#doing it and posting anything than not at all. if that makes sense

[acid-ixx]

i would not survive wayne manor if i had to stare into dick's y/n blue orbs everyday

stop looking at me with those eyes! (again &. again mini drabble)

ft. post-kidnapped reader w/ yandere batfam shitpost

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; related post !

thank u for sending this oh my god, i need to write about this!!! i absolutely love your art style for the reader, they're so handsome i'm crying and laughing 😭😭😭 and it's true!!! i will also die if i look at the entire family's eyes as a filipino who has never once stared at a foreigner's eyes because it's just so bright huhu.

unfortunately for your case though, your refusal to look straight at them just translates to extra unwanted counseling sessions with the family in one of the large expanses of the living rooms housing the available members for a meeting. it's a whole gathering where you're the center of attention.

and it's not only dick involved, it's also all the other blue-eyed bastards and an additional glowering, pair of green ones which shines the brightest of them all— and if not for cass and duke's dark colored peepers, you might've truly passed away because it's no joke that their eyes glint under the light passing through locked windows, especially when the sun is at its highest peak and hits at just the right angles to glisten.

not only have you no physical escape, but their obsessed stares never leave your form too, devouring and locking you whole in your place and claustrophobic to the chains of their bright-orbed gaze.

"(name), dear, as much as you don't wish for me to address the issue; it's becoming an unhealthy habit that you refuse to maintain eye contact with the family. it doesn't help that your heart palpitates, you perspire more often, and you make excuses to run to a different room when you do. what's wrong?"

you don't even have to look up from staring at your lap (as if you want to, hah!) to know it's your father's voice directed at you. it's a unique tremor that reverberates across the room and commands attention from all corners; yet when he speaks to you, it's coated with an unhealthily sweet reverence that seems completely foreign to someone who has never once spoken to him until now.

"u-uhm..." stuttering, you bite your lip, drowning in your own self-preservation that had you ignoring dick's stealthy steps to your seated body on the couch, only for his fingers to carefully graze on your chin, snapping you out of your attention yet being too late as he lifts your head up, forcing to stare at his wide-blown eyes.

they're unnaturally bright today, shining more than the beaches in those private islands bruce owns, it's even more terrifying that he's staring at you.

"it's unfair too... baby bird, that it's me you avoid the most," he groans, it grates at your ears but it was better to focus on your other senses if you wish to control the ever-living fear of miley cyrus' blue eyes burned right into your retina, now associated with dick's emboldened ones. his palms find its way to either side of your head, cradling it side to side, the contact forced you to continue staring ahead of him. and no matter how much you resort to blanking out, the intensity of his baby blue eyes forfeits you to focus on anything else.

yet it's the gentle graze on your side that encourages you to speak your mind, you really hate how infantilizing this entire scene feels, and comical that they're - dick - is taking your excuses too seriously.

"ah... well—" how do you explain that you're shit at eye-contact because, first, and can't deal with their luminescent stares pinning you down to your spot, brighter than diamonds and emerald crystals, second?

"everyone's just too... you know. i- i really can't explain without it sounding... uhm..."

"too overwhelming? too what? akhi/akhti? it has been years since we last took you in, and you've been perfectly communicating with us until now. what has changed? has that rebel, todd, dare to make another deal with you again which involves refusing to properly communicate with us? with me? because if he did—"

damian's voice slithers with conviction, condemnation and possessive threats that strike fear into your heart with every venom-laced word. if not for his head nuzzling into the shadows of your neck, the dichotomy of dialogue and action, you would've been convinced he's out to kill you instead.

yet the same gremlin muttering insults is your little brother who takes the entire space beside you on the velvety couch, rendering you completely cornered by his expecting glare. except now, unlike the mental torment he subjected to you, his green-eye gaze glimmers with concealed adoration you've learned to discern, he's always been a heckler for your attention; the tan hands wrapped around your waist in a snuggle tightens, not too tight that it deprives you of oxygen, but demands your answers instead.

like father, like son. as the saying goes. always finding solutions with unwanted affection. couldn't even push them away without them interpreting your actions as rebellion which only results in more uncomfortable competitions on who gets to cuddle you for longer.

and wait, no, they didn't take you in, bullshit! they basically kidnapped you. it's only that you've grown accustomed to dealing with them individually and as a group, but because they've been more lenient with technology, providing you access to wifi with supervised search results, you stumbled across one of , which not-so faintly reminds you of them.

your past traumas of them replaced with jaded motivation to survive and tolerate the ever living plague in your life you call your family.

bruce did advise you to associate them with positive things instead as a first step to your adjusting phase, and miley cyrus' anthropoidal, not-quite human stare isn't negative in any way, yet it's also by no means negative, if not unsettling— which leads you to a common ground, a common affiliation which helps you cope with the fear that they might harm you and isolate you with loneliness even further; forgetting your presence once again.

learning to love them was hard, so relating them to anything comical was way easier on the still-heavy burden in your heart which yearns for freedom burned off through countless of escape attempts, the grief of your mother's death now decades worth, and just the shock of it all that they're still interested in you until now that hasn't worn off still, despite the years passing by quicker than blowing off a candle-light.

still, everyone retains their gaze on you, never once breaking contact with your form as if you're capable of escaping their grasp. you try to look down, but to no avail, dick was too invested in hogging your head all to himself and nuzzling it in his toned stomach, whilst damian refuses to separate from his ever tightening hold which renders you unable to full grasp your thoughts and speak.

god-damned hypocrites.

"holy shit..." it's tim who broke off the silence, muttering under his breath in disbelief whilst his hand fiddles with the modded tablet bruce had given you as a christmas gift. his lanky finfers continue scrolling eyes fixated on the scene before him, every expression illuminated by the faint glow of your tablet's screen. the most visible feature, gazing at him through whichever was left of your vision unobstructed by dick's body; was of course, his widening blue eyes, as it seems like he'd hit jackpot with his appalled reactions.

it seems like he found the exact same picture.

would it be a bad thing now if you'd run away from the room once they all collectively hone in on the image before them? or is it too risky of a task?

honestly, with just how routine your life must be right now, you'd prefer to run, to feel the air run through your hair, to bask in the sun washing your body in its warmth.

maybe to find unbidden joy in another game of cat and mouse, or it may be another one of your excuses to avoid those piercing eyes once more if even by just a mere fraction.

or maybe you could stay for now, because is it just you, or did you actually succeed in traumatizing them for once instead of you?

[verstappenverse]

Pairing: Camgirl!Reader x Obsessed!Max

Authors Note: NSFW still working on the details for the upcoming fic but having fun with the concept. Let me know what you think or send any additional ideas 😉

Max can’t remember how he found your page—maybe it was a suggested post on Instagram, or maybe some random link caught his attention. It doesn’t matter how it started, what matters is that now he’s addicted.

At first it's just curiosity, he wasn’t the type to watch cam streams or really spend any time on adult content, but something about you was different. You weren’t like the over-the-top, hyper-curated content he’d expect from this kind of thing. You were sweet, soft-spoken, almost shy in the way you interacted with the camera. And Max sitting alone in his Monaco penthouse couldn’t look away.

He tells himself it’s just a passing distraction, a way to unwind, but then he starts getting… attached. His obsession grows quietly at first. He subscribes to your page, buys your exclusive content, and sets notifications for your streams. It doesn’t matter if he’s at a racetrack, a sponsor event, or a hotel halfway across the world - when you post about your next stream, he checks the time difference and tries to plan his schedule around it.

The first time someone else drops a high tip and you thank them by name, Max feels it. That sharp, irrational sting of jealousy. He knows it’s stupid, he’s one of thousands of viewers, but the way you smile for them? It makes him want to punch a wall. So he does the only thing that makes sense - he outbids them.

When you say his username in that soft, teasing tone and add “Thank you so much, you’re incredible!”—it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his chest.

It starts small a few high donations here and there, but soon enough he finds himself spending more of his income on you than he’d ever care to admit. From there it spirals, he’s tipping more, requesting more, even messaging you privately. You respond graciously of course, you always do, but Max convinces himself that your replies to him are different. More personal.

Custom videos, private streams - whatever gets him a little closer to feeling like he’s the only one you’re looking at. He tells himself it’s harmless. He can afford it after all.

It doesn’t take long before his obsession starts creeping into the rest of his life. Between races, he’s refreshing your page to see if you’ve posted. During long-haul flights, he’s watching your videos on repeat. Even at the paddock while his team is running simulations or tweaking the car setup he catches himself checking for notifications.

There are nights he barely sleeps staying up to catch you live, even if he has an early training session the next day. Between races he’ll watch your older streams on repeat, memorising the way you speak, the way you smile. Max knows he’s in too deep, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

His spending ramps up. When someone else tries to steal the spotlight in your chat, he doesn’t just outbid them—he obliterates them. He’s dropping tips that make everyone else look like amateurs, just to keep your attention squarely on him. And it works. His messages get bolder and more desperate too.

I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in my bed.

It’s torture watching you touch yourself, knowing I could make you feel so much better.

Tell me I’m your favourite, just once.

You should be sitting on my lap right now instead of talking to them.

Do you know how hard it is to sit here and watch you, knowing I can’t touch you?

The things I’d do to you if you were mine… you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Your lips part in surprise at that one, and you quickly cover your flustered reaction with a laugh. “Well, that’s… quite the statement,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. I never make promises I can’t keep.

But it’s not enough.

The idea of being just another fan starts to gnaw at him. Max Verstappen isn’t “just another” anything. But Max is nothing if not competitive, and the idea of being just another fan doesn’t sit well with him for long. He’s used to winning, to being first, to having the best. He wants to be the one you think about when the stream ends.

He wants to know you in ways the others never could. Where you live, what you liked to do when the camera was off, whether anyone in your life treated you as well as you deserved.

What would it take for me to get your attention?

And when you reply, laughing softly, “You’ve already got it,” it’s game over for him.

Max is playing a dangerous game. Balancing his life as one of the most recognisable athletes in the world with his growing obsession for someone who doesn’t even know who he really is. But that’s the thing about Max - when he wants something he gets it. And right now, there’s nothing in the world he wants more than you.

[yutarot]

ride or die. l.jn smau

018 — for her, i am.

(a/n: u might wanna grab some popcorn for this one.)

JENO POV

“i know who leaked my secret.”

he had said it so quickly that he forgot the words had even come from his mouth.

jaemin stares at him, eyes wide in a mix of shock and weirdly, sadness.

but then jeno realises why. he had let jaemin be bullied, staying silent as all of his friends attacked him. he had done nothing.

jaemin didn’t care that jeno knew who it was, he didn’t care who had ruined jeno’s life, because jeno had ruined his. he thought that jeno thought it was him, he had assumed that’s why jeno did nothing, out of hatred, out of anger. but now, now it made no sense. jeno was meant to be his bestfriend.

jeno became angry at the thought. not at jaemin, but at himself. and he hadn’t even explained to him the whole story yet, he hadn’t even told him who it was.

jaemin spoke first after their silence.

“you better start explaining.” jaemin says, and rightfully so. jeno feels as if he should had done the explaining a while ago, he wanted to. but it all happened too quick. he never got the chance.

he doesn’t know why, but he feels like jaemin and him aren’t going to be the same after this. not after what he’s about to tell him.

jaemin grows inpatient, angry even.

“come on, jeno, im not gonna sit here and wait for the fucking grass to grow!!”

jeno says nothing still, and this only makes jaemin’s anger worsen. but he just doesn’t know what to say, how to word the sentence that will ruin their friendship.

“WHO WAS IT JENO?” jaemins grabbing his shirt at this point, and there’s nothing he can do but close his eyes and take it. “WHO WAS IT YOU HAD TO PROTECT SO MUCH TO THE POINT WHERE YOU HAD TO LET ME GET PUSHED AROUND, HUH? WHO SPILLED YOUR FUCKING SECRET, WHO DID YOU FEEL WAS SO SPECIAL TO YOU THAT YOU COULDNT SAY ANYTHING TO ANYONE?!! WHO WAS IT, JENO?! WHO W-“

jeno’s heart races. his fists clench. his arms tense.

he snaps.

