though there’s something about Joel’s that seems rather superficial. 

Despite being perennial at times, you feel as though you’ve cracked through his tough exterior and. You’re certainly able to decipher between his real and mock revulsion. Last night was the first time that Joel’s guard had truly been down, and it was wonderful. 

“Get him some pumpkins. A wreath—“

“I don’t need no pumpkins. And what the hell is a wreath?”

The youngest brother pulls a stool out next to you, and bumps your shoulder as he sits. He looks at you as if to say get a load of this guy, and you laugh. Joel passes you your latte, and you think that you see a hint of a smile tugging at those plush lips. But you won’t swear to it. 

“A wreath is what Mrs. McKlaren has on her front door for each season.”

“Yeah.” Tommy chimes in. He pulls one of the Birch Grove Gazettes from the pile beside the cake case, and opens it up. “But you knew that. You’re just playin’ dumb in front of—“

You elbow him. “Quit teasin’.” Further defending your friend, you say; “it’s not his fault if he’s not too polished up on the names of things. He’s not pussy-whipped like you are, Tom.”

Joel chuckles at that comment, thanking you with a nod. A man of few words, though you get him. Down to a fine art. 

“True.” He flicks through a few pages, before he’s turning to you with a grimace when you take off your jacket to reveal one of your dad’s old Eagles sweaters. “Oh, God no.”

You frown, putting it to sit on the seat next to you. 

It’s common knowledge around these parts that there are two teams, and two teams only that it’s acceptable to support. Unless you’re flaunting the badge of the Texans or Dallas Cowboys, then you’re basically committing a federal crime.  And the men of Birch Grove take this very, very seriously. 

“Joel. I know you’re friends with this broad—“

“Watch your mouth.” He grumbles, appearing from the kitchen. He has his head down, hands full of cutlery. 

“Sorry.” Tommy says oh so quietly. “But—but look. She’s wearing the mark of the devil.”

Your eyes are rolling so hard you fear that they’ll roll straight from their sockets and into your coffee. You just know that beneath the green flannel, Joel is donning an Aikman jersey.

“That’s so dramatic.” Arms are being folded over as you speak, and he still hasn’t looked in your direction. “It’s just a football team—“

“Woah.” The two Millers harmonize. Joel eyes you directly and turns his nose up as soon as he heeds the shade of green that should be classed as blasphemy, not midnight.  

He didn’t know that you liked them. Tess liked them, too. But you know that. You’re not fucking stupid. 

And perhaps she might’ve aided the disgust that percolates through Joel whenever he hears someone utter the name Brian Dawkins, but he can’t help associating them with her. That same way he thinks of her whenever Fall rolls around, or whenever you step into his little cafe. 

He has such strong feelings for you, but needs to put them aside. He needs to bury them deep for fear of the past repeating itself because he isn’t sure if he can go through that again. His guard goes up, and eyes go down. He busies himself with cleaning. 

“Sacrilege.” Tommy spits. “It’s not just a football team, woman. It’s Irreverent. To come in here and wear that is absolutely ridiculous.”

Your jaw rolls and you look down at the faded logo. 

“I respect that you root for the birds, I do. It must be hard to support such a shit team—“

“Language.” Joel scolds, a little heated. “But, I agree. Can’t go wearin’ that ‘round these parts. It’s almost as bad as you comin’ in here wearing a Steelers jersey.”

Tommy grimaces. It’s not quite as bad, but it certainly sucks. 

But, to you, what sucks is the fact that these men—grown fucking men—are chewing you out over a sweater. It’s child’s play. 

“They’re not a shitty team. They’re great.” You defend your guys, watching Joel try to control the bitterness threatening to bust right out of his lips. “I’ve always loved them. My dad is from Philly—“

��Explains why you have such crappy taste.”

You blink at Tommy. 

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “I’ll always root for the birds, because they’re my favorites. I also, believe it or not, enjoy the Cowboys when they play at home, or against the Giants. It’s patriotic. But they are a pretty shitty team—“

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are.” You uphold, making direct eye contact with the youngest sibling. “Remind me, when was the last time they went to the Superbowl?”

Tommy’s jaw rolls, and Joel can feel himself slipping. 

“Ninety-five.” Begrudgingly, he says. “But that don’t mean shit—“

“Kinda does.” 

“No it don’t.” He growls. “When was the last time those damn birds won the big game, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you say; “twenty-eighteen. They beat the Patriots by eight points, Brady sucked and Foles was the MVP. I tailgated at the stadium with my dad and uncle—“

“In Minnesota?”

“Yessir.” You tell Tommy before taking the last sip of your—now lukewarm—coffee. “I’ll also be heading to Philly to see the Eagles v Steelers game.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Got somethin’ to say, old timer?”

He grinds his lips together before saying; “just baffles me s’all. Don’t get how someone—Dallas born ‘n raised—can root for a team from Philadelphia.”

“Just the way it goes. But I did say that I enjoy them from time to time.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Tommy interjects. “Texans are meant to support Texan-made teams all the time. Not fuckin’—“

“Tommy.” Joel gestures to the customers, scolding him again for his crudeness. 

You pull cash from your purse while the two of them bicker, putting atop the counter before Joel can even refuse. You shrug on your jacket, too, promptly doing up the buttons so the tension can dissipate a little. But it doesn’t. 

“I’m not arguing with you two morons over football any longer.” A little meaner than intended, you tell the two of them. You turn to Joel, brows furrowing. “And I know why you despise the Eagles; I’m not an idiot. I saw her walking ‘round the place with her scarves in the winter, ‘n the occasional jersey on football Sundays.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, sensing some friction. 

“Don’t project Tess’s shit onto me, Joel.” Blunt, you say. “I’m sorry that I was the reason for her leaving, but it ain’t my fault we have the same interests. You can’t pussyfoot around forever, and I don’t appreciate gettin’ admonished for a fucking football sweatshirt.”

“Don’t.” He warns, wrenching a dish rag between calloused fingertips. He knew that last night’s conversation was deep-rooted in something more than just you being curious. “I’m not pussyfootin’ ‘round. I just don’t wanna talk about her.”

“I know.” You say—realizing that you were a little too hot off the mark—but you don’t feel sorry. “But there’ll always be people who like the same things that she did, or say the same things, or remind you of her.”

He looks at you. He knows what you mean. He knows that you know that—in some kind of way—you make Joel think of her. You’re so strong, like Tess. So outspoken, exactly like her. But you’re caring and kind, and don’t get jealous over the slightest little things, and you let him speak. 

You let him tell you about his troubles, not that he shares too much. And you’re not pushy. But now, it feels like you’re being exactly that. 

“I’m sorry that my mere presence as a Goddamn Eagles fan pisses you off, Joel, but I’m not going to be able to change that. You’ll just have to try and detach those memories—“

The dishrag is being hurled onto the bar along with his fists. “I’m not gonna detach those memories! I ain’t gonna forget her just ‘cus you think you know me and my relationship with that woman so well! You don’t know shit. All you do is come in here ‘n drink coffee, rant about crap that nobody cares about, make me listen to your stupid fuckin’ problems—and I’m sick of it!”

You blink back tears as you stare at him, for the volume is intimidating and completely unwavering. You’ve never been yelled at before—in front of customers, by Joel—and you want to be sick. Everyone is staring. Some people are even leaving. 

Has he always felt this way? You wonder. Has Joel always thought that your ramblings are pointless, and that your issues are facetious? You’re sure that he’s just spewing nonsense at this point, but it still stings. 

“Joel—“

“Get out.” He looks down, hands gripping tightly the wooden countertop. He refuses eye contact. 

Tommy gives you a weak smile, immediately regretting setting foot into Joel’s this morning. Quite like you, really. 

“I’m really sorry for bringing her up, Joel, I know how—“

“Go.” His eyes lift to satisfy your gaze, hurt written over his features. “Please…Just leave.”