“IT WAS ME!”

jaemin stills.

he lets go of jeno’s shirt.

his eyes never divert from his, his last breath never leaving. they both stand in the apartment lobby, the cold air of outside, breezing through the window, half cracked open, the distant buzz of the vending machine whirring in the corner and the deep hue of the midnight sky absorbing the light from around them.

they’re silent, they’re still.

neither of them dare to speak.

until jeno notices jaemins face.

it’s not anger, it’s not sadness. it’s pity.

“it was me.” jeno’s voice is lower now. “i leaked my own identity.” he looks at the floor, in both solemnity and shame.

“why?” jaemin asks. “why would you do that to yourself?”

“i didn’t know it would spread so fast. i posted it on an anonymous account before my race. i wasn’t expecting it to be spread so quick, let alone on national news. i thought it would be slow, i was going to tell you, i was going to tell everyone. i had decided i didn’t want to be samo anymore. but the speed of it all… i wasn’t ready yet, i hadn’t prepared yet, i hadn’t told her.”

jaemin stills at the mention of you.

“so that’s why.”

jeno nods.

“you’re an idiot.” jaemin says, throwing jeno’s words back at him.

but jeno isn’t laughing.

“for her, i am.”

that’s where he realises the gravity of it all. that both of their deception had all come down to the route of one thing, of one person.

you.

jeno continues. “do you know what she told me when we first got into that fake relationship?”

jaemin shakes his head.

“she told me that she didn’t understand why i liked living as samo more than jeno. and usually, i did. i loved living as samo, it was the only time that i was able to really be myself. but when she came along, i realised something. i realised that i didn’t want to be samo anymore, i wanted to be the person that she knew. technically, she knew samo, yes. but it was me, as jeno, that she truly knew. and when she told me that i should just live as jeno, avoid all the public attention and just go outside without a mask, i realised that she was right, that that’s who i wanted to be. i wanted to be me, because of her. so when she told chenle who i was, i should have been mad, i should have been pissed. but, truly? i was relieved. she had done the first step of my journey herself, i could break off the deal. i could explain that i didn’t care about it anymore. i could explain that i wanted to date her for real. but i didn’t do any of that. i was still angry, i was angry at the reason why she had told chenle. he ruined it all. i couldn’t explain it to her, what i really wanted. because she liked him. and it only confirmed my suspicions when i found that stupid fuckers hoodi-“

jeno realised he had be talking for too long when jaemin began to smile.

“oh man i’ve been waiting for you to say that for the longest time, that you want to be yourself.” he pulls him into a brief hug as he speaks, as if he hadn’t even heard the second half of jeno’s rant.

after a second, jaemin pulls away before stating the obvious truth of what’s staring them both in the face, “if only it wasn’t because of her.”

reality dawns on him, pushing on him like an incoming storm. “im sorry jaemin, but ive made up my mind.”

jaemin nods, expecting jeno to say more. but he doesn’t, he just walks to the elevator, clicking the floor to their dorm. jeno hopes that jaemin forgets all about you, that he puts his feelings for you aside. but he knows jaemin too well, he knows no matter how much he tries, jaemin will never forget you.

“you getting in?” jeno says, a smile plastered on his face.

jaemin grins back before running to the elevator to join him.

jeno was going back home.

well, he will be once he fixes things with you.

jaemin lets out a sigh, seeming deep in thought. “you sacrificed everything for her.”

jeno looks at him, an understanding of what he means by this.

“jaemin-“

“i’ll take the fall for it.” he says, a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes. “you don’t have to tell them it was you yet, if you’re not ready.”

jeno panics, “i can’t let you do that. not anymore.”

“please let me.” he fidgets, watching the numbers on the elevator screen climb up, and up, and up. “it’s the most i can do.”

jeno doesn’t know what to say, just like before. so he does the easiest thing. even though he knows he shouldn’t, he does what he knows he’s going to regret.

the elevator dings to a halt.

he lets him.

a sacrifice for a sacrifice.

previous : mlist : next

notes; it’s been so hard tryna keep this secret guys u have NO idea

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

[sidestepsam]

hey this is so random but idk if yk the nakay girl on tiktok but she’s met the team a good amount of times and she just posting a video kinda saying she doesn’t really believe in pazzi.

what’s your opinion on that? she’s quite young so idk hahaha

This is a good opportunity to share my thoughts on this.

It is true that they do a lot of things that female best friends do with each other. They’ve also always called each other best friend, etc. so I can understand why a lot of people, especially if they’re not deeply into the lore, may truly think they’re just BFFs. That being said, there’s a very big difference between being unsure/not caring and being a denier. I don’t have an issue with people not being convinced they’re together, if anything I respect it because they’re just waiting for hard evidence. I do, however, have issues with deniers for multiple reasons:

1. It usually comes from a place of heteronormativity and or homophobia.

There’s a lot of people that see being straight as a must have in the mold of the perfect role model and I believe that is applied to Paige especially. Straight men also think this way but from a different perspective. Rather than being worried about them being role models, they’re in denial that P and A aren’t for them. Azzi also gets it because she’s conventionally feminine and a lot of ignorant people think that to be gay as a woman you have to be masculine.

2. It comes from a place of wanting to come of as morally above others.

This is what I think that chick is doing. I’ve never liked her, I think she has a weird parasocial situation going on to the point that she’s developed a weird sense of ownership. This girl knows them just as much as the rest of us do. She’s only met them in public, organized events that of course would not have any outwardly Pazzi situation happening. Literally two videos after that one she’s in literal tears over the game. Of course we all felt it, but to actually cry and film it? Be fr.

Lastly, and sorry if this is rude, but A LOT of these people are literal children. Even some of you on here I can tell are kids/teenagers. That age group knows nothing about reading romantic social cues especially when there’s gay undertones involved. They’ve also never been in relationships. It’s the same reason why they make entire love edits out of P & A looking at each other for 2 seconds and caption it as the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen.

All I’m going to say is that if P or A did exactly what they do with each other with a dude, absolutely no one would question that that dude was their bf. So in conclusion, we will see in 3 months (hopefully) who gets the last laugh 😭💀

[bogleech]

I never thought about that, but I never found jigsaw puzzles enjoyable to do either! I might like the image being sold as the puzzle, but then I'd rather have it in higher resolution without all the jigsaw cuts.

Maybe it's also that I don't get a sense of challenge from it. I draw just how I want to draw and need to draw to be satisfied enough. It gets steadily better on its own just from understanding and remembering new things to do but it otherwise feels kind of like waiting in line at the DMV. It's the hurdle of a bunch of time that must be sacrificed for the drawing to happen.

This is why I always want a movie or series on while doing it. Anything to feel like I'm using the time for more than just sitting around waiting for my body to make the picture.

This post broke containment so some responses have no idea what I draw. I draw almost strictly creatures I come up with when it's not scenes for a webcomic I post.

Maybe it also sheds some light into this topic that I don't draw anything to just be a picture. I only draw things to be used in stories or games, things with a long term role attached to a narrative. These are all for my tabletop RPG setting which has over 800 monsters so far, and I love every single one but that includes thousands more that I've not yet had the time to draw. I come up with another handful of them every day without really meaning to. It's like an intrusive thought almost? And I want them all to become fully polished usable illustrations but I'm only one person.

I do enjoy the process of sketching the initial ideas, but that might be because each finished creature sketch takes me only seconds, so there isn't a sense of waiting and waiting and waiting for eternity for them to be done. Like in 6 hours I can make just one of those fully colored ones, or I can fill up an entire notebook with ballpoint pen or pencil ideas.

This is also why I cannot understand why anyone would want to use a design they got from an AI prompt. The only point of a concept is that you thought of it and that you even decided where every little wrinkle and hair and pants pocket was going to go. If an automated digital randomizer did that for you then it's not your imagination being realized :( Even when I could only draw 5% as "well" as I think I do now (and it's still not a great style by most standards) I was already willing to "wait at the DMV" for each one.

Lots of artists lately talking about burnout and how they no longer find the process fun and enjoyable.

And I'm over here like........you guys EVER found that enjoyable?? Was I supposed to???

It is not fun to do the work itself. It's never crossed my mind that it could be. Having something finished is great and I can't stop making things but the process required to have made something is just arduous tedious labor. you do it for the result alone, not the hours of sitting still staring at the same surface.

It must be awesome to ever be capable of enjoying a form of "work" 😕

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: Happy Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can’t hear your father’s voice anymore. You stand at your door, listening for any sign of life. It’s not him you want to avoid, though he’s rarely happy to see you, but his company. You’re pretty sure they left but not entirely. You feel asleep working on your diamond art. 

You can’t wait much longer. You have to pee so bad that you can feel it in your throat. It’s late. You’re sure you’re alone. 

The door hinges scrape like they always do. You hate that noise. You tiptoe down the hall, towards the yellow blare of the kitchen light. You turn into the bathroom and shut the door. You sigh as finally you get your release. 

You flinch as you stand up and pull your elastic waistband over your hips. The hollow metal tink of a metal can sounds from outside. It could be your dad. That would make sense. He probably got up to get water or another can of beer. 

You wash your hands and go back out. You head towards your bedroom without a look in the other direction. The grizzly pronunciation of your name draws you back. Your eyes round as you scuff to a halt. 

You turn to face the burly man at the end of the hall. “Did I wake you?” Sy asks. 

You gulp and shake your head. He’s one of your dad’s coworkers from the shop. He comes over with a six-pack and they sit on the porch to enjoy it. Or they linger in the kitchen and play cards. 

As the shadows shroud him, he looks even bigger than usual. You’ve only ever seen him from a distance. Usually he’s sitting down. Maybe you just never noticed how gigantic he truly is. 

He flips on the hallway light and you blink. His dark beard adds to the squareness of his jaw and his shaved head has dark stubble in a deep peak on his forehead. His blue eyes sparkle despite his naturally fearsome posture. 

“I just got your daddy to bed,” he says. “He should be just fine. You check that he’s on his belly tomorrow morning.” 

You nod again. He does the same. He doesn’t appear frustrated as your father. He seems almost intrigued as he stays there, scratching above the collar of his tee. 

“You okay?” 

You nod. 

“Checkin’, ya know? It’s late. Dark can be scary, huh?” 

Yes, your head bobs in agreement. 

“Right, well, you have a good night. Let me know if ya need anything in the morning. I put my number on the fridge.” He taps on the door frame and turns away. 

Most of your dad’s friends or the same. They don’t pay you much mind. You prefer that. You’re not one for chatting. That fact irks your father to no end. You just stay out of his way, and his friends’, and hide in your room. 

You wait until you hear the front door. Then you go to lock it as Sy’s footsteps clamour on the porch. You stay there, his headlights shining through the window as his engine rumbles to life. The gravel crunches as he reverses out and steers off into the night. 

You go around and shut off the lights. You take your time in the kitchen tidying up the beer cans. You wipe the counters quickly and rinses the dregs off your fingers. You leave the light on so you can find your door. 

You shut yourself in and go back to bed. You leave the small lamp on next to it and turn your back to the glow. You yawn and close your eyes. 

Another night. It’s a bit sad that the best part of your day is going to sleep. Your waking hours aren’t very interesting. When you’re not doing the chores or the cooking, you’re in there, busying yourself with something meaningless. Nothing you do will ever make a difference; not for you or anyone else. 

That’s why your dad hates you so much. You can’t blame him. There’s no jobs out there for someone like you. You tried and all you got for it was embarrassment and a new slew of insults. 

You cross your arms over the top of the blankets and sigh. When you lay in your bed, you can be anything. Behind your eyelids, you can’t paint pictures more gleaming than those etched in the small plastic diamonds. You could be a princess or an actress or even just someone normal. 

What keeps you awake, isn’t your dreams. It’s the dread of the inevitable. Once you fall asleep, you’ll have to wake up again and face bitter reality. 

🩶

Your dad’s snoring rocks you through the walls. The house is small. You hear a lot more than you like. Often, you leave the old Casio radio playing on low to gloss over the cricks and cracks and groans. 

You get up, knowing better than to wait until he does first. If you have the coffee waiting, it will appease a fraction of his temper. With a hangover racking his skull, he won’t be in the best of moods. 

The dead heat of summer roils through the house. Your dad has an AC unit in his bedroom window but it’s not big enough to do much beyond his door. He keeps that closed most days anyways. On the cold days, he also keeps the small electric heater locked away with him. 

You change into a pair of loose linen capris and a plain tank top. You don’t go anywhere so you don’t dress for any occasion. Most of your clothes are akin to pajamas, or nothing more than. 

The machine is old and dingy. No matter how many times you descale it, it keeps that yellow stain in the plastic. You snap the lid shut and flip the red button so it lights up. Dad says once it stops turning on, he’ll waste money on a new one. 

You get yourself a glass of water and wait. It’s early still but his alarm won’t let him sleep in. As it goes off, you keep busy.  

There’s a slam and a grumble. Your dad stirs violently and his door hits the frame as he swings it open. He lumbers out as you pour him a mug. He belches and ignores you. You put it on the table as he turns down the hall and goes into the bathroom. He leaves the door open and you hear his stream piddle into the toilet. 

You ignore it and turn back to your task. Breakfast. It’s the same thing every day. You do his eggs, sunny side up, toasted Wonder bread, and six strips of bacon. The smell soon has your mouth watering. The chair scrapes the floor loudly as he drops into it heavily. 

He slurps loudly behind you as you put together his plate. You set it before him and he wiggles the empty mug at you. You take it and pour him another from the carafe. 

A car door snaps shut. You wince. You didn’t hear an engine, but you’d been too swept up in cooking. You give your dad his refill and go to check the front window. 

“Is it that mailman already?” He hollers. 

You shake your head, even knowing that he won’t see.  

“Don’t know why I fucking ask,” he snarls. 

You watch Sy jump out of his truck. While the axle is high, it isn’t very treacherous for a man his size. He kicks up gravel as he steps around the door and shuts it. You back away as he heads towards the house. 

He clomps up the steps, thump, thump, thump, and you jitter as he approaches the other side of the door. You wait until he knocks before you answer it. You peek out through a single inch of space. He grins. You don’t think he’s ever smiled at you. You assumed he never did at all. 

“How’s the old man?” He asks. 

You blink and let the door open a bit more and give thumbs up. As good as he’ll ever be.  

“That’s good,” he drawls. “So...” 

His eyes drift down, just a little. You squirm. Your shirt feels thinner as you stand there. Your nipple poke into the fabric and you hug yourself awkwardly. You remember you asked your father for a bra once. He laughed and you never brought it up again. You try to stick to loose clothing. 

You point over your shoulder then make a gesture as if you’re holding a fork and scooping. 

“Having breakfast, that’s nice.” 

You don’t have enough for him. You’ll wait until your dad’s at work before you sit and have your single slice of toast and peanut butter. 

“I already ate, in case ya worried,” he assures. “Was just comin’ to make sure I didn’t give him too much sauce.” 

He laughs. His booming humour makes your flinch. Your brows pop up and he quiets. 

“Sorry, I know, I’m a loud one, huh?” He snorts, “I don’t mean ta scare ya.” 

“I told ya, she don’t say shit,” your father growls into a yawn. You step back and the door opens all the way as you press yourself to the wall. He saunters forward in his boxers and tank top. “No point goin’ on like that when she probably don’t even understand.” 

“She understands me,” Sy avows confidently. “After a night with your drunk ass, it’s a breath of fresh air to have someone not yammer on.” 

“You’re the one brought me the piss,” your father retorts. 

“And you didn’t complain when I did,” he counters. “Wanted to see if ya were going to make it in today. Just in case I gotta finish up Dubeau’s clunker.” 

“I’ll be there,” your father sneers. “Why don’t you go and get it all warmed up for me?” 

“You’re a prick, Don,” Sy huffs. 

“What? No, you can’t see it,” your father covers his crotch and you blanch, looking away embarrassed. 

“Don,” Sy rebukes, “there’s a lady.” 

“It’s my daughter, dammit. She’s too stupid to get it,” he spits. “Hey, you, go on, kitchen’s a mess.” 

You nod and avoid looking at the other man out of embarrassment. Your father is crass, sometimes even at your expense. And he knows you can understand him. He must. You do everything he tells you too. 

“Well, then, I’ll see ya round,” Sy calls, though you only realise he’s talking to you as your dad changes the subject to some tail pipe. 

You stop and peek back. Sy watches you over your dad’s head. You give a wave, just a tilt of your hand, then continue into the kitchen. 

You can’t help but be thankful for the interruption. Sy’s boisterous intrusion offered a buffer between you and your dad’s hangover. You wash his plate, cutlery, and mug, before you move onto the pots and pans you used to cook. 

You can hear your dad barking outside at Sy. The other man responds with a deep rumble. Are they arguing? 

The front door swings open, “hey, girl,” you dad whistles, “more coffee. Bring some for this lump.” 

You take the order in stride. You don’t have enough for two cups, maybe half of one. You start a new pot and wait. When it’s finished, you dry your dad’s mug and pull out another. You carry both to the front door and elbow through. 

You hand one to each man as they stand by the porch railing. Your dad takes his gruffly, spilling some on your fingers, but Sy thanks you. 

“You didn’t even ask if he wanted sugar or cream,” your dad chides. You give him a startled look. He snorts. “How’d ya do that, huh? Maybe blink your eyes real big.” 

You frown at his mocking. Sy exhales and you back away. Now you have two men annoyed with you. You glance over at the bigger of the pair as he stares at you. You should’ve thought of you. Coffee is bitter, it’s why you don’t drink it. 

You point to his cup and he shakes his head, “coffee’s fine,” he insists, “I’ll have something sweet later.” You nod and retreat. You turn your back to them and step inside. Before you close the door, you hear Sy, “you know I take my coffee black, Don. No needa to give the girl a hard time.” 

You shut it before you can catch whatever snide remark your father tosses back. You know he won’t take kindly to being told what to do, especially if it’s to do with you. Or because of you. You’ll hear it all later, you’re sure. 

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION #385032: Shape-shifting genitals, mouth-mashing skillsets, who taps out first in the bedroom and the 17 different types of meat this guy eats.

I TRIED TO MAKE THIS A BIG ONE. Thank you everybody for your patience!

The truth of the matter is that I need one dramatic light-source or I will perish. HOWEVER...

Yeah, they seem the type to leave it purposefully ajar for the thrill of it. As well as the excuse to bring hell down upon anyone caught trying to steal a peek.

YES, actually! I've had the concept for a comic or two that's precisely about interactions they've had while younger. Comics take a lot of work, and there's a LOT of things I want to do, but that is definitely in the plans.

Yes! Or rather, as a shapeshifter, I believe she doesn't bother with them 99% of the time, possibly never, even though she has the habitability to form them if she so wished. The Orin DU drow knew was always doll-like in appearance when nude, and he did not particularly mind it or fantasized about anything different.

I believe this is both a preference in Orin's part (and across many shapeshifters, if I recall correctly) as well as a strategic choice.

And thank you so much!

[MORE BELOW THE CUT]

I don't know, kissing isn't that hard LOL I think they're pretty even-leveled in technique but Astarion is the tonguier one.

ALL IN DUE TIME, MY FRIEND, ALL IN DUE TIME...

Maybe 😊 🤫though I'm not sure how useful his powers would be in that context.

That said, Indeed! The irony of this match isn't lost on anyone. I'm sure Astarion would have some thoughts about the convenience of it.

I know this is more of a jokey message, but I don't think Astarion would be cool with that sort of thing, and DU drow most definitely wouldn't ask 😂

Whatever works, as he would probably say!

Astarion got drunk through DU drow on occasion while he still fed on him, yes LOL I don't care if that makes sense or not, It's a hysterical concept and definitely factual in my canon. To be fair as well, DU drow is a huge man and has to drink a LOT to get properly wasted - so Astarion wouldn't have to consume a whole lot from him to get on a similar level!

Post a few particular post-campaign events, Astarion gets drunk through strangers' blood that were either piss-drunk already or have been fed alcohol forcibly by the pair.

He likes thick stews, braised pork, and meat-pies the most. Don't ask me when or why I've decided this but he likes octupi as a every-once-in-a-while treat - I think he mostly enjoys the experience of eating it more than the taste.

For drinks, he likes beer, red semi-dry wine, and mead the most. He also likes a GOOD whisky - none of the copper-coin garbage they serve at most Inns.

Hi! Incredible question. DU drow can go indefinitely but when he stops he knocks out in record speed. There usually comes a point where Astarion flops over and lets him do all the work.

You know how, shortly after you find out about it, if you tell Astarion that you're frightened of your origins you get that really heartfelt bit of dialogue about how yourself and him are so much alike, and how he feels similarly powerless before Cazador as you do toward your father? Well, I never got that, because DU drow was too busy squinting into the horizon and contemplating the logistics of his conception which prompts Astarion to, essentially, say something along the lines of "Okay, if all you want to do is discuss your dad's cum I'm out"

So, like that.

They didn't smash in the graveyard! I'm hoping to either write a short thing about it, draw something inspired by how the scene went down in my head, or, ideally, both!

That IS kind of a wild comparison but I'm guessing you know about my origins, LOL.

Not... Quite. I'm reluctant to say more because I would like for it to be a surprise that I bring you all through art (even if you can make a pretty accurate deduction based on what has been said so far) but suffice to say that this is the flipside to the Bhaalist DU drow AU.

I don't think I could find the time 😭😭😭 but that's a hysterical idea and I would gladly mash together a bunch of clips if someone else was willing to highlight them!

Hello and thank YOU for humoring me in my nerdy little forays!

I hadn't heard about Model/Actriz but I had a little sneak-peek and, indeed, this might just be right up my alley LOL

It's hard for me to remove these characters from their intended universe so I have a difficult time picturing what they would listen to if the options didn't all sound like string-y bardcore music. I'm sure there are more genres to speak of in DnD lore, I'm just ignorant of them!

That said I do have some thoughts about which of them even enjoy music at all.

REALLY enjoys music: DU drow, Jaheira, Misc, Karlach, Wyll.

Modestly enjoys music: Gale, Shadowheart, Minthara, Halsin.

Generally doesn't enjoy music: Astarion, Lae'zel.

No notes just canonical character information being shared

I forgot what this one was in reference to for a moment and I was so aghast.

I really, really hope you weren't hoping for me to give you work-out advice because both, if you were, you've come to the wrong man.

But if you're just wondering about lore here, I think it's a solid 50/50. I think he's predisposed to a really well-built physique because Daddy Bhaal said so AND he's incredibly active and incidentally does a lot of manual labor. If he's had a few too many sedentary days in a row (which is rare) he pretty much has to tire himself through at-home routines or he goes a little cuckoo-bananas as well.

And thank you for being interested in my little freak!

He's pretty thoroughly desensitized, and thinks far too little of Orcs and half-orcs to be intimidated by them, even when that lack of fear is downright stupid. He's not impervious to fear, however, despite how hard he tries to be - Myrkhul, Grym, the giant Steelwatch, the brain, and even Cazador AFTER he snatched Astarion away were all encounters that made his blood run cold to varying degrees. I think it takes an unfamiliar foe for his sweat to run a little cold.

(Ironically, Raphael had no such effect on him.)

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Taash (and also the Lords of Fortune, the Qunari, Dragons and other related things) gathered from the banters

Featuring Shathaan's stories about the Crows!