“Okay.” You nod, lifting your purse from the stool. It’s a quick bye to Tommy that has those damn tears spilling as you walk to your car, not even looking back to wave or smile at your friend like you usually do. 

You fear that this’ll change the trajectory of your relationship with Joel. And his brother knows that. 

He knows that if he doesn’t say something—at this point, anything—then Joel will just let this sit and fester, and become something that it has absolutely no business being. 

His brother knows that you’re the only constant in his life—aside from family—and if he lets you go, then he’ll be considerably more bleak. He’ll have his patrons to keep him company, but he won’t have you. The girl that has—unbeknownst to her—given Joel something to look forward to every day. 

The girl that Joel can’t help thinking of, or talking about, whenever he gets the chance. And despite not always showing his admiration, he’s besotted with you. Infatuated, perhaps. His fondness so clear that everyone can see it. Everyone, aside from you. 

Especially after that.  

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Tommy chastises. “She shouldn’t have mentioned Tess, but that was horrible—“

“I don’t care.” Through gritted teeth, he tells him. “She took it too far—“

“No, we did.” He admits. “She probably wouldn’t have brought the bitch up if we didn’t tease her for wearing her dad’s fuckin’ sweater.”

Joel swallows the lump in his throat, refusing to admit that Tommy could be right about this. 

“You need’a get a hold of your emotions, brother. Can’t be sendin’ her away like that when we both know you’ve got feelings for her—“

Joel grumbles as he rounds the counter, polishing a few tables in hopes that his sibling will go and leave him to it. But he doesn’t. 

“Can’t let Tess be the reason you two ain’t talkin’. ‘Specially ‘cus she ain’t even in the state anymore.”

Fuck. Off. 

Tommy watches him feign emotion, knowing deep down that his brother wants to beat himself to a pulp because you didn’t deserve any of that. 

“She’s right, y’know?”

“What?” 

Tommy says your name. “She’s right. If you don’t cut ties with the things that remind you of Tess, then you’ll never be happy. Always be comparin’ shit to her, and makin’ yourself miserable. Or miserable-r.”

“That ain’t even a word, dipshit.”

“True, though.” He says. “Joel, you’re so in love with this girl, you can’t let her go over a Goddamn football team—“

“Not in love.”

“Bullshit.” The youngest spits. “You get literal heart eyes whenever you look at her, and don’t even try ‘n deny it ‘cus Maria notices too.”

Joel blinks at him, wondering how he’d been so openly vulnerable. He‘a confused at how he’d unintentionally let his guard down enough to display his feelings. The ones that he wasn’t even certain about. 

“It mightn’t be love, Joel, but you’re mad about this girl.” He says a bit softer. Quieter. “And you can try to put these feelings aside, but what’re you gonna do if she walks in here with another man? Or she goes on more dates and finds the one? You just gonna live with it? Just gonna be jealous and miserable for the rest of your life?”

Joel walks to the café window and just stares for a few moments, secretly hoping to see you stomp across the street to give him a piece of your mind. But you don’t. 

“Think you’ve done enough wallowin’ in the past, don’t you?”

He supposes that he’s right. Joel knows that there’s some truth to what is being said to him, and so he turns the Open sign to Closed, and gestures for Tommy to get the remaining customers to leave. 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“Make things right.” Joel grabs his jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and throws the shop keys to his brother. “Close up for me, will ‘ya?”

Tommy shakes his head. He gets off of his stool and goes behind the counter, grabbing one of the aprons from the hook beside the kitchen door. 

“Turn the sign back ‘round. You might’ve just lost your most loyal customer, you can’t afford to fuckin’ lose no more.”

Joel just nods. He has no fight left inside of him. He does as told, and storms across the sidewalk to his truck. 

He’s been stationary for the last fuck knows how long, just mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit will spill from his lips the second he sees you. If you even want to open your door to him. He wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t. He gave you shit, and kicked you out when you spoke your mind. And the truth. Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? As harsh as it might’ve been, it was the truth and it was what he needed to hear. 

It’s been two hours since getting a verbal beat-down and, strangely, he really misses the sound of your voice. The oddly dulcet tone. The sweet, honeyed rhythm that slips from between two of the plushest, softest looking lips he’s ever bared witness to in his entire life. And even though some of the words that fell from them were harsh, he no longer cares. 

If he doesn’t apologize, then he might not get to hear you speak again. And he’ll take several scoldings if it means that he can listen to your beautiful tone. 

Fuck. 

“C’mon, dickhead.” He tells his reflection in the mirror. He eyes himself, wondering whether the hat should stay on or off. Because if he takes it off, then his hair might look bad, but if he keeps it on then you mightn’t be able to take him seriously. 

He’s overthinking it. 

It stays on when he’s lugging his body—warm and palpitating—from the cabin, and onto the gravel of your driveway. He minds the flower beds when his boots hit ground, knowing that he’ll have hell to pay if he crushes your blooms or kicks up any mud.

His breath is hot and heavy. It’s like he’s just ran the Boston fucking marathon, not sit in his truck for the better part of twenty minutes being too much of a pussy to knock at your front door. 

But now he’s strolling to your porch, and can’t put it off any longer. He doesn’t even know if you’re home, but he guesses that you are. The wreath that you got today—golden leaves adorned with acorns and berries—is hanging proudly against the wood that you’ve painted sage. 

He laughs to himself when his hand comes up to knock, number eight. It’s almost comical how the number of your house coalesces with the number of his favorite ex-Cowboys player. But he’s not going to bring that up. Maybe another time. 

Joel takes a few deep breaths, heart only stuttering when he hears your footsteps approaching over the suspended wood flooring. The one that he actually had to help you sand down just eight months ago because you always felt that they looked too dark. Depressing. 

He smiles weakly. It doesn’t last long. When you swing the door open and your face falls, then so does Joel’s. 

“Hi.” He whispers, internally kicking himself for being such a wimp. He clears his throat. “Nice wreath.”

You fight a grin. Your disappointment outweighs any semblance of softness at this very juncture. 

After a few hours of mulling it over—and rage shopping—you’ve come to the conclusion that you were at fault. But Joel certainly didn’t make it any better when he kicked you off the premises after his hurtful monologue. 

“Thanks.” Your cardigan is pulled tightly around your body. Cream always looks so good on you. “Is—uh—is there something that I can help you with?”

Joel looks down for a split second. It feels like forever before he’s looking directly at you again. The thumping inside of his chest hasn’t once subsided since appearing at your street, he’s never felt like this before. At least, he can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

And it’s because of this—feeling—that he’s struggling to extrapolate his inward thoughts. You heed it. You know him like the back of your hand, apparently. His face is sullen—almost remorseful—and eyes hazy. 

Has he been crying? No. He’s probably just really annoyed. He looks like that sometimes when Tommy’s pissed him off, and he needs to vent. 

You shift aside, gesturing for Joel to come in. He hesitates for a moment, before he’s stepping over the threshold and into your beautiful home. The home that presently smells like a mixture of Sandalwood and Lavender, but Neroli and Bergamot in the summer months. 

What the fuck is Bergamot? Why do I know what that smells like?

He takes it in. The subtle scent, the fall decorations that make your cozy home look even more appeasing. It’s cute. It’s put together, clean, and inviting. It’s so you. 

You shut the door behind him when he takes a few paces into the entryway, just watching him. His broad shoulders swathed in soft, green flannel are tipped slightly forward. He’s not holding himself the way that he usually does. 

“Is everything okay, Joel?” You break the silence, shuffling past him through the hallway and to the kitchen. You hear him follow behind. Those heavyset footsteps make your heart ache, for some reason. 

Even by the way he walks—slow, long strides—he seems down. Remorseful, perhaps. And though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it’s always easy to tell how he feels. 

“Tea?” You offer without turning around, taking the kettle that’s just come to a boil on the stove. “I have chamomile, green, or English.”

“No coffee?” Your head shakes, pulling two mugs from the small shelf above the counter. Joel sits at your kitchen island. “How come?”