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Taash

General: 

Taash gets grumpy if they stay inside for too long

Taash may polish their treasure hoard or clean the dishes (even somebody else's) to get out of their head

When Taash is feeling sad, they ask somebody else about how they are doing, so they can focus on somebody else instead of themselves

Taash doesn’t like talking about their feelings because it makes them sad (Lucanis can relate)

Taash doesn't read books before bed because they have a tendency to stay up past their bedtime to finish the exciting parts

Taash seems to care quite a lot about fibre and digestive health (they are so real for that). For example, they enjoy the smell of coffee but don’t drink it because it’s bad for their guts

Taash drinks alcohol 

Taash once requested Bellara/Lucanis to cook them a demon (the suggestion was disregarded) 

Taash liked Lucanis’s deep-fried peppers 

Taash liked Bellara’s stir-fry 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) A spirit of devotion appears next to Taash after they enter a relationship

Taash doesn’t want to look for more dragonfire tablets because “they are just more orders”, and they already have enough  

Taash doesn’t kill in cold blood and needs to get angry in order to kill someone

Taash has good taste in gemstones, knowing which colours match which (based on the banters where they recommend gemstones for Emmrich’s lich helmet). They say it’s a Lord of Fortune thing, they have to know how to make gems look good 

Taash isn’t afraid of the Fade, because the spirits there mind their own business and don’t try to possess anyone (or anything) 

Taash thinks that even if the Nevarrans almost brought their dragons to extinction, they will still come back eventually

Taash is extremely excited to hear that Morrigan can (potentially) turn into a dragon and wants to ask her about it next time they meet 

Taash doesn’t mind finding no loot when hunting dragons because as long as you survived an encounter with a dragon, you have a new story to tell 

Taash doesn't think of dragons as monsters since they are a natural part of the world and have been around longer than anyone else

On fire-breathing: 

Taash started breathing fire when they were a toddler

Taash needs to eat greens after breathing fire, or they get headaches 

According to healers, fire breathing hurts Taash’s lungs

Taash accidentally set their first female partner’s hair on fire during their first sex

Taash once tried to cook with their dragon breath and accidentally melted a pot and set the kitchen on fire 

On Taash’s sense of smell:  

Taash got their heightened sense of smell after they got sick and couldn't breathe through the nose for a couple of months. After they recovered they could suddenly smell everything

Tassh can smell when someone is ovulating. They can also smell who had been in the room before them, and who is hungover 

Taash could also tell Neve got together with Rook or Lucanis from the smell even before anybody told them

To Taash, Minrathous smells rainy and ‘like rich people hurting poor people’

Early life and the relationship with Shathann: 

Taash learnt to swim before they learnt to walk

Shathann sometimes wouldn't let Taash play/go swimming until they finished their studies (like being able to tell the difference between some pottery shards)

Shathann gifted Taash axes during one of the gift-giving holidays when they were younger. They were simple kindling choppers, but Shathann helped decorate them to make them look like Qunari weapons. During a conversation with Bellara, Taash realises that may be the reason they are still using axes to this day

Axes are also good at lodging between dragon scales and allows them to climb up

Taash grew up poor, though they didn’t realise it because Shathann always made sure they had enough food, even at her expense (like pretending she didn’t want to eat because “Rivaini food is too rich for her”)

Taash spent the money they made from their first job as Lord of Fortune on buying Shathaan a dress. Shathann didn’t appreciate it, instead urging Taash to buy themselves boots or some other useful things 

Shathann hated apples because their skin would get stuck in her teeth (“Evataash, that fruit is stupid!”)

If Taash chooses to pursue Rivaini culture and wear Shathann’s horn as jewellery, they have a blacksmith do runes in the old Qunari language along the edges and get a Seer to bless it

Shathann stopped telling stories about the Crows after Taash once climbed on the roof to play as a Crow

The things Shathann taught Taash about the Crows:

Antivan Crows make themselves invisible to dragons by imitating the dragon's shadow

Antivan Crows coat the beaks of actual crows with poison so that the crows can kill people by pecking

Antivan Crows can slow down their breathing until they become invisible

Antivan Crows come through houses at night and kill children who aren’t in bed

Antivan Crows can do a special move that stops their enemy's heart

Antivan Crows can strangle a Qunari with their own dar-saam (but only if it’s tied incorrectly)

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara gives Taash advice on cooking dinner for their mother

Davrin teaches Taash to use buckets filled with water and sand for lifting

Taash has never flown a kite before and asks Harding to teach them

Harding's mother sends Taash a letter with homemade candies after Shathann’s death, calling it “a hug from afar” (Taash appreciated the gesture and liked the candy) 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) Taash asks Lucanis about what Rook likes to eat, and Lucanis offers to teach them how to make coffee/tea/chiocolata calda 

Taash isn’t scared of Spite, and even convinces (or more like intimidates) him not to talk about how other people smell without their permission

Lucanis agrees to teach Taash how to kill targets with flair (with varying degrees of success when it comes to cool one-liners) and then plans to ask Teia to make a Crow cape just for them (Taash is very excited about it, as they love crow capes)

Taash insists Neve should get some trophy from Aelia (a ring, or an amulet with her name) to show everyone she beat her, and doesn’t understand why Neve isn’t interested in something like that 

Taash offers their blood to Neve for blood magic purposes (Neve doesn’t take up the offer)

Taash thinks Neve’s ‘dresses’ are pretty

Taash thinks nobody can go toe-to-toe in magic with Neve

Taash offers to hook Neve up with their jeweller to get her a discount (in case she wants a new leg) because “Neve deserves nice things”

Lords of Fortune:

Lords of Fortune have a drunk game where they throw a goblet made from fool’s gold into the water for others to find. Whoever finds it gets free drinks for the rest of the night. The game has only one rule: no punching in the junk

There is also another drunk game where drunk Lords jump off a giant cliff. The only rule is not to hit the water face-first

Even if those are “drunk games”, you can participate in them sober, as long as you are willing to be as stupid as the drunk people

The Lords of Fortune pick new jobs by Isabela throwing daggers at a map or racing nugs (the winner picks the job - could be its owner, or the nug itself)

The lords used to blindfold Mateo (the faction merchant) and spin him around in circles until he tripped on something like a map. They stopped doing that because a Seer told them to quit (the whole thing gave Mateo headaches) 

After Shathann is gone, Taash is in charge of appraising Qunari artifacts for the Lords until they find a better expert

The Lords of Fortune work with a Dalish clan keeper Shivanas (Taash calls them ‘Shiv’) who appraises artefacts for them (tells them what’s okay to sell and not to sell etc.) 

After losing his hand, a Lord named Bernst got a lock-pick hand prosthetic decorated with gems

About Dragons:

Different breeds of dragons can mate and produce offspring. That’s how ice- and lightning-breathing dragons came about

The muscles of dragon wings’ are vulnerable behind. Another weakness is the underbelly

Fighting Dragons is all about making them come to you, either by having them see you as a threat (so they come down to assert dominance) or prey (so they come down to eat you) 

There is a dragon called Wildervale Spitter, which can breathe fire or poison gas. The “fire breath” is actually just poison that burns when the dragon breathes. Most dragons always ignite their breath. The Spitter's special for being able to choose whether to light it up.

Dragons have an extra eyelid that they shut while breathing fire in order to protect their eyes

About Qunari etc.:

Eb-ketarra means something like “growing memories.” When you graft someone’s horn onto yours, you also add their strength to yourself

Qunari food uses a lot of oil for frying

Qunari have a much better sense of smell than humans

Qunari can bury their dead with large jars inlaid with a flame pattern. It’s called ‘issalatar’ and is empty inside, representing that the deceased’s body is also empty now that their spirit is gone

The Rivaini armada can hold its own against the Antaam fleet, but only in good weather. They can’t match the Antaam in firepower, but they can outsail them

Isabela is apparently still a captain of the Siren’s Call 

[keepmycandleburning]

It's always frustrating to me when I see people's misunderstandings about the degree to which a writer's words and writing choices are intentional. There are many types of writing and some people may be writing for fun or whatever, but in a story that is complex and carefully put together, the writer's choices are not coincidences or things that just so happen to be that way, they are carefully and precisely made choices that are designed that way to communicate something to the reader.

Surprisingly often I will see people write these complex and meaningful HP analyses, and then end their post with 'but I'm sure Rowling didn't mean any of that, or even think about it, she just wrote it this way because she's stupid.' All of that was somehow magically in the text for you to find and analyze, and she didn't even mean to write it? EVERY word of these books was typed by a human hand and reread with human eyes.

Think of how for example people will say foolish things like 'Did JKR just forget that Bellatrix was married?' Bellatrix being married is a HUGE part of who she is, who Voldemort is, how the DEs function, how the traditional pureblood families and marriages and culture function... You're missing SO MUCH of the meaning in the text by denying the writer's intentionality.

Same with things like mistaking her world-building for being statements of her real-world beliefs. 'Here's an in-depth analysis of what the text implies about gender and sexism in pureblood culture... but JKR probably just wrote all this because she's sexist, and I magically put meaning into it that makes perfect sense' ??? The idea that a writer will only write sexism into their fictional world because they're communicating that they think sexism is good is insanity. Characters don't do things solely because their writer thinks that is proper behavior. Characters' behaviors or words, or elements of the fictional world the story exists in, are not straight-forward statements of what the writer thinks is good or ideal, and in fact are often the opposite. If you can't analyze things with such complexity, that's a problem with your reading comprehension, not with the text.

Or, when people will treat the text too much like it's a real life event that happened, rather than something that was carefully put together by hand to mean something. I love analyzing characters and the HP world like they're real, but when you find yourself denying meaning by using logic like 'well it probably just happened that way for no deeper reason' you're just misunderstanding what fiction is.

For example attempting to disprove the numerous hints at the Bellatrix/Voldemort relationship by saying things like 'but other people call her Bella so it could have meant anything' or 'there are other types of pleasure than sexual so it could have meant anything.' But why would Rowling choose that word? And put it right next to Bellatrix longing for his physical closeness? And why would she set up this exchange at all? Why 'lover'? Why 'lover' placed so directly with physical closeness and care? Why 'lover' and 'pleasure' and 'longing' and 'closeness' in the same book? Why have Harry point out that she's acting in an intimate way that invokes being lovers? Why do other characters later use 'Bella,' if not to communicate that it's used by people she considers/ed family?

When everything that 'could mean anything' all lead to the same answer, why is that? Why are you assuming Rowling's implications are for some reason unintentional? Unintentional over and over and over again? If many readers are catching it, why are you assuming she's not smart enough to catch it herself? The only person not catching it here is you. Word choices or words with clear connotations are not random or accidents or coincidences, particularly when several of them occur in quick succession or when it's associated repeatedly with the same two characters. Nor are characterizations or patterns in the text. If you read that way, that's a misunderstanding on your end (not with the author, not with other readers) so don't complain when you can't understand the text. 'I'm going to act like the person who wrote this is stupid, and therefore ignore everything that the text is saying, and then say the text sucks' is YOU being an idiot. Notice how other people don't have this issue when they analyze actual meaning and intentionality in the text

[susiekern]

14. the one with the rain

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 747

lyrics from: Rain - Sleep Token (please let's just pretend I haven't used it before already...)

masterlist

previous | next

You’re splayed on your bed, keeping your eyes on the clock, watching the minutes pass. 11:59 pm, 11.12.24. One more minute. You still have no idea what happens at midnight. Zenin stayed true to his words, and besides the one ominous text, he didn’t reveal anything. What will happen in one minute? Is it the tour announcement? Is it new merch that fans have asked for for so long? A new song? Whatever it was, the mystery around it made you excited as ever. Not only you, Twitter was buzzing under the Fallen hashtag, with many fans waiting for anything, just like you were now.

12:00 am.

Your phone lights up with a single notification from Spotify.

“New release: The Fallen invites you to the room below in their new album! Save it now!”

New album? Whole album? With shaky hands, you grab your phone and tap on the notification. There it is. “The Room Below” by The Fallen, 10 songs. You put your headphones on faster than ever and instantly click the play button.

Around 25 minutes in, you’re more than half done. You recognize a few of the songs, two of them previously released as stand-alone, and one is the song they played in Kyoto, the one Zenin told you he wanted you to hear live first. You rest your head on your pillow comfortably, hearing the first notes of another one. Rain.

‘For so long, I have waited

So long that I almost became

Just a stoic statue, fit for a nobody’

You don’t even notice as your fingers tap the sheets to the melody. A melody that seems familiar in a way.

‘And I don't wanna get in your way

But I finally think I can say

That the vicious cycle was over

The moment you smiled at me’

Zenin’s voice floods your brain, words making your heart beat faster. You could imagine his figure standing tall on the stage, holding the microphone tightly, eyes closing behind the black and gold mask.

‘And just like the rain

You cast the dust into nothing

And wash out the salt from my hands’

Just like the rain… You abruptly open your eyes, head spinning. You’ve heard something like this before. You’re sure of it. But when and where? Who said that? How do you know this melody? They haven’t played it before, of that you’re certain. So how?

‘So touch me again

I feel my shadow dissolving

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?’

Just as the melody gets heavier, it hits you. You’ve heard it many times already. Your eyes instinctively move toward the wall separating your room and Megumi’s. He played it two weeks ago, last week, hell, even two days ago, when you were napping in his bed as he was strumming his guitar. It was obviously a little different played on acoustic guitar in his room than the electric one in the song, but it’s the same melody.

‘And just like the rain

You cast the dust into nothing

And wash out the salt from my hands’

The memory of your evening in Kyoto hits you out of nowhere, and you swear you’re out of breath for a second.

‘Once in a while, Megumi gives you a soft kiss on the lips or the top of your head, whispering gentle words. Barely awake at this point, you catch a few that make your heart clench.

“You’re like a rain that washes my heart of the dust and salt, dear.”’

“Just like the rain…” You whisper.

No. There’s no way, right? He wouldn’t do that to you. But it also makes so much sense at the same time. Why he was supposedly out of town when the Fallen played in Tokyo, why he was in Kyoto that weekend, even being out with his friends after the announcement was posted. Why you’ve never even heard Megumi hum when he played specific songs. Or how Zenin found your stream out of all people.

Was Megumi the Zenin all this time?

‘Nobody can say for certain

If maybe it's all just a game’

Was it all just a game? Your relationship? Or whatever you two were building for the past weeks? Every time he held you close, kissed you, comforted you? Was it entertainment for him to listen to you talking about the Fallen and Zenin?

‘When I open my eyes to the future

I can hear you say my name

So rain down on me’

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[malk1ns]

december 31 @ red wings, 4-2 loss

boy did we ever get fucked over by the refs in this one. at least we had this, right? damn 😳🥵

It’s a common misconception that werewolves are at their most feral, their most savage, during full moons. Sid can’t blame people for thinking that; every piece of media and pop culture that he’s ever seen with wolves has them changing forms and slinking through the forests under the glare of a full moon.

It doesn’t make sense, is the thing. For a species that needs to bite to propagate, why would they be most compelled by instinct when they’re easier to see?

Werewolves do have to change under the full moon, that much is true. But in Sid’s experience, a full-moon wolf is more like a cat who OD’d on catnip than anything else—playful, cuddly, prone to falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

It’s the new moon you have to watch out for. When the sky is at its darkest, the distant stars not nearly enough to light a path, the wolves that slink through the night retain barely a shred of their humanity.

The Penguins, like every sports team with a wolf on the roster, keep meticulous track of the lunar calendar. They only stay in hotels that have windowless wolf-rooms that lock from the outside. Unlike other teams they’ve never had an incident, and while the prep-work to safely handle a wolf is a lot of effort, it’s only one night a month that Geno loses his mind and needs to be locked away. It’s worth it, for what he brings to the team. Always has been.

Geno’s only truly dangerous once a month. That doesn’t mean the pull of the new moon has no impact outside of that one night, though.

He’d skipped morning skate the day of the New Year’s Eve game, dragging himself into Sid’s hotel room in Detroit at some ungodly hour and curling up on the mattress with a sigh. The new moons are hard on him even when he’s at home in the familiar confines of his own wolf-room; on the road, in a hotel that smells like antiseptic and strangers and doesn’t have any of his stuff to calm him down, he always emerges with dark circles under his eyes and split, swollen knuckles.

Sid only half-wakes when Geno shifts so they’re pressed together, just enough to stroke his palm over Geno’s shoulder and register as his breaths settle into sleep before drifting off again himself. This is the calm part—when they wake up for breakfast and video, he’ll have a fight on his hands.

Geno hauls himself out of bed at Sid’s alarm on his own, but when Sid digs through his bag and comes up with Geno’s collar, Geno narrows his eyes.

It’s a requirement for wolves. The collars are eye-wateringly expensive, crafted with care and spelled over by the most skilled warlocks around—they’re mandated for all wolf athletes, preventing them from transforming any part of themselves during game play and injuring someone in the name of getting an advantage. They’re brimming with power, and dangerous to wear beyond the couple of hours a professional sports game lasts.

Geno hates his. That much powerful magic wrapped up in one small object makes it uncomfortable; itchy, as he describes it. He’s shredded through more than one, only half-buckling them before practice and wolfing out during drills to render them unwearable. This one has lasted a couple of seasons now, but only because the team threatened to deduct the cost of new ones from his paychecks.

Sid buckles him into his collars now anyway, just to be safe. The fact that Geno trusts him with the vulnerable skin of his neck as Sid slides the leather on and snaps it closed, testing it to ensure Geno can breathe but it won’t come off, is something Sid will never take for granted. Not every wolf’s partner is allowed to humble them in this way.

The collar keeps Geno from transforming. It does nothing about his post-new moon temper.

The second they hit the ice, Sid knows it’s going to be one of those games. He trails Geno during warmups, steering him away from the Red Wings’ side after Geno almost gets into a fight with Tarasenko at center ice, and he hovers in the tunnel until Geno takes his shot on the opposite net and clomps off the ice.

He bares his teeth at Sid as he makes his way to the locker room. Sid frowns.

The game is a shitshow. The team is still getting back into form after the Christmas break, and the Red Wings play them physical, always do. Sid spares a thought for Yzerman, up somewhere in the management box watching his team push Sid’s around.

It’s not the game that’s preoccupying Sid, though.

Geno’s playing hard tonight, skating into guys and bullying his way onto the puck. He’s reckless with his stick, but manages to avoid any major incident until late in the second, when there’s a scrum around the net and he gets cross-checked into a post.

Sid holds his breath until Geno gets up on his own, but the expression on Geno’s face chases away any relief he might have been feeling.

Geno’s practically spitting with rage. His hand keeps flying up to his neck, but his gloves are keeping him from pulling at the collar or scratching himself.

He has to be dragged off the ice for intermission, hauled bodily down the tunnel as he screams invective at the referees who didn’t so much as acknowledge the clear penalty right in front of them.

He paces behind Sid in the room, subvocal growls setting everyone on edge as Sid tries to calm the guys down and get them set for the third.

When he’s done talking, Sid steers Geno out into the hallway, bodying him up against the wall and holding him in place. “You need to calm down,” he orders, grabbing Geno’s chin to force eye contact. “Yes, it was a penalty, yes, you got fucked over. You’re okay. You have to let it go.”

Geno whines, an eerie inhuman sound that echoes in the empty hallway, and claws at his throat. “Please,” he begs, squirming against Sid’s hold and tipping his head to one side. “Take it off, please, it hurts.”

“I can’t, baby,” Sid says, gentling his voice and letting Geno free to pull his hands down. “Just one more period, okay? And then I’ll take you back to the hotel and take care of you. Can you make it for me?” He cups Geno’s hands in his. “You can do it, right?”

Geno bites his lip hard enough to break skin, but he nods, and Sid steps back, hurrying to flag down a trainer and get some ointment for Geno’s neck.

They lose. Sid hardly cares, getting off the ice as fast as possible and rushing through his shower, throwing Geno’s stuff into his bag and handing it off to the equipment staff. Geno got pulled off to the trainers’ rooms on his way off the ice, so Sid sits in his stall and waits, one leg jittering.

They take the first bus home. Nobody gives them grief for it, even though it’ll be a light practice tomorrow and some of the guys are talking about going out. Sid boxes Geno into the window seat and doesn’t take his hands off him until they’re safely in their hotel room, door locked behind them to keep them safely contained for the night.

“Sid,” Geno says, voice truly desperate, and Sid wills his hands not to shake as he circles to stand behind Geno and unbuckle the collar.

Geno’s skin is raw-red under it, and the collar sparks in Sid’s hands as he drops it into its case. They’re supposed to clean it off, rub it down with a special oil after every use, but Sid doesn’t give a fuck right now—Tags can fix it tomorrow if there’s an issue.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sid croons, pulling Geno into his arms. Geno clings to him, small in Sid’s arms even with the height difference, hiding his face in the crook of Sid’s neck as he trembles. “You did so good, baby, I’m proud of you. You played so hard, and that wasn’t even a real penalty they called you for. You did great.”

“Lost,” Geno says, words muffled into Sid’s skin. His mouth is damp on Sid’s neck, with just a hint of too-long teeth. Sid shivers. “Sorry, can’t score.”

“Hush,” Sid soothes. “You’ll get it back. You look great out there.”

Geno doesn’t say anything, just tightens his arms around Sid’s waist. Sid walks him backwards towards the bed, getting them both on the mattress and covering Geno’s body with his, dropping his full weight down to hold Geno in place.

Geno squirms, but he’s not trying to get away—Sid can feel him getting hard between them, a side effect of adrenaline and the relief of the collar being removed and last night’s new moon, when Geno had been driven to fuck someone, to knot, and been denied.

“You wanna?” Sid offers, and when Geno snarls and flips them over, he goes lax.

Geno won’t be the only one with scratch marks tomorrow.

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 23 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

TW for this chapters : Violence, blood, vomit. Be careful to what you read not to put yourself in a bad mood. Take care of yourself. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

I hope you'll enjoyed the chapters ! Don't hesitate to tell me what you think about it, please ! Also, I am apologizing again for the late. 

I have exams coming so I think I will not be able to post more than once a week but I will try my best ! The next chapter or chapters will be out on Friday, January 10 ! 

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Love you all ! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Chapter 23

After what seemed like long minutes, Luxiana was finally regaining sensation and control over her senses. "That was incredible," she managed to articulate in a tired voice even inside her skull.

The smiles of the three Illyrians reappeared as they cast tender glances at her. "I want to do it again," she added suddenly with a cute pout. The dark-haired Illyrians lost their smile. Azriel grunted through clenched teeth. He thought she was perfect. Cassian looked up at the ceilling, trying to keep his excitement from exploding. But Rhysand didn't even try to stop what he felt, way too much aroused by what just happened with their mate. He got to his feet, dragging Luxiana with him.

He wanted to wear her, but he couldn't. Not here, not in front of these Fae. If they suspected that he liked Luxiana, they might come after her, and she was only a fragile human. He didn't want to take that risk. He placed her gently on her feet. "Can you walk?" he asked her worriedly.

Luxiana nodded with a gentle smile.

"Great," added Cassian with a seductive air but rapid breathing, "because we're going to have to run to a room so we can make you something a little more... better."

Azriel grabbed Luxiana by the hand to pull her towards the door, and Rhysand and Cassian followed. "We have to leave," Rhys simply justified to the Fae present and to Mor's father.

Keir, feeling unrespected, wasted no time in replying with a grimace of disgust aimed at Rhys. "I didn't expect anything else anyway, you seemed to have a pronounced taste for fucking instead of taking care of your court like the whore you are."

The four of them froze a few steps in front of Mor's father.

Azriel and Cassian were boiling with anger. How dare that filthy rat talk about their brother like that after he had sacrificed himself to save his court. Cassian took a threatening step towards Keir, ready to fight, but Rhysand raised his hand to stop him.

The high lord, though electrocuted t by a mixture of anger, guilt and bad memories tried to keep a cool head. "Let's calm down, it's nothing. It doesn't matter, we mustn't let them understand that it does," he thought to calm them.

Cassian didn't move any further, although he was dying to. Rhysand gave Keir a dark look of warning. "That's because this court isn't worth it. But don't forget who you're talking to Keir, next time you open your mouth without permission, I'll shut it."

Keir gritted his teeth but nodded in resignation before lowering his head.

Rhysand moved to get around him, but Luxiana grabbed him by the arm to stop him. Rhysand turned to face her. Her eyes were wide and her brows furrowed, but a burning rage smoked inside her pupils with such violence that the three Illyrians recoiled at the sight. "Aren't you going to do anything? Are you going to let him talk to you like that?" she asked, almost shouting into Rhys's head.