Two English teabags are being lifted from the carton—he didn’t specify, you just guess—and plopped into ceramic. 

“I don’t make my own coffee. Don’t taste the same when I do.”

His heart aches. After skipping a beat, of course. He takes a seat at your kitchen island, watching you potter around, clearly not prepared for a guest. 

“Tea is a little more warming, anyway.” You gesture for the sugar and he shakes his head. “Don’t enjoy coffee when I’m on my own. Only when I’m with someone.”

“That why you always come to see me in the mornin’?”

Faintly, you smile. Your head bobs a little bit, hanging low. 

He says your name. You look at him. “Y’know, if you ever want a coffee outta hours, I’m usually at home. You can come ‘round, if you wanna.”

That strange gnawing sensation returns beside a debilitating thumping. He feels the same, but you don’t know that. 

“Same here.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you bring Joel his tea. The white ceramic is festooned with acorns and leaves, and he swears that you’ve just given him one of your best mugs. 

You sip quietly your warm beverage, standing opposite to where he sits in an uncomfortable silence. A lull that neither of you realize lasts an entire minute before you’re clearing your throat, and Joel is still trying to find his words. 

“Listen.” He sets down the tea—the best he’s ever had—and shifts a little bit. Joel tries to avoid eye contact with you, but understands that this is one of the times that he needs to show you just how important this is. It’s not just a casual conversation at the coffee house, anymore. 

You’re facing him fully, now. Eyes wide, lips parted a little bit. 

“I’m really sorry about earlier.” His tone is honest, wreathed with a hint of genuine sadness. “I had no business being such a jerkoff to you, kid. I said some hurtful shit, and I let my mouth get away from me.”

“You were a total dick, Joel.” 

He nods. “I know.”

“And I know that I never shoulda brought her up, but I didn’t think you’d yell at me. In front of everyone.”

He starts to cringe as he remembers what he said. How he said those horrible things. You’re such a sweet girl, he can’t believe he flipped out on you that way. 

“Do you really think that what comes outta my mouth is crap?”

“No, of course not—“

“Is everything I say fucking pointless?”

“Hon—no—no, of course not.” Joel fumbles his words a bit, just glad that he didn’t refer to you as any other embarrassing fucking pet name. He's not even sure that you caught it, what with being blinded by such a haze of anger. 

You do, though. You just don’t acknowledge it. 

Your thumb loops through the glossy handle, and you look into your mug. 

“I choose to start each morning the same way; at your café. I don’t do it because I want to come in and ruin your day by ranting, or spillin’ my guts about shitty dates and bad friends.” You refuse eye contact, still watching the tea slosh around as you move the cup ever so slightly. “I do it because I like you, Joel. You’re a great guy, and make my days a little bit easier. I’d even go so far as to consider you one of my friends. But, if you don’t feel that way—“

“Hey.” He reaches out for your hand. He’s surprised that you don’t pull away when his tan flesh meets yours so suddenly. Joel asks you to look at him, and you oblige. 

It’s so sad. Your eyes—so full of hurt—now locked on his. Soft, warm fingers wound between his thick digits. He frowns. 

“Listen to me.” Stern, though soft, he tells you. “Of course I feel that way. I tell you shit that I ain’t even told my own brother, ‘course I see you as a friend. Probably the only person I’d even wanna spend time with, if I’m honest.”

“You’re just sayin’ that, ‘cus you hurt my feelings—“

“No, I ain’t.” Joel shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact that he hurt your feelings. “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo, as a heart attack.”

Eyes roll at the sentiment, wondering whether there’ll ever be a time where Joel doesn’t refer to you as kid or kiddo. He tells you that it’s because he’s a lot older than you, but you both know there’s not even a ten year gap between the pair of you. He’s just dramatic and wishing his life away. 

“I’m—uh—I’m no good at this shit.” He looks down, a little curl poking through the back strap of his cap catches your eye. “Feelings, ‘n all.”

Instinctively, your thumb traces over the skin of his hand. You nod. You know. 

He's not the most sentimental person—nor does he cogitate  with his heart—but Joel is one of the most thoughtful men you’ve ever met, and these last few days have you feeling a different way about him. You can’t say that it’s a crush—crushes are for kids, is what your mother often tells you—but it’s certainly something. 

You’re just worried about the fact that he can’t let go of Tess. 

“Don’t gotta explain feelings, sweetie.” You tell him with a smile, reaching for your mug. The tea is cool, now. A little bit easier to drink than when it was piping hot and burning the roof of your mouth. “Just gotta feel ‘em, that’s all. Explain once you understand.”

You take a sip of the drink you made a short while ago, hands detaching. Joel almost feels weak without your touch, now. But he supposes that had it lasted any longer, he’d crumble. 

“Always know what to say, dontcha?”

“I do.” Conceited—though completely satirical—you say. He smiles, and so do you. “But in all seriousness, Joel, I know that you appreciate me. And I know that today was a complete one-off, but I just gotta know one thing.”

“Go for it.”

You suck in a breath, hating where you’re about to lead the conversation. “Did last night make you think differently of me? Y’know, when I asked those questions and pried a little?”

Joel’s heart thumps. Again. He doesn’t know how to say yeah, last night changed everything. But not ‘cus of what you asked me. 

He supposes that he can’t lie to you. He’s as transparent as a pane of fucking glass, at this point. 

“No. Definitely not.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. You had the right to know. Nothin’ has changed.”

Liar. 

He’s looking at you with those big fucking heart eyes that his brother teased him about earlier, and he knows it. He knows that he’s smitten. Truly, Joel is more than conscious of the fact that he’s falling—or more appropriately, fallen—for you, but he’s not at liberty to say. 

“You can tell me, y’know?”

He nods. “I know. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Okay.” Your tone is skeptical. He’s lying. 

He’s also been sitting here for far too long and is in desperate need of a long, cold shower to wash away the day and shirk any feelings before they come to bite him on his perfectly round ass. So he gets up—pushing the seat back beneath the island—and smiles at you. 

“Left Tommy behind the counter?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. He’s probably cussin’ me out right ‘bout now.”

Your laugh is genuine. Hearty. “Best get back then, hon.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry when his lips part to speak. Nothing materializes. Not even when he’s walking to the front door—you’re hot on his heels—can he figure out what to say. 

He’s opening it before he’s even certain of what he’s doing. 

“Miller.” You say and he turns around. He can’t help looking directly at your lips. “I’ll see ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He’s about to walk away—and you’re about to shut the door—before he’s leaning over the threshold and letting all rationality dissipate. Joel’s left hand meets the doorframe—mere inches from your own—and his breathing grows sporadic. 

Well, now or never, I ‘spose. 

Your fingers tingle, legs weaken. It’s only a split second, but it feels like an eternity that Joel is just standing there; staring at you. He’s waiting to make a move, you’re almost certain of it. 

“You gonna do somethin’?” You taunt, tilting your head a little. It almost snaps him out of his anxiety-induced haze. It eggs him on, if anything. 

“Fuck—shit—yeah.” Joel steps forward so that he’s no longer leaning, and the tips of his boots meet your toes. He’s careful not to stand on them. It’s sweet. 

He’s sweet. 

“C’mere.” He’s telling you when one of his calloused hands meets the nape of your neck, and both of yours are instinctively pawing at his chest. The soft, white  jersey beneath that customary flannel is like satin against your fingertips. He draws you in closer. “I lied.”

“‘Bout what?” You whisper, letting Joel’s hand shift to your cheek. It’s hard not to melt into his touch. 

His thumb brushes over your skin. You wilt beneath it. 

“Last night.” Your eyes are locked. “Everythin’ has changed.”

You nod. You feel the same way.

“And I dunno how to go ‘bout this, ‘cus I can’t do this whole lovey-dovey crap, but I do know that I wanna kiss you.”