Rhysant was at first pleased for a second that she felt such anger for him before pulling himself together and replying. "It doesn't matter."

Luxiana released him, dropping her arm limply to her side and lifting her chin. "It does to me." Rhysand widened his eyes but had no time to say anything as Luxiana added, "I guess I'll have to do something myself then."

Without anyone being able to do anything about it, and with lightning speed, Luxiana grabbed Truth Teller out of his scabbard on Azriel's thigh. Then, in the blink of an eye, she stood in front of Keir to thrust her hand into his mouth, grab his tongue, pull it out and slice it at the base with a sharp, precise stab.

Mor's father - who had barely had time to take a step backwards and raise his hands to stop Luxiana - widened his eyes, screaming his head off in pain as he fell to his knees on the floor.

The three Illyrians hiccupped in surprise as they reflexively took a step forward towards Luxiana to protect her, but stopped mid-stride, opening their mouths and eyes wide. They were paralyzed with shock as their pupils focused on their mate, who held Keir's tongue at the top of her fingertips.

A general exclamation of surprise went up in the assembly of Fae, most of whom were clapping their hands over their mouths in fright.

What Luxiana thought was Mor's mother ran closer, shouting Keir's name. Luxiana raised the knife towards her, giving her a cold, creepy look that immobilized the fae from head to toe. "Come any closer and I'll cut your tongue out next."

Mor's mother cast a horrified glance at Rhysand. "Are you going to let her do this?

Rhysand didn't even calculate her, far too surprised by his soulmate's cold, psychopathic expression. He'd never seen her like this and he hadn't even considered for a second that she could do this. Their sweet Luxiana. He blinked several times to compose himself, but the blonde moved.

She tilted her head with a smile, making her look even crazier. "Who do you think gave me the order to do this? I'm only the executor of your lord's orders. So the next time, chew your words before you disrespect Rhysand." Another hiccup of surprise echoed through the room.

The three Illyrians, if that was possible, widened their eyes even more. She'd just said Rhys was controlling her. She was doing all this to save his honor. They couldn't believe it. They couldn't even think straight.

Luxiana laughed wildly. "By the way," she leaned forward towards Keir to run her index and middle fingers under his chin in an attempt to raise his head. The fae glared darkly at her first, then became white as he saw the cold pupils filled with power of the blonde. "You didn't chew your words enough before you spoke..." She brought the tip of Keir's tongue up to his nose. "You must fix that, right ?" She let go of his chin to stand up and vulgarly throw her tongue tip in front of him. "Chew!" she ordered curtly.

"What?" shouted Mor's mother as she took a step forward, but an umpteenth cold look from Luxiana dissuaded her from continuing.

Luxiana returned her eyes to Keir to look at him. "I said chew you fucking tongue and don't make me repeat myself."

A gleam of rage exploded in the fae's eyes. He deployed his power to shatter that pitiful human's neck, but he couldn't do it. His power wasn't working. His power was completely stuck, as if completely asleep. He glanced at his lord. Had he blocked his powers? Yet Rhysand didn't even look at him, just stared at the blonde strangely. Keir wanted to destroy this human. He jumped to his feet, screaming strangely, to throw himself, hand first, at her and snap her neck with his own fingers.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel managed to take their eyes off their mate to put them on Keir and when they saw him rise to his feet and lunge at Luxiana, they gasped. The three of them were about to intervene, but before they'd even had time to move a muscle, their Luxiana grabbed one of Keir's wrists, went underneath and went behind him. She gave a swift, sharp kick to his bent knee, forcing him to fall to the ground. Using her grip on his wrist, she pulled him backwards, catched him by the shoulder to deliver a shin kick to his arm, which snapped in two with a horrible sound. Two pieces of bone ended up going out from the skin of the fae's arm, which had taken on an odd angle.

The three Illyrians recoiled in disbelief. What she had just done was a professional fighting technique.

Keir screamed, but Luxiana wasn't done yet -without letting go of his wrist- she grabbed the piece of tongue on the floor and swung it into the mouth of the fae, who cried out in pain with his eyes closed.

Feeling his own tongue in his mouth, the fae widened his eyes and wanted to spit it out, but Luxiana pressed her palm against his jaw to close it savagely and snap his teeth. She locked his lips with her hand while keeping his jaws closed with her index finger and thumb under his chin.

When Keir tried to move and struggle, Luxiana's grip on his wrist twisted his arm a little more, awakening the pain of his broken bone. "Keep moving and I'll break the other arm."

The fae stood still, trembling with fear. Luxiana smiled creepily. "Good, now, chew!" Her voice was cold and filled with disgust and hatred.

The three Illyrians didn't recognize her. 

Azriel was so shocked that he didn't know what to do or how to react. Had she really just done that? Was she really doing this?

Rhysand’s heart was pounding hardly in his chest. The way she talks coldly. The way she seemed so powerful and confident. She was incredibly hot.

Cassian took a step to the side to get a better look at his soulmate's face -on which Keir's red cell had splattered- and his blood migrated back to his penis. She was incredibly sexy. Her gaze was cold, sure, authoritative. She looked strong and powerful. Cassian's eyes lit up and his heart began to beat with admiration in his chest. No, not admiration, love.

Keir pleaded with his eyes, shaking his head in the negative. This answer did not please Luxiana who straightened up and suddenly kicked his forearm with her foot, breaking the bone there this time. The fae screamed as loud as he could with Luxiana's hand over his mouth. "I said chew,"she repeated.

Keir began to cry, trembling all over as he began to chew his own tongue. He vomited several times into his mouth, but he couldn't let anything out because of the blonde's hand clamped to his lips. "Good boy," she smiled. "Now swallow."

Keir swallowed his tongue with difficulty, his body shaking with the contractions of his stomach. Luxiana couldn't hide her smile at the satisfaction she felt. After waiting for a few seconds for his tongue to fall down entirely into his stomach, she released him.

Keir bent over to puke out all his guts, almost choking on his own vomit.

Luxiana took a step back, detailing him from her height. Then when he finished, she grabbed his hair to lift his head toward her. "You'll never disrespect your lord again, will you?"

He nodded in confirmation, tears rolling down his cheeks. Luxiana released him abruptly before straightening up to spin around and shoot all the other faes present with her pupils. "Does anyone have anything else to say about Rhysand?"

They all shook their heads and took several steps backwards. Then, all at once, Luxiana lost her cold, dark and crazy expression. "Great then," she jumped out of joy, smiling sweetly and innocently. She ran slowly towards Azriel -still motionless- to replace Truth Teller in its scabbard. Then she turned to Rhysand to wrap her arms on one of his and pull him out.

Cassian detailed Keir's bleeding body on the floor, grinning through his teeth. He glanced back at Luixiana, who was leading Rhysand to the door. "Woah," he managed to say in their minds. Then he began to follow her cheerfully.

Azriel followed them, walking robotically, staring into space. What had just happened?

They left the room and after a few minutes of walking, Rhysand blinked to compose himself. Realizing everything, he paralyzed, coming to a standstill in one of the long corridors. "What just happened?" he shouted breathlessly, lowering his pupils to Luxiana.

Luxiana wanted to continue pulling Rhysand but he stopped moving and she could feel the other two stop just behind them, giving her the same shocked look that burned her skin. She closed her eyes fiercely as she let go of Rhysand and gritted her teeth. "I'm not going to apologize, okay?" she shouted a little angrily.

She let go of Rhys to take a few steps forward, turning towards them and positioning herself in front of them. She crossed her arms, glowering at the lord. "You're the high lord of the night court, you can't let someone disrespect you like that!"

Rhysand widened his eyes again but Luxiana continued. "You may consider yourself mature and reasonable and kind enough not to react but not me dammit. I'm the exact opposite of that and there was no way I was going to let anyone talk to you like that, Rhys, not after what you've been through under the mountain!"

The blonde, seeing Rhys's surprised expression, thought it was sadness shining in his pupils. She huffed as she calmed down, feeling suddenly guilty and showing it on her face. She made an adorable pout that made the Illyrians hallucinate. Her face was so childlike and different from the one she'd had a few seconds ago in the throne room.

"I'm sorry," she finally mumbled, lowering her eyes as she juggled from one foot to the other. "It's just that I told you I'd protect you and not let anyone talk bad about you since you saved Feyre under the mountain and now I want to protect you too because I like you and I know I couldn't keep my cool but I was so..."

Something exploded in Rhysand's chest, sending vibrations of joy throughout his being and even warming his eyes. He didn't even let her finish her sentence as he cupped his soulmate's face to raise her head to him. "What did you just say?"

Luxiana accentuated her guilty pout when she saw Rhysand's even brighter eyes. She'd hurt him and she didn't mean to. "I said I was sorry and that..."

Rhysand shook his head to interrupt. "No, you said you liked me!"

Luxiana pursed her lips, drawing out her dimples. She looked away for a second, blushing. "Yes.. Why ?" she admitted, not understanding why he was asking her that. Was he going to make fun of her?

Rhysand let out a delighted laugh in one breath before throwing himself on Luxiana to kiss her full on the lips. Luxiana, not expecting it, hiccuped in surprise as she allowed Rhysand to put his tongue into her mouth. She didn't wait to return his kiss, which tickled her to the core.

Rhysand pulled away from her to stare at her with a big smile and eyes shining with playfulness and confidence. "So you like me." Rhysand wanted to jump for joy.

Luxiana bit her tongue as she backed away from his grip and gave him a jaded look.

Azriel came back to reality, shaking his head, his eyes still wide. "Does it surprise anyone but me that she just cut out Keir's tongue and fed it to him after breaking his arm?" he shouted in total shock.

"No, it surprised me too," Cassian said seriously, crossing his arms and then glaring at Luxiana. "But damn, that was sexy."

Luxiana laughed, lowering her head to hide her cheeks. Why was she blushing so much with them?

Azriel moves around Rhys to stand in front of Luxiana. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger to plunge a serious, wary gaze into his soul mate's. "How did you do that? You just made a fae eat his own tongue without batting an eyelid."

Luxiana winced, blushing from head to toe. She felt so small and intimidated by Azriel. "Believe it or not," she began in a voice more high-pitched and uncertain than usual, "but, this isn't my first cut tongue and broken arm."

Azriel frowned, prompting him to elaborate. "Well, I worked in a bar. There were bound to be people with inappropriate behavior that I had to correct." She shrugged as if this were normal.

"And where did you learn to do that?" the Illyrian asked, loosening his grip on Luxiana's chin a little, relaxing when he noticed she wasn't lying.

"Keydan explained how to do it and taught me. He wanted me to be able to protect myself if need be."

Azriel understood her sincerity and released her completely, but he couldn't calm his anger. "It was still a dangerous and thoughtless thing to do, Luxiana. I don't know why Keir didn't use his powers, but if had, you could have been hurt or worse, died. Don't ever do that again!"

Luxiana pursed her lips with an apologetic look and a cute, guilty face that made Azriel swallow hard. "Are you angry?" She stepped forward to surround her arms around the master spy's torso and buried her face in his pectoral. Azriel froze for a second, feeling his heart melt entirely as she straightened her head to rest just her chin on his chest and look at him with an adorable pout. "Excuse me," she added.

Azriel's whole body tickled from the inside. He could only calm himself by taking a deep breath. Why was he even angry? He placed a hand on the blonde cheek to lean in and place a long kiss on her lips. Damn it, there was no doubt in his mind. He loved this woman with all his body and all his heart.

Footsteps behind them forced them to separate and turn to see Mor striding in their direction. Luxiana hiccupped in surprise at the sight of Rhys's cousin, then winced with concern as she realized that she had just seen her cut her father's tongue out in front of her. "Mor, I'm sorry," she apologized, taking a step toward her. "I shouldn't have..."

She couldn't finish her sentence as Rhys's cousin threw herself into her arms to hug her with all her might. "I adore you. God, that feels good!"

Luxiana was surprised at first, but then laughed with Mor and returned his hug.

Rhysand detailed his soul mate laughing with her cousin, then glanced knowingly at his two brothers. She wasn't as weak as they thought, and in fact she was incredible. She'd done all this to protect his honor. To protect him. She was made to be his high lady. She was made for him. He stared at her and it wasn't with tenderness or affection but with love. He was in love with this woman, damn it.

[cryptids]

.

I was just looking through those recently posted tf:one storyboards (crying sobbing throwing up about the megop rn) But I just have to say I do kind of wish they had kept this dialogue in the final movie, bc I've seen SO many people misunderstanding what Orion was trying to say in the scene where he's trying to stop D-16/Megatron from killing Sentinel, and I think this version phrases it better??

Like.... I can't even tell you how many people I've seen say that Orion was trying to protect Sentinel/sacrificing his life for Sentinel's, and then go on to accuse him of being everything from a "liberal" to a fascist apologist lmfao (🤡)

When to me it was clear he hated Sentinel and didn't give a fuck about whether this man lived or died, his concern was with trying to prevent his best friend and person he loves most in the world from committing a murder and going down a path that would turn him into the same kind of dictator.

imo, Orion was trying to say that they'd already won and killing Sentinel in this manner (a public execution without a trial) would set a harmful precedent for a new society. Which is true, what they'd be creating if they took Megatron's approach would be a society where order was maintained through fear and subjugation, and without any kind of fair justice system.

Killing Sentinel didn't achieve anything that would actually help anyone, bc like I already mentioned, they'd already won by then. They liberated the oppressed population and took Sentinel's power away, he no longer posed any threat. Megatron’s only motivation was revenge and he was making decisions out of anger and grief rather than thinking about what was best for everyone. He took the decision of what to do with Sentinel away from the people by taking it into his own hands without letting them have an opinion.

(Before anyone comes at me, I know the desire for revenge is understandable and justified, which is why we're able to empathise with him so much. But that doesn't mean it's always the right choice in every circumstance, especially for someone stepping into a position of power)

I think the line that really got people mixed up was Orion saying "don't be like Sentinel", bc people are so used to the "killing the villain makes you as bad as the villain" sentiment in every movie ever that they automatically assumed this movie was saying the same thing. But when you stop to take the context into consideration it would make a lot more sense if he meant "don't be the same kind of leader as Sentinel", which IS what he meant, it's just worded badly.

And it's the truth too?? we all know Megatron will become a genocidal dictator who will carry out so much of the same kind of oppression he originally fought against, that's like his whole tragedy as a villain. There's so many little ways tf:one shows us this happening at the end (like him branding the decepticons the way he was branded for example).

But anyway......... as much as I wish media didnt have to spoonfeed audiences so much, I think if Orion's argument had been spelled out a bit more unambiguously like this it might have spared me having to see so many bad takes online lmao 😭

Now that I'm done rambling about all of that please look at this wattpad boyfriend chest touch moment

[motorsportbarbie13]

Track Limits - Part One

(author's note: this is a fully original series that I wrote this summer, with fully original characters. I will be posting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I won't be using my tag list for my F1 Fanfics, so if you want to be added to this one, please leave a comment! As always, my inbox is always open for suggestions, comments, questions, etc. I love love love hearing from you guys!!)

Warnings: brief talk about cheating boyfriend and panic attacks, but nothing serious on page Word Count: 3.1k

Intro Post Series Main Navigation Page Master List

Celine

CelineStG posted

CelineStG Siri, play 'Home' by Good Neighbors RealMollyGrace bitch, what? >>>CelineStG oops? AlexStGerard I’m sorry, since when are you home?  >>>CelineStG Hi big brother, consider this my official notification that a sister visit in imminent. Hope you’re prepared! >>>AlexStGerard When am I ever prepared for a sister visit? >>>CelineStG Never.  >>>AlexStGerard Exactly  SebSimonet STG C if I don’t see you before quali I’m running you over with my car >>>CelineStG What an awful thing to say to your bestie.   User123 Are you in town for the race?  User34 Of course she is, her family literally owns a team. Idiot. 

“Ms. Saint Gerard, what a pleasant surprise to see you today! Your father didn’t say anything about you visiting this week. Would you like me to take you to the estate then?” George Fishburn asks as he holds the car door open for me. 

“No, no.” Waving him off, I slide into the back seat of the SUV.  “I’m staying at the Hermitage this week.” I ignore the man’s raised eyebrows, choosing to pretend like he isn't giving me the opportunity to give him a little bit of gossip like I always tend to do. I’m certain he’s dying to ask why I won’t be staying with my father and on a normal day, I would have been happy to answer his questions. George has been my father’s driver and all around errand man for as long as I can remember and normally I would have gladly chatted with him about why I was suddenly home.

Today though? Today I was glad he was giving me the quiet distance that my melancholy mood craved. 

“Could you take me to Alex’s condo and then drop my bags off at the hotel though? If it’s not too much trouble.” I ask once George has loaded my bags in the trunk and settled himself in the drivers seat. 

He chuckles and rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s not too much trouble, you know that. I’ll leave you with your brother and take them up to your room myself.”

“Thank you.” I sigh as he starts the engine, sinking into the supple leather seats that are a sharp contrast to the turmoil rolling through me. 

Moments later, he’s smoothly navigating the car out of the parking lot and is making his way towards the highway that leads from Nice to Monaco. My clenched jaw softens as I watch the French country side slip by, a wash of relief unknotting the constant stomachache I’ve been living with for weeks. Kilometer by kilometer, the tension that I’ve become quite acquainted with seems to melt away. I had woken up that morning in my townhome in London but this afternoon, I found myself home again.

Technically, Monaco isn’t really home, in the strictest sense of the word. I had lived in New York City until I was 14 but the tiny principality had always felt more like home than any apartment in the city or home in the country I had ever shared with my mother. My father had always brought my brother, Alex and I here during our summer visits after my parents had divorced when I was three. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of a London rainstorm swearing I can smell the salty air of the Mediterranean and perfume of the wealthy residents. 

So it really wasn’t quite a surprise that the only place I thought might be able to fix me after what I’d been through in the last six months was Monaco. 

Slipping my phone out of the pocked of my bag, I check the notifications on my Instagram post earlier. It had been such a last minute trip to come home this week that I hadn’t even told my best friend, which she was apparently not very pleased about. 

Moments after the I send the last text, my phone vibrates, interrupting the quiet tranquility that I had been soaking in. 

“Are you okay?” Guilt sits at the edges of Molly’s tone when the call connects. 

Glancing out the window, I tip my head back against the soft leather head rest as I ruminate over my answer. 

“I’m...alive?” A dark chuckle escapes before I can stop it while I stare out the window as we begin to pass through the outskirts of Monte Carlo. I briefly catch a glimpse of the glittering sea that sits at the edge of the city. Even just the briefest of looks at the water chases a bit more of the anxiety that sits heavy in my chest away.

 On the other end of the phone, I hear Molly shuffling about and the muffled voice of someone that sounded a lot like Bev, Molly’s PR manager. Checking my watch I suck in a breath, “Molly! You have a show in like 45 minutes, shouldn’t you be warming up?” 

While Molly might be my best friend, she is also multi-Grammy award winning singer Molly Sharpe. We met five years ago when she had nearly thrown a punch at a drunk guy that was getting a bit too handsy with me at a party during the Cannes Film Festival. We had never said a single word to each other before she came to my rescue, somehow picking up on my panic from just a glance, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Even when we were on opposite sides of the globe, which happened more often than not now that she was on tour, we try to FaceTime at least once a day. 

“Nah, this is more important. I’m already warmed up anyway, so stop trying to deflect. What happened that made you literally flee the country?” 

I barely fight the urge to groan. “I ran into William at a coffee shop thi-.” I stop mid-thought to correct myself. “No, no! I saw my cheating ex-boyfriend at MY coffee shop this morning, Molly! In MY neighborhood. On MY side of London!” I cry, my molars grinding together. “With whatever the fuck her names is, that stupid red head that he cheated on me with.” 

Heat rises in my cheeks as I remember the scene from this morning. I had just left my pilates class and had been planning on making a quick run to the barn to exercise my horses even though that was the last place I wanted to be. But all of my plans came to a screeching halt when I saw William arm in arm with the girl he had cheated on me with walk straight into my favorite coffee shop. 

“Coming from anyone else, I’d say you claiming it was ‘your’ side of London was simple hyperbole but I genuinely don’t doubt you and your family actually own a significant portion of the city.” Molly teases. 

A smile tugs reluctantly at my lips, “Shut up.” I scoff. She was right, of course. My family had been the founding investor into the Formula One team that all these years later, still bares our last name. We had a luxury road car division that was the first bit of our business, the racing coming second after my great-grandfather fell in love with the sport. Simply put, St. Gerard was as synonymous with luxury car production as Chanel was with haute couture.

“So anyway, I saw him with her and I couldn’t breathe. I completely panicked. Between that and,” I pause, my breath catching in my lungs. “What happened last month, I just lost it. So, I did the most mature thing I could think of at the time.” 

“And what was that?” Her tone held an edge of a laugh, like she knew this was going to be ridiculous. 

“I called an Uber right there on the street corner, packed a bag, and chartered a flight home.” 

“Céline Cristelle St. Gérard! That is the most out of touch way to deal with your problems.” 

I let out a chuckle. “Thats rich coming from a girl who quite literally chartered a jet to fly her favorite chef from New Orleans to Portugal just to make her chicken noodle soup when she was sick last year.” 

“That was a medical emergency.” She pouts. 

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing?” 

Molly cackles and I could just imagine her throwing her head back laughing in the green room at whatever stadium she was performing in tonight, “Oh no, I would. We’re both equally insane and privileged. It’s a dangerous combination. Go on.” 

“That’s it. I flew home. I don’t even have any luggage packed. We were 20 minutes off the ground when I remembered that the race was in Monaco this weekend and panicked that I wasn’t going to be able to find a place to stay but I somehow managed to find a room at the Hermitage.”

“You’re not staying with your father?” 

“Ha! Absolutely not. He’ll be furious with me when he hears about what I did yesterday.” 

In addition to a cheating ex-boyfriend that had just broken my heart recently, I'd also decided a few days ago that I was done with show jumping for the season. There had only been a few competitions but after what had happened six weeks ago to my heart horse, I just didn't have the competitive drive in me anymore. For as long as I could remember, show jumping had been my 'thing'. Alex had racing and the team but I had always had my horses.

Until I didn't.

On the other end of the phone, my best friend gasps. “You haven’t told him yet?” She shrieks. 

“I was kind of hoping the press would do it for me, to be honest.” I wince, nibbling at a cuticle my manicurist missed at my nail appointment yesterday. 

“Céline!” Molly hisses.

Rubbing my free hand over my face, I groan into the phone. “I know! I know! I’m a coward. I’m actually on my way to see Alex to try to figure out how the hell to break it to the old man. He’s going to be so mad.” 

Molly’s tone softens at the guilt that I know fills my voice. “He won’t be if you’re honest with him.” 

I stay silent for a moment, considering Molly’s words. I know my father is going to lose his mind when he finds out that I had made this huge, life altering decision without even so much as consulting him. Not because he’d tell me that I wasn’t allowed to but because show jumping is such a big part of my life and making such a big decision like pulling out of competition for the year without even so much as consulting him was going to set him off. My father was solidly of the 'the St. Gerard family is not a family of quitters' belief and this was going to break his heart.

“Listen. We just pulled up to Alex’s place so I’m going to let you go. Say a little prayer that I survive the first firing squad?” 

“Alex will be on your side, he always is. Text me later and I’ll call you after the show if it’s not too late.” 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too Cece.”

Theo

TheoJHighgate Posted

TheoJHighgate Rolling into Monaco race week like... user918 the curls are curling evansracing so excited!! user0199 does this man know what he does to us??? >>>user029 oh 100%

The Evans Racing garage thrums with the kind of energy that only happens during race week. Mechanics scurry around my car making any last minute adjustments before the first of three rounds of practice tomorrow, the sounds their tools make a familiar grind in my ear. I lean against one of the many sleek orange and black toolboxes that line one side of the garage, taking it all in. 