He pulls you forward so that your faces are almost touching, and your hands have no choice but to rest atop the peaks of his glorious shoulders. This is something you only could’ve dreamed of. You and Joel in this position—on your doorstep—like something out of a fucking romcom, or Gilmore Girls. 

C’mon, man. Kiss her. 

The man’s heart juts in his throat. Two noses graze one another—when Joel angles his face so that he’s not pushing too firmly against yours—and you can’t help smiling wide at the prospect of Joel Miller, grumpiest man in Birch Grove, taking a liking to you. 

It’s almost as if your entire time with Joel flashes before your eyes—all of the early mornings and late nights spent at his coffee house, the stories shared and secrets told—and everything comes to a head in this particular moment. 

Your smile doesn’t falter. Not even when his lips meet yours, and he pushes the most dulcet kiss against your mouth. It’s so gentle. Nothing more than a delicate peck, but so passionate in the sense that; the two of you need this. The tenderness of the other’s touch—the sweet, cloying taste of sugar on your tongue meshed with malt from the tea—is welcomed almost immediately, accommodated by an unexpected desire and thirst for intimacy. 

And though it is but a peck, the two of you know that this is the start of something. Something completely unexplainable and somewhat unexpected, but something nonetheless. 

You’re the first to pull away. He’s too enamored with you. 

“Joel.” You breathe against his lips. Cheeks are flushed red, eyes hooded and completely blown with lust. “Thanks for comin’ here, and apologizing.”

“Thanks for acceptin’ my apology.” He tells you. Joel takes a step back—not before running his thumb over your skin one last time—for fear of initiating something else. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t wanna.”

“Don’t go sayin’ that. ‘Course I’ll always accept your apologies.”

Joel’s heart rate must be through the roof at this point. 

“Even if I run outta maple hazel syrup?”

A gasp falls from your lips and you feign anguish. You soon smile. He looks at his wristwatch, and sighs. 

“I better get goin’. Left Tommy alone a while, now. Not sure if I’ll have a cafe to get back to, if I keep him any longer.”

You laugh. “Go on. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If it hasn’t been burned to the ground, you mean?”

“Yeah, if it hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Joel nods. He’s fishing about the pocket of his flannel for the key. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon.”

His cheeks heat up. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

You can’t help letting out a little ha ha when he’s getting into his truck, and you’re watching from your post against the doorframe. When he gives you a little wave, he pulls away and you’re ambling back into your hallway. Satisfied. Though somewhat confused. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the trajectory of this day, and you suppose that nothing will ever come close. You just need to figure out what happens next. 

[crushribbons]

𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 (𝖓𝖔. 𝖎𝖛)

prompt: [ ARRANGED ] muses are in an arranged marriage and now have to consummate the union (source)

char: sebastian sallow [hogwarts legacy] x fem!oc

warnings: non-orphan richboy seb au (but not in a happy way i'm sorry), SMUT (18+ ONLY), unprotected penetrative sex, mentions of pregnancy, kinda antiquated marriage talk but he still #respectswomen

a/n: halloween wedding in a gothic castle with sebastian sallow. oh wait this isn't my vision board hang on

The handkerchief hit her in the face before his words did: "Stop that." She sniffed loudly. "Enough snivelling. You think I wanted this?" Sebastian Sallow, the heir to his parent's enormous fortune and most desirable bachelor in England, towered over her while he looked down with disdain at her weeping.

Sebastian Sallow, her new husband.

The wedding had been a balance of pain and mercy, the very brief service almost quick enough for her to forget that she was being forced into a loveless relationship with this man she'd never met before. His father had gruffly muttered something in Sebastian's ear before shoving him at her as she stood at the altar.

When the priest had prompted them to mumble "I do" at each other, a sob had snagged in her chest, which made Sallow scowl at her. A wonderful omen for my marriage, she thought, somewhat hysterically.

Now, she cowered on the beautiful duvet of the bed she and her husband were supposed to consummate the marriage in, but all her husband seemed interested in was brooding out the window at the sinking sun. Twilight was settling around the grounds of the castle that the Sallow dynasty had provided for their wedding.

She had no desire to do what was expected of her. The idea of her wedding night had always excited her, but it was never meant to be shared with a virtual stranger.

Although, in fairness to the virtual stranger...She found her heart rate slowing as she watched Sebastian frown down upon the grounds. There were much uglier men that her family could have thrust upon her. She'd heard that he'd been something of a ladies' man during his school years, though because of her parents' decision to ship her off to Ilvermorny, she did not know how accurate the wild rumors about the Sallow boy really were.

He spoke at last, and her eyes, which had been meandering down his body while he stretched an arm to rest on the window frame, snapped up to his face. "I suppose we are expected to..." His teeth clenched together.

"I suppose so," she agreed. Sallow didn't seem particularly keen on the idea of taking his new, young wife to bed. She wondered if there was someone else, someone she'd now prevented him from being with. The thought made her a little sad; why, she wasn't sure.

Sebastian sighed. Some of the tensity in his shoulders dissipated as he finally turned from the window to look at her. "I'm sorry," he said, and her heart broke.

She rose from the bed, her ostentatious wedding gown making every action more difficult. When she took a step closer to him, her shoe caught on the hem and she tripped forward, but two warm hands wrapped around her forearms and caught her. She looked up to see Sebastian, inches away from her face. His eyes were hazel, she learned in that instant, and she thought that they might be very nice eyes to wake up to.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he muttered. "Are beautiful, I mean." She blushed. Sebastian cleared his throat and ran his thumbs up and down the soft skin of her arms. He had pulled his tie off the second they'd entered the room and cast it down on the floor, and the small patch of his throat and collarbone that were exposed by his open collar made something in her chest flutter. If we absolutely have to seal this wedding night, I could be convinced...

"We barely know each other," she whispered, feeling as though she had to acknowledge that fact, more for herself than him, because he was so attractive that she worried it was turning her head. Sebastian nodded.

"So why do I want to throw you down on that bad and ravage you so badly," he asked without the inflection of a question. His voice was low and scraped up her body in a way that made every nerve combust, as if she were a match he was lighting. He slid his hands up her arms, feeling every bit of lace between his fingers along the way, until he was cradling her face.

She could feel his breath against her lips when he said, "Tell me to stop if you don't want to do this. I know we're meant to–" He broke off and swallowed thickly, not wanting to even say the word "baby", though they both knew what was expected of them, "–but I want to make you feel good. Tell me to stop." She answered him by closing the space between their mouths.

Sebastian moaned prettily into the kiss, his fingers digging into the sides of her face as he gripped her tighter and laved his tongue across hers. He tasted like the champagne they'd both reluctantly sipped at dinner. At the time, it hadn't felt like much of a celebration.

But now, as they broke apart, panting, and began tugging their stiff finery off, she felt the party had really begun.

Her bare back hit the bed and a little "oof!" popped out of her, but her giggles were quickly swallowed when Sebastian climbed on top of her with his own wolfish grin. "I thought you'd be horrible," he admitted as he kissed a ring around her neck and chest.

"And I thought you'd be an ugly old man," she half-lied through a smile of relief, and Sebastian snorted against her skin.

"Looks like we both got a nice wedding present then, didn't we?" His fingers tickled teasingly around her hips, making her back arch off the bed in an attempt to make him touch her where she needed. They were still in their undergarments, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her when Sebastian hooked a finger in the top of her slip and tugged it down over her breasts, but the look of reverent amazement on his face as he gazed at her pushed any shame far from her mind. She was dripping wet, she could feel it. He pushed a lazy finger into her without warning and she gasped, Sebastian's grin widening until she saw every one of his straight, white teeth.

As he pulled his–God, impressive cock from his pants and gave it a few languid strokes, she looked up at him and thought, Fuck, I can't believe I'm married to this man. The thought manifested itself verbally when he lined himself up at her entrance and sank into her, thick inch by thick inch, and she whimpered, "My husband..." "My pretty little wife," he affirmed immediately, pressing his forehead to hers and moving his hips in a light circle while her tightness subsided. "So fucking gorgeous. I'm gonna be buried inside you every damn night." His head shot up, his cheeks dusted pink despite the compromising position. "If you'll have me, that is."