Monaco is my favorite track on the entire circuit. I have so many good memories here that every time this weekend rolls around, I try to soak in as much of the energy I can. The team has been really consistent so far this season but we’re still winless and this weekend feels like the perfect time to remedy that situation. 

“Theo.” A sharp voice yanks me out of my podium day dreams. “My office. Now.” Scott Hayes, Evans Racing’s team principal stands just outside his office door, his expression all storm clouds threatening a downpour. Fuck, he does not look happy. 

I straighten, ignoring the stares from the mechanics who are trying to look busy while hoping to overhear the verbal undressing I feel like I’m about to get. I shuffle through my memory quickly as I push off the tool box. While I have somewhat (read: huge) of a reputation in the paddock of being the driver that gives the PR team the most headaches before race weekends, I don’t think I’ve done anything recently to bring the wrath of Scott Hayes down on me lately. 

“Sounds like I’m about to be on the receiving end of one of your inspiring pep talks boss.” I flash him my most disarming smile, trying to hide the pit that has suddenly formed in my stomach. 

Scott simply rolls his eyes and steps back into his office without another word, leaving me no choice but to follow. 

Fantastic. 

“Good luck in there.” My performance coach Levi McAllen claps me on the back when I walk past him. “Find me after and we’ll go through what he says, okay?” 

What he means is ‘I’ll talk you down off the ledge Scott is about to put you on’. While Scott Hayes is a legend in Formula One, he’s also one of the scariest mother fuckers I’ve ever worked for. I hate being on his bad side, which seems to happen on a regular basis more and more lately. Thankfully, my driving makes up for it. Most of the time. 

“Yeah, yeah.” I sigh dramatically, running a hand through my mess of dark brown curls that are in desperate need of a haircut. I make a mental note to get to my barber before tonight’s charity gala, knowing our PR manager Loraine will have my head if I don’t. If I can show up with a clean cut mullet, she usually doesn't give me shit. The way that woman had almost buzzed off my entire head of hair when I showed up one day a few months ago with said mullet was almost scary. There might have been tears.

Weaving my way through the labyrinth of the garage easily, I manage to pretend I'm ignoring the engineers who keep tossing what look like sympathetic glances my way. 

This is not going to be good. 

I shut the door behind me, the snick of the latch the only sound in the quiet office.  

Scott waves a hand towards one of the two white plastic chairs in front of his desk. 

“Theo.” He begins, his voice softening a fraction. “We’ve invested a lot in you. You’re our number one driver, the face of Evans Racing in F1.” 

I nod, a flicker of pride settling the anxiety still churning in my stomach a bit. Being a Formula 1 driver has been my dream since the first time my dad plopped me down behind the wheel of a go kart. It’s exactly where I want to be. Fast cars, pretty girls, the roar of the crowd dressed in your team colors - it’s a life I’ve dreamt of since I was a scrappy little kid fighting for the podium on dusty, back woods karting tracks. 

“Frankly, Theo,” Scott continues, his voice turning rough again, “The results haven’t been there. A few podiums, yeah, but no wins. We’ve poured resources into this car and it’s showing. We need you to step it up, to translate that speed into wins.” 

I lean back in my chair, shoulders dropping. He’s not wrong. We certainly had the fastest car on the grid most weekends but I hadn’t capitalized on it yet. The media was starting to chatter about how I might not have the skill or mentality to handle a fast car and championship fight. Here I was, my sixth season in F1 and only one win to my name. And that singular win had taken me four and a half seasons to get. Sure, I was consistent enough, I hold the record for the most podiums before winning a race in all of F1 history. Second and third place finishes will only get you so far in this sport though, especially when your team has made huge leaps in technology in the last half dozen years. 

The responsibility of translating that speed and those improvements into wins sat squarely on my shoulders. 

“I know, Scott.” I say. “Believe me, I want to win just as much as you guys do. Probably even more.” 

It was true. My entire career I’ve been the ‘solid, consistent, well performing driver’. Good enough to gain the attention of Evans back when I was just 16 years old driving in F3 but never quite good enough to be considered one of the greats. And the reputation of being ‘almost good enough’ starts to grate on your ego after a while. 

Scott studies me a moment, a hint of doubt lingering in his eyes. “Theo,” He says finally, “you have the talent we want here at Evans. We wouldn’t have signed you otherwise. You’re a natural behind the wheel, your race craft impeccable. But sometimes…” He trails off, the silence of his unfinished words hanging heavy in the air. 

I know exactly what he’s trying to say. The late nights, the tabloid headlines, the reputation for being a player that follows me like a shadow. It’s a tightrope I usually walk a little better than I have been lately. Balancing the bad boy image with the laser focus I need on the track was something I’m usually good at. Or at least I thought I was. 

Maybe I’m not as good at the balancing act as I thought I once was. 

“I’ll do better.” I promise, meeting his heated gaze head-on. “This race, this whole season? It’s mine. No more distractions, just wins.” 

A flicker of something that might have qualified as a smile crosses his lips. “We’ll see.” He says, a hint of steel still in his voice. “We’ll see. Your contract is coming to an end this year and we want you to be in this seat next year. You are the heart and soul of this team but we need you to start winning.” 

We both knew my word is only as good as my last race. The pressure was on. I had to get serious about my driving. I know I have it in me to be a better driver, that I haven’t hit the peak of my career yet. I was just running out of time to finally find the missing piece to the puzzle that was my career. I had to find it and I had to find it fast. 

Tag List (reminder, this is 100% different from my normal tag list!)

@ahgase99

[akookminsupporter]

Why do you think jikook chose to serve together?

Also, why not jimin and tae if they're soulmates? Why not jungkook and tae? Why do you think they did it?

I feel like I’ve answered this question more times than I can count over the past year but I post way too much, so finding my first answer feels impossible. That said, I’m happy to answer it again, haha.

Anon, the most honest responses I can give you are:

Because they wanted to. Because they didn’t want to. And because they didn’t want to either.

Let me start by saying that, as fans, anything we discuss about the members’ decisions is pure speculation. We’re piecing things together based on the limited information we have, and at the end of the day, that’s all it is—our interpretation of the choices they’ve shared with us.

That said, I believe Jimin and Jungkook made the decision to enlist together because they’re the closest members of the group. Their bond is unique, and that’s been obvious to anyone paying attention over the past 10 years. I imagine they considered the pros and cons of enlisting together and concluded that it was the best decision—not just practically, but emotionally. Most importantly, it seems like it’s what they both truly wanted.

Over the past year, I’ve seen fans speculate about their reasons, saying things like, “They did it because X needed the emotional support of Y” or “Y needed the physical support of X.” And while those are valid perspectives, I’ve always leaned towards a simpler explanation: they just needed each other.

over the past 10 years, I think we all have noticed that their bond is unique. It’s clear they provide mutual comfort and understanding in ways that don’t seem to happen with the other members. There’s a certain synchronicity between them—a level of shared traits, habits, and even ways of thinking that make them perfectly attuned to one another. They’re simply each other’s person. So, if they had the chance to face one of the most challenging periods of their lives together, why wouldn’t they take it?

We don’t know if Jimin wanted to enlist with Tae or if Jungkook wanted to enlist with Tae but Tae wasn’t on board. Based on the brief exchange they had about it on AYS, it doesn’t seem like that was ever the case. From the beginning, it always seemed like the plan was for Jimin and Jungkook to enlist together, and that decision alone says a lot about the kind of relationship they share.

Their decision to enlist together doesn’t confirm or deny anything about the romantic nature of their relationship—that’s not something we can speak to with certainty. What it does prove, however, is that Jimin is the Cristina to Jungkook’s Meredith, and vice versa. If you’ve been paying attention, that’s been obvious for a long time. They’re soulmates in every way that matters—whether that’s platonic or something more we don’t know for certain.

The fact that some people still deny the strength of their bond or downplay it is another story entirely. But for me, it's crystal clear after everything we’ve seen.

And since someone asked about this recently—yes, Tae said Jimin is his soulmate, and I absolutely believe they are. But that doesn’t mean Jungkook isn’t Jimin’s soulmate too, just in a different way. That much is obvious.

Sometimes, I get frustrated when I see debates about this, haha. It’s so clear that Jimin and Tae care about each other deeply, but their relationship is completely different from the one Jimin shares with Jungkook. And from the one Tae has with Jungkook. Each dynamic is unique, and each connection is valuable. Why is that concept so hard for some people to grasp?

Lastly, since they enlisted, we haven’t heard much about them. But in the little we have seen, read, and heard, it’s clear it was the best decision for them. Jungkook pretty much confirmed it during his last surprise Wlive.

It’s obvious they’re not just a source of calm and stability for each other but also a sense of normality amid everything. I mean, how many times did we hear one of them mention, before all this, that they’d spend hours talking about music, singing, or practising together? How many times did we hear them say that after a long day of work or commitments, they’d still end up together?

No one goes through the whole process they had to go through to apply for the buddy system just for a simple colleague or someone you don’t feel completely secure and comfortable being around.

[greml1nb0i]

Hi there! I just stumbled upon your cozy blog thanks to a post mentioning that Viv will be working on a new series. ^^"

If it's true, then I'm worried just how she might do a terrible job especially since writing doesn't seem to be her specialty (like she's giving me Mindy Kaling vibes). She even announced planning to work on several more seasons of Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. Shouldn't she at least finish both shows before even moving to other projects? 🤔

I also think in my opinion that she'd work best as a t-shirt graphic artist for Hot Topic 'coz most of her projects felt like a random showcase of her OCs from high school. They're also overly designed and her humor is rather too juvenile than hilarious.

Sorry for the ramble, I just like to share my thoughts out there.

Dont worry about rambling Anon, ive done my fair share and thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts.

I agree on so many aspects of what you said.

Viv shouldnt be making anything new without finishing the already tanking series' she has. Hazbin is only going to get worse [as seen from the leaks] and Helluva is losing the most diehard of fans, attention. she's sinking her career quicker and quicker. She can't write, and even admits that herself several times. She steals from smaller artists, refuses to credit her artists and employees, is constantly into controversy after controversy, She cant grow up.

Its funny how you mention she gives a Mindy Vibe and i TOTALLY see it. Mindy went on a tirade about how people were shitting on Velma and Viv does the exact same thing, istg those 2 must be sharing a braincell.

Also yes the Hot Topic thing, i have my own 2 cents to put in there.

i swear this has a point to it just stick with me here. If it doesnt make sense to you im sorry, im not the greatest at explaining things.

I grew up in the early 2000s and 2010s, so Hot Topic and Spencer's were major hot spots for me, and lemme tell you. In those times, HT and Spencer's wouldve laughed at Viv for wanting to sell her cheap ass merch there. In fact, most merch sold there now, wouldnt have been, but ever since the big boom of indie creations; these stores ended up with different purposes.

HT never used to be a online merch store for indie creators, it used to be an actual punk store for punk and alt teens. Same with Spencer's but it was more for adults. You couldnt find things that werent punk or alt in regular stores thats why you'd go to HT or Spencer's.

Thats where youd get your AOT merch, Black Butler, Supernatural, Addams family, Jack Skellington, Band shirts like Korn, MCR, BVB, and Splitknot were sold there.

But now, its HH and HB merch. Fnaf, [im a fnaf fan before anyone comes for for that] and sparkle bs.

You cant find the punk merch you want, cuz its being switched out for Vivs bullshit and being buried in the back storages until they start having major sales to just get rid of it.

Now Spencer's' is being turned into the New HT, and HT is being turned into the kiddie emo version of Claires. its so fucking sad to watch.

My point to all this is.

Viv didnt need to sell her merch in HT.

HT doesnt need to be selling her merch to kids.

Viv shows are not made for kids, but yet she sells her merch at a teen based punk store.

HT doesnt need to be pandering to every indie creator that calls them to collab or sell their shitty 40$ t-shirts.

Viv doesnt need more money.

HT and Spencer's need to get their shit together before they go fucking bankrupt and we lose the only 2 punk-alt stores to exist physically.

Last i checked, BlackCraft Cult doesnt have an in person store.