"Yes, Seb, I'll have you!" She laughed and groaned, and Sebastian seemed unable to hold himself back any longer. He grabbed her under her knees so he could wrap her legs around his waist, and then his hands were on either side of her shoulders and he was driving into her like their lives depended on it.

"Fuck. God, fuck." He muttered to himself on every thrust. The lamps casting low orange light all over the room were beginning to burn low, and the fireplace sat cold and empty, since they'd never called for anyone to light it. Sebastian's face was cast in half-shadow as he lowered his head and pressed kisses to her face. Her fingers tangled, one in the disturbed sheets they fucked on top of, and one in the hair at the base of her husband's neck.

A tight column of pressure was rapidly unraveling in her stomach, and she suspected Seb might be close as well, as the rhythm of his hips stuttering and slowing suggested. "N-keep going, please, I'm so close," she cried, her nails digging into the nape of his neck. He whined a little but picked up his pace once more until the antique headboard was pounding into the wall. Sebastian reached up and steadied himself against it with one hand, the other returning to the back of her leg as he pulled their bodies flush.

He looked down at the filthy sight of his cock sliding in and out of her, covered in her wetness, and said hoarsely, though with composure (like the well-bred gentleman he was), "I'm, shit, I'm going to–ahh!" Her orgasm hit both of them like a tidal wave, ripping through her body until she screamed and shuttered, her cunt pulsing around him. "Fuck!" Sebastian yelled. "Where do you want me, quickly!"

"Inside, it's alright," she assured him, but part of her stiffened in fear. She may have been relieved to find that her husband wasn't disgusting and had an incredible amount of sexual stamina, but the idea of falling pregnant with his baby, the baby his parents wanted so much more desperately than he did, terrified her.

Sebastian shook his head, biting down on the side of his mouth and refusing to look at her. Then he gave one final, loud groan and pulled out of her with an almost pained expression marring his flushed visage. With three quick strokes of his hand, he came on her stomach, ropes of cum painting her torso and chest as he took in the entire scene with his mouth opened in a perfect "o".

He collapsed next to her with promises that he'd clean her up in a minute, just a minute, he just needed a minute after all that. She giggled a little, too lost in the thick haze of sex that hung over the four-poster bed to care about the mess on her stomach. She glanced down at it.

That's not what a dutiful son whose been instructed to produce heirs does. Perhaps Sebastian wasn't as duty-minded as his station suggested.

When they drifted off in each other's arms later that night, stars out in full force and moonlight filtering in the window and over their bed, she murmured into his neck, "Good night, Seb." She lifted her head slightly to look at his peaceful face. His eyes were already shut. “Oh. Is it alright if I call you that?” The realization that she still had only just met this man came rushing back. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"More than alright. G'night, darling."

[soulessjourney]

Let The World Burn - Chapter 1

Paring: Azriel x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: You're one in a million, Azriel had never encountered someone so different from himself, someone more powerful, even rivaling Rhysand in ability. When you appeared in the Night Court one evening, covered in dirt and dried blood, something about you seemed distinctly unique. It wasn't just the fire that scorched the ground beneath you or the red hue of your eyes burning into his skin. No, it was the shadows that swarmed around you, harmonizing with his own, drawing them closer to you.

Warnings: Violence, Language, Near character death, Talk of killing, Angst, Hurt and comfort, hurt no comfort, reader is an angry strong female reader, lots of miscommuication, fluff, More to be added

A/N: Buckle up, children. This fic is the epitome of enemies-to-lovers, lovers-to-enemies, and back again. The angst is intense, and the betrayals are oh so real.

All you could smell was your burning flesh and the smoke from the area around you. Above you, the dark sky seemed to smile down in a way that almost felt mocking. Drawing in a deep breath, your chest tightened, drowning out your senses. Uncertain of how you got here or even who you were, the last thing you remembered was falling backward, yet never hitting the ground, instead, you kept falling until eventually landing on the charred grass where you now lay.

A cool sensation ran over your arms, diverting your attention from the sky. Wincing, you lifted your arm, watching as wisps of smoke-like tendrils wrapped around you, gently caressing your burnt skin. They moved around your waist and through your hair, softly singing and speaking in hushed tones that your ringing ears couldn't discern.

Enchanted by their appearance, you marveled at their gentleness as they glided over the burns on your arms and face, seemingly attempting to kiss your wounds better. You noticed how they froze over your skin before shooting out as if to defend you. Turning your head, you let out a groan, catching a flash of red and blue. Rolling onto your knees, another groan escaped as you instinctively reached to hold your injured arm, your hair falling over your face as you glimpsed three figures through the strands, standing a few feet away, their eyes widening in shock at your appearance.

The wisps continued to wrap around you, darting out at them, a protective measure for your injured form. Your eyes darted between them before settling on a male figure without siphons, his violet eyes prominent in the darkness. Unable to discern their words over the ringing in your ears, you studied each figure. You moved towards another, taller and bulkier, his shoulder-length hair tied in a half ponytail. Despite his intimidating appearance, his eyes exuded a gentle kindness you had never witnessed before.

Finally, your gaze locked with hazel eyes, observing the third male figure. He stood before you, arms crossed, his face devoid of emotion, yet his shadows danced in synchronization with your own, almost as if communicating. The wisps whispered to you, though your mind remained blank as you studied him. Something within you stirred in recognition, yet fear caused your body to curl in on itself. Your vision obscured as the male with violet eyes knelt before you, extending his hand. Your gaze shifted upward, finally able to hear his voice.

"I'm not sure what happened to you, and usually, we wouldn't welcome trespassers like this, but your wounds are too serious to take you where we normally would," he said gently, causing your eyes to harden. Holding up his hands, he offered a reassuring smile. "What's your name?" he asked, watching you quietly.

You opened your mouth to respond, only for your mind to draw a blank. "I'm not sure," you replied, wincing at the raspiness of your voice, hating how weak it sounded. Yet, it didn't deter him from extending his hand once more. You stared at it, and he chuckled softly.

"If it eases your nerves, I'm Rhysand, and behind me are Cassian and Azriel. Now that we aren't strangers, why don't you come back with us? We can provide treatment and aid until you regain your memory or at least understand how you got here," he suggested gently. Your eyes flickered over his shoulder, meeting the hazel eyes again before Rhysand spoke up once more. "Please? My wife would kill me if she found out I left an injured female in the middle of the woods." You scrutinized him, attempting to catch him in a lie, but found none. Nodding gently, you placed your hand in his, feeling the cool tendrils wrap around you as the environment blurred and darkened.

---Azriel---

Azriel stood outside the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the floor. As the door opened and Cassian and Rhysand stepped out, he pushed away from the wall, raising a brow. "Mind explaining why you decided to make friends with some random person who tried burning down the forest?" he asked.

Rhysand sighed, glancing back at the closed door. "I tried probing her mind, Az. It's locked tight, and no amount of training could penetrate it, not with all the power it exerted to resist me. You saw those shadows that clung to her. Azriel, she's another shadow singer, and as far as I know, you're the only one alive with that ability," he explained in a hushed tone.

Azriel nodded, images of you flashing in his mind. He remembered the severity of your burns and the intensity of your gaze fixed on him, your eyes seeming to burn with actual fire. He had forgotten about the shadows that reached out to them, mirroring his own. "What do we do with her once she's better?" he inquired, turning his gaze toward the closed door. "We can't just let her go, especially now that she's seen the city."

Rhysand hummed in thought, but before he could respond, Cassian cleared his throat. "We can't release her back into the woods like some stray. She has no memory of who she is. But we're not imprisoning her either. We need to help her remember how she got here, and why there's no record of another shadow singer. I can keep an eye on her and make her feel welcome. If she feels like a prisoner, she won't cooperate," Cassian suggested, turning to Azriel. "You should do the same. Get to know her. Her reaction to seeing you indicates her body remembers you, so that could be crucial."

Azriel groaned before reluctantly agreeing with his brother. "Fine, I'll give it a shot. I have my own questions, especially about those shadows. But if she tries anything, don't expect me to be friendly. Her entrance wasn't exactly subtle, burning down half the forest," he remarked, casting a warning glance at Rhysand.

Rhysand nodded, knowing better than to argue with Azriel in situations like this. He couldn't help but notice Azriel's sudden interest in you, though. Clapping a hand on Cassian's shoulder, he nodded to Azriel before walking away.

Azriel watched them depart down the hall before turning back to the door. Opening it, his eyes widened as a pillow was flung at him, narrowly missing him and hitting the wall. Giving you a glare, he noted how you met his stare with equal intensity.

---Y/N---

You stare back at Azriel as he takes another step towards you, your hand instinctively reaching back to grab the pillow next to you. Your eyes follow every movement he makes, searching for any sign that his intentions aren’t friendly.

"Throwing a pillow at me won’t do much," he says, raising a brow at you.

Scoffing, you turn your head away from him. "No, but it would distract you long enough to give me a head start," you mumble. The shadows that wrap themselves around you slide away, halting just before Azriel. Your eyes watch them as they wait for his own to greet them.

"It’s funny, you would think they know each other. In the forest, it was like they were communicating with each other," you say softly.

Azriel hums in response as he settles into the chair next to your bed. "What do you know about your shadows? You must know something; the way they interact with you is a telling sign that you’ve had them your entire life," he says, leaning back into the chair. He watches your body language, waiting for a telling sign that you're lying, but there is nothing. Instead, he receives a shrug from you.

"I’m not sure. When I woke up, in agonizing pain, might I add, they were there. They were all over me, and it was as if they were trying to cool the burns. Other than that, they’re a complete mystery to me. They don’t even really say much besides that I’m safe," you explain, leaning back against the headboard. "Why are you guys helping me? I know it’s not because I was half dead in the middle of the woods," you mumble, playing with the blanket on your lap.

Azriel leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he narrows his eyes at you. "Rhysand says he wants to find out how you’re a shadow singer; from what we knew, I was the only one. Cassian refuses to just release you into the wild again, and he wants to help you, which is typical given that’s just how he is. Meanwhile, me? I don’t trust you. You may not remember what about me you know, but your body does, and every time I’m near you, you have the natural reaction to pull away from me," he says. To prove his point, he shifts to sit on the bed, and your body tenses as you instinctively move away. "I’ll find out what you know about me. Rhysand may not be able to tell, but I know how to get the information I need, and you’re no exception," he grumbles.

You open your mouth to retort, but he stands and walks towards the door before freezing. "If you’re pretending, drop the act; it’ll make killing you in the future that much easier," he says, his eyes piercing into you. With that, he leaves the room, leaving you to your own thoughts.

[witch-hazels-musings]

hello hazel !

can i request a curse ritual for diluc with graveyard dirt, black tourmaline, and hellebore?

Graveyard Dirt (loss, grief), Black Tourmaline (safety, shielding), Hellebore (anger, wrath) Diluc x gn anemo reader | Curse Ritual warning: physical fighting (battle scene), mentions of blood, Diluc uses a Delusion, mentions of bodies, lots of flame mentions (reader is injured)

"Where is he?" you asked but the eyes that stared back at you were hollow, empty. Another reaction was set off somewhere behind the wall you were using for coverage. "Hey, look at me." You cupped their dirty face and they met your gaze. "Where did he go?"

With a weak arm, they pointed to the right and you took no time waiting. Something cut the stone above you, shards of Geo raining down onto your head. You dropped to a knee, waited, listened, then ran again.

That bastard, you thought as you dashed through the swarm of engaged bodies all hoping to come out of the encounter alive. A member of your resistance slid across the ground in front of you, their head slamming into the worn dirt, eyes rolling into the darkness of their bloodied head. You cursed.

They weren't responsive when you reached them. Even with several slaps on their cheek, they continued to lay there, lifeless. Swift footsteps alerted you that someone was approaching - fast. You twisted and used the body of your comrade to stabilize yourself as a Fatui assailant brought their weapon down toward you.

The collision rattled your bones. You winced.

The skirmisher lept back and you capitalized on their retreat by sending a wave of Anemo toward them. It set them off balance which made it easy for you to craft slicing blades of wind at their tripping feet. The skirmisher retaliated with blasts of Pyro, and each one passed by you with violent heat.

Desperate to end this encounter, you called on your vision, and from nothing, daggers made of heated wind appeared around you in a vicious halo as you barreled toward them, sword positioned to strike.

The skirmisher crumbled at the onslaught, unprepared for the slew of biting slices that cut them to shreds. The wind died down and with it rose the cry of countless other battles. But one stood out among the rest - and you ran to it.

---

You stood at the top of a shallow cliff, frozen, petrified by the sight before you.

Where once lush, green fields stretched, now only charred earth and limp bodies remained. And before them was a lone fighter blanketed in flames.

Diluc.

He was nearly unrecognizable in the torrent. He moved like an unrestrained fireball. Bounced off one enemy, then another until nothing was left of them except dust and ash. From his back, black, crackling wings propelled him forward straight into booming Electro and biting Cryo. The world became scared while you watched on in horror.

Go.

Go -- Go -- GO!

Slipping on the loose stone, you pivoted and ran down the edge of the cliff. The fight raged on, consumed whatever got too close. The ground trembled as the Cryo skirmisher fell into the black while licking flames covered their body.

You called out to Diluc but he couldn't hear you. Not now.

The Electro skirmisher used his weapon as a shield but screeching wings sliced through their defenses. Even at this distance, you could feel the heat. It made your throat dry, burned your lungs with every inhale, stung your eyes, and seared your skin. But you pushed forward.

"Diluc!" you called but the walking barrage trudged forward, uninterested. It seemed nothing could rouse the man beneath red and rage. In the middle, somewhere faint, was a flicker of purple - a light so minuscule you wondered if it was a trick. And then you remembered -

He promised.

He promised not to use -

You ran faster.

Using your Anemo, you pried your way through the heat, letting it push you forward while Diluc's wrath shoved you back. You screamed for him but the blistering air dried the words on your tongue. The glove on your outstretched hand peeled away so you brought your Anemo closer to protect your skin.

The purple light flickered.

All you had to do was reach it.

With the last bit of strength you held, you grasped the Delusion with battered fingers, ripped it free, and tossed it behind you. The disconnection made Diluc rage. He screamed in a way so painful it took all your willpower not to run back to the device and press it against his chest. He writhed and pivoted with desperate, searching eyes for the power you stole from him. Flames leaked from every part of him, pushed outward in pyres of confusion, anger, and fear, but you held on. Coiling yourself around his neck, you hid his face in your chest and willed him to the ground.

"Come back," you begged, voice crackling like forgotten wood. "Don't let them win. Fight it - fight!" You called on your Anemo and let it swallow the two of you in its torrent. "Come back to me."

The air coiled around you and slowly expanded until, finally, the flames were quelled in a frenzied explosion.

Diluc's body felt limp and heavy, and you struggled to keep him upright. The two of you pitched to the right but before you landed on the ashen ground, his hand slammed into the grey soil keeping you both steady.

Diluc's arm wrapped around your back, his fingers dug into your muscles as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

"I have you," you whispered into his hair and he repositioned so he could hold you against him until he stopped trembling.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[stargazedwinchester]

Too Soon? | Sam

Summary: Charlie teams you both up with the Winchester brothers for a case. After a very long road trip toward a hunt, someone's caught feelings for you.

Word count: 1,113

Let me know if you want a part 2!

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Charlie's excited grin means two things; there's a new World of Warcraft DLC, or she really wants you to do something with her. You huff, loosening your grip from her hands. "Char, I honestly really don't want to. I love you, I do, but..."

"Why, Y/N? It'll be so fun. Sam and Dean are so fun and so cool, you'll really like them. Even if it's a shitty boring hunt, at least you'll have me." She bounces up and down on the spot. "Please? Pretty please?" She begs, her ruby hair shining from the daylight coming through the window behind her. She looks at you in your eyes, pleading for you to once just say 'yes'.

You had been childhood best friends with Charlie ever since you both were bullied at school for playing video games during lunch breaks and recess. Both of you were the very few girls who would actually spend time around nerdy guys and weren't put off by them. Not that anyone gave them a chance, though.

"Okay, fine. I'll go with you. Just this once, though, you owe me." You give in, a smile creeping onto your face. What's the worst that could happen?

After Charlie's parents passed in a horrible accident when she was 14, she had been adopted by your father as both families were extremely close, good friends. It was almost like a dream come true for both of you at the time, being able to actually have a sister who's also your best friend? That's the best thing to ever happen to a child.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

You exit Charlie's beetle to a place that doesn't remotely resemble a home. "We're here?" You ask, squinting your eyes from the mid-summer sun blaring into your pupils. "Yep. They said to meet here." She says, checking her phone for any text messages. While glancing over at Charlie's phone, you notice two huge men walking toward you. "They're here!" She announces whilst the shorter man opens up his arms for her.

"Charlie!" He laughs gleefully, and she gives him a massive hug. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. "Hey, I'm Y/N." You greet the taller one, he runs his hand through his hair, before shaking yours. "Hi Y'N. I'm Sam. Nice to meet you." You look up at him flashing him a quick smile. "I assume the other guy is Dean?" You question, and Charlie pulls your arm towards her. "Y/N! This is Dean, he's my favourite. No offence, Sam." She chuckles, and Sam grunts. "None taken." He says. "Hi, Dean. Nice to meet you." You hold out your hand for him to shake it, and he takes it. "Nice to meet you. We've heard lots about you." He shows you a warm smile, his eyes a lovely shade of green that you haven't seen before.

"The gangs back together!" Charlie exclaims, you furrow your brows. "Back together? I've never met these guys in my life."

"You get what I mean."

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

After lots of arguing about who gets shotgun, Charlie sits in the front with Dean, and you're sat in the back with Sam. Charlie passes you snacks every so often so you don't feel left out.

"So, YN," Sam starts, taking his gaze off of the trees speeding past the car. "How long have you known Charlie?" He asks, his hazel eyes meeting yours. "My whole life. She's my sister." You trail your sentence, not understanding why Sam would ask this. Dean chuckles. "Sammy, you didn't know that?" He and Charlie start laughing before she reaches over the seat to face you both. "I never told him this. Sorry, Sam." She pops another snack in her mouth, and Sam rolls his eyes. "Perks of being the least favourite, I guess. I'm out of the loop, guys." He throws his hands up in the air, a grin on his face. "It's okay. I'll tell you everything you need to know." You turn yourself round to face him, starting with the story of how you met her, where you grew up and everything that happened with Charlies' parents and your own.

The sun is setting pretty quick, the clouds turning salmon and the sky a denim shade. Dean smoothly parked the Impala outside of a small '70s diner, you all climb out and walk inside to find a free table. Luckily, the place seems busy so you assume it's got good food. You're starving at this point so to be honest, you'd eat anything at this point. You sit opposite Sam, but next to Charlie who's already looking at a menu. Scanning the table, there are only two menus. Dean and Charlie are so lost in their own world that they wouldn't even think about sharing a menu. You snatch the menu out of Charlie's hand and usher her to share with Dean while yourself and Sam work something out between you both.

You stretch your legs out and accidentally hit something long in front of you, assuming it's the table leg, you stretch out further. "That's my leg." Sam says, catching your eyes, then quickly looking away. "Sorry," you mumbled, seeing him act so awkward was somewhat charming to you, how his good looks could so easily get him so many women, yet he seems so reserved and polite. There really aren't that many men in the world like this, at all.

His golden eyes meet yours again, but you're already staring back at him. Your eyes widened in surprise, you didn't even think that he'd look at you again. "What?" He huffs, a smirk appearing. Oh, he knows he's hot. A dimple forms and suddenly, you're really attracted. "Me? Nothing. I was daydreaming." You lie.

The waitress comes over and takes everyones orders, and Dean turns around to allow you both to order. He notices how flushed your cheeks are and Sam's sly grin, and he puts two and two together. He nudges Charlie, and they both glance at you, then Sam, then back at each other with a huge smile on each of their faces. "Look at you two love birds," Dean starts, and you roll your eyes. "Please, don't start." You can't stop a simper from taking shape on your face, Charlie slaps your arm. "You two would be so cute together!" She scoffs, you've never seen her this happy about something before, it's almost scary.

"No, it's far too soon to say anything like that, Char!" You hide your face in embarrassment. "Am I not allowed to make friends?" You say, hoping Sam would have something to add.

"Is it too soon?" Sam says, grinning from ear to ear.

[wordsgood]

hazel faye is very three cheers for sweet revenge coded, but especially "i'm not okay," which is funny because they would absolutely haaaaaate being so basic. like. "of course you relate to 'i'm not okay (i promise)' by my chemical romance and have pronouns"

[aroaceleovaldez]

re: my recent Hazel posting. more of yall have got to start drawing Hazel as fat. make her chubby. make her stout. i can't keep doing this alone.

[yiiyiiwrites]

❤️‍🔥 | A choice |

Azriel x Autumn court reader

[Autumn court reader] & [acotar masterlist]

Summary: Azriel comforting you after your magic flares up. To him you’re good and sometimes you just need reminding that in able to be good, it’s all about the choices you make. 932words

Angel, the word is weighted but the way it slipped from his lips so soft and melodic as if he sang it, brought you out of your thoughts.

Your hands trembled in your lap, fingertips charred and chalky. The curve of your palm red, crescent shaped burns scored into your skin.

It’s been months since your last outburst and each time it happened, the flame still remained at the back of your throat. That flicker of shame burning your tongue and coating your words with venom.

And it’s like you’re back in Autumn, fighting to survive. Scheming to stay above the surface. You can’t help the way you slipped back into that past self, one that let fear rule you and hurt others before they got a chance to hurt you.

Angel, it’s not a word you’d associate with yourself. You’re far from it, as if you were forged in the fires of hel and unleashed on the world.

The stench of smoke hung in the air, the dying embers glowing against the desk. The orange flickers eating away at the last bit of parchment, you slapped your palm on the desk and snuffed it out. Wondering why it was so difficult to keep your own magic contained.

One letter however, in pristine condition. Cursive ink crisp and clear against the yellowing paper. A loaded cannon, ticking time bomb and trigger you let get the best of you. As if the sender knew the message would cause a reaction.

Azriel still hadn’t moved, his wings tucked behind him in the doorway. He echoed that word again, Angel and you’ve lost count how many times he’s used it to coax you out of your high. That ear ringing numbness that seeped into your bones and shook your body.

He moved, your gaze snapping to him as he walked towards you. The knot in your chest wanting to tug you closer, but you stepped back. The wavering smile dropped from his lips, he may have stopped but his shadows were already curling around your fingertips and gliding over the dip of your palms. The cool breeze of their movement soothing your burnt skin.

The gods were wicked, cruel weaving Azriel to you. Someone so full of rage and fire, a constant reminder of his past. You didn’t miss his hesitation whenever you had an outburst and you couldn’t blame him for it either.

“We are meant to be, Angel,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. Your mate always knowing what to say when you needed it most. “You are everything good in my world.” He leant against the edge of the desk, burnt wood groaning beneath his weight.

Good, but you’d done bad things. You stared at Azriel’s hands trying to remind yourself why you can’t get closer to him. Why you can’t touch him, even when the bond feels like it twisting inside you, you can’t.

“Angel,” he called, scarred hand reaching out to you. His hazel eyes soften as you tucked your charred hands behind your back and shook your head.

You couldn’t bring yourself to hold his gaze, your head dipping and your focus on the ash covering your leather shoes. The echoes of Azriel’s boots struck like the thumping in your chest. The shadows of his wings looming over you.

A dark wisp pushed the hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, another icy shadow hooked under your chin and tilted your head back up.

Azriel stood before you, respecting your boundaries and not initiating any acts of touch whenever you had an outburst. The blue siphon on his chest flared, his shadows skimming the stone and shielding its glare from your sight.

“You know I too, have had to do things I didn’t want and I think the reason why we are mates is because we have been both good and bad. We know right and wrong, the grey area too,” Azriel said, prodding the letter on the table and sliding it along to you.

You’d met Azriel in the grey area, in the autumn forest where choosing the bad option led you to good, but gave you a bad reputation in your home court. The good being him, the bad becoming you when Velaris didn’t welcome you, but feared you.

The grey area seemed to be where you and Azriel met the most.

“The only thing that matters now though, are the choices we make right now.” His voice is low, but firm, the weight of his words snuffing out the remaining embers in your clenched fists.

You let the shadows guide you, step by step until you closed the small space between you and him. His shoulders relaxed, but he didn’t touch you.

Closing the minuscule distance you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him, cheek pressing against his chest. The beat of his heart slowing as he embraced you, his warmth washing over you and the feverish burn withering from your flesh.

“So be good, Angel and even if you must do bad, know that I am always here for you. As not everything good can be done right,” Azriel said, kissing your forehead as he leant back and captured your face in his hands.

You glanced over your shoulder to the letter on the desk, “well the grey area we can do right," you murmured, the pad of Azriel's thumb traced the side of your face drawing you attention back to his hazel eyes, warm like the setting sun.

"I'm all yours angel, what should we do about that?"

[rustedhearts]

the one where steve is a hometown lover from the past that you’ll never outgrow (also mechanic!steve, also the same steve as in asleep)….

moodboard

“hey.”

he’s on the front steps of your trailer with a cigarette between his lips. the afternoon sun has gathered and festered under the weight of thin cotton down your back. it’s glowing bright orange on his bronzed cheeks. he spent a lot of time outside this summer. he spent a lot of time away.

but here he is, at 5:00. just off work. just like you, holding your keys in one hand and an empty lunchbox in the other. holding pulsing aches in your feet, suffocating in a pair of high heels.

“hey.”

one eye shutters closed when he tips his head back to see you. to inspect you the way only he ever does. his lips curl sideways to release a furl of smoke.

“uh…what are you doing here?”

steve pats the rickety wood beside him. his knuckles are scabbed, fingertips dirtied with soil and grease. 5:00. just off work. the navy blue collared shirt hand-stitched with his name.

your lunchbox swings when you step forward, whirl around, and sink down. it clunks with a hollow tupperware container when you set it on the concrete.

steve pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and rests his elbows on his knees. a fleck of ash flings toward the patchy grass near his feet. he reeks of chemical car exhaust. when the wind whispers through the park, it wafts the cheyennes toward your just-washed-hair.

just like old times.

"wanted to see you," he says.

you kick your legs out and cross one over the other. steve's eyes wander their way, hazel mutating into amber in direct sunlight. you haven't seen them this close in ages. haven't felt the solid heat of him in months. longer, if you thought about it.

you aren't sure what to say to him, and the quiet sound of lips latching to paper fill the space. he sighs the next cloud of smoke out. the sheen of sweat on his skin makes it glitter.

"how’s, uh…how’s your mom?”

you glance at him, lip between your teeth. “better. been clean a couple months now.”

he hums, mouthing at the cigarette butt. it’s getting smaller and smaller by the second. the crackle in his lungs feels better than the silence.

“how’s your brother?” you offer.

another bout of ash springing toward the concrete. it lands on the toe of his boot. they must be sweltering cages in this heat.

“back home.” you know that means not good.

using the pointed toe of one, you kick off your heels and wiggle your swollen toes. the cheap, glossy shoes scrape the sidewalk where they fall.

a few rows over, the hiss of charred meat erupts into a stream of smoke. the grill lid slams. a dog yips until someone snaps at it.

“we should’ve gotten outta here.”

it’s steve that says it and he’s shaking his head. head tipped back to the sky like it might be different elsewhere. but it’s always been the same shade of blue above the trailer park.

you watch his bicep spill over his knee. a bead of sweat drip to his elbow. you can’t help but lean forward and drop your head to his shoulder. above you, his head snaps aside with the swiftness of lightning.

the cigarette is gone now. steve stubs it on the porch and flings it toward the grass. you watch it nestle between overgrown blades, just behind a dandelion.

he folds his arms together over his tucked-up knees.

“it wouldn’t have been different,” you tell him.

steve turns away. tufts of hair cling to the back of his neck with sweat. patches grow dark where it’s damp. the chain of a dog tag peeks above the navy collar.

it’s his brother’s. the one who didn’t make it home.

a gust of wind rushes through the park. it flutters through your hair, flaps through the bottom of your skirt. steve tips his head back to feel it. you watch the sun gather and sit glowingly on his nose. he has a new freckle under his jaw.

“i think it would’ve,” he murmurs. it seems like a remark mostly for himself.

you felt your hand sneaking through the warmth under his arm before you knew it. worming through the gap, looping over his forearm until it comes back to you. once intertwined, you feel a relief waiting to be released. balled up for months in your chest, soothed only by steve.

steve drops his head down on yours. the weight of it like a paperclip, holding you together. you let your eyes close and imagine what he always said leaving his mouth right now. i love ya, kid.

you hum against his arm, cheek pressed into soft, slick flesh. in your mind, it mimics the same sounds of your usual response. i love you too.

"wanna stay a bit?" you say instead.

steve shuts his eyes. "okay," he says back.

when the pair of you finally move a few minutes later, you hook your fingers in your heels and steve takes your lunchbox. he kicks his shoes off near the door on the outside, sets the lunchbox on the coffee table.

he takes the hand that reaches for him, angled behind you at the base of your spine. your feet journey toward the bedroom without question.

he forgets the dog tags around your bed post when he leaves.

a familiar excuse to return again.

[freckliedan]

hello! i just hit 2k, and i haven't done one of these since i hit 100 followers so: follow forever incoming!

most of the older blogs i'm following have gone inactive, so there's so much love in my heart for everyone who's still here. i AM reccing just a couple inactive blogs that i will be following for life 💛 edit: these are in groups of 4-5 because otherwise? tumblr stops letting @ ing people work

friends i've talked the most with about dnp: aries @freckliephil, roper @phulge, hana @danielbear, ry @dnphobe, & rudy @yonpote

blogs i found before dnp came out: xavier @angryphildm beth @awrfhi jess @cactuslester kristine @danandphilandthedevil

pip @dannierights al @danpilled leo @danslawdegree molly @deathclassic

jas @demonphannie lola @dnpsuck yash @floppy-ding-dong valo @gaymingvideos kate @goldenpinof

katie @heterophobicdaniel dylan @horsegirlhob blonde @leblonde em @lesbiandipandpip di @lesdienne

ott @milflester barry @milfygerard @oldqueenphil nora @pseudophan

ari @thelionandthellama tj @tjlauren av @vampire-email renee @yikesola

blogs i found after dnp came out: jacky @2009phan jenna @ahappyphjl ava @birthdaywolf chicken @chickenfreeblog ru @danisnotonfirewalkwithme

hazel @dapg-otmebytheballs allie @deadandphilgames emma @dnpbeats daye @dvp95 nikki @energeticwarrior

westley @flamingheretic callie @gamora-borealis amelia @lesbaurinkos zee @manchesterau

char @simplydnp emily @slayter-kinney robin @tarotphil chelle @thatsmistertoyou

ada @theyarewrestling p @thursdaygirlmp3 bee @ttlmt vi @wdapteo

love you all! thanks for 2k!