#freed from the drafts (finally)

[reikaniichan]

more moth emmet sketches.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: November Wrap-Up.

Hi, y'all! I'm actually shocked that I managed to get through four (4) books this month, because it was NANO and I also WROTE A WHOLE BOOK!! The (written) book in its two notebooks is pictured beneath the pen and NaNo Earrings :)

All of these reads were NaNo-adjacent, somehow (I like to stack my reading with my writing project so all the Vibes are Correct)--either Space, or Haunted, or Fucked Up Fungi (I wrote a weird book this month)(I had a great time).

Photos and/or reviews linked:

A HALF-BUILT GARDEN - ★★★½ I enjoyed this! It was very slow and contemplative, and I was surprised by how long it took me to read (#NaNoProblems), but I'm glad I did, and Rhamnetin was a DELIGHT.

JUST LIKE HOME - ★★★★ Reread for me, holds up very well! Star rating unchanged from first time through. I actually do recommend rereading this one, knowing exactly when Daphne dies.

GRAVEYARD SHIFT - ★★★½ I enjoyed this one too! Short fun weird little insomnia romp. Love a good fucked up fungus and a motley POV crew.

THE NIGHT GUEST - ★★★★ This was DEEPLY fucked up and AMAZINGLY crafted horror/suspense, and I definitely had delayed nightmares about it. I also love a good spec fic in translation (this one's from Icelandic!). Cats are NOT safe, very graphically so, so proceed with caution if that's a warning you need.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[enjomo-arch]

Excited to be back on track in 3 hours ❤️🔥

[nomisong]

no weezer is the monster. you're thinking of buddy holly

[quettasecond]

my boyfriends name. is cancel culture. and im sending him after you

[femmikoto]

909 Facts About About MeepJeep That Will Blow Your Pussy Hair Clean Off

[xcerizex]

"The vacancy of your eyes is a curse."

"you drew scars, around my scars" Peter Pan took Wendy away, but he knows she doesn't belong to Neverland. "but now I'm bleeding"

(3.3k words, angst, contains spoilers for the main story, cael anselm, horrible attempt at minor fluff, how do you do tags and stuff???)

Day #36:

The morning sunlight is bright on his skin as Cael does the laundry in the garden. Flinging the bedsheets up, he then drapes them across the wire, after all the sheets need to be dried before tonight so that she can get a good night sleep. Unfortunately, she won't be able to use the spares, not when it's been torn to the point where it's unusable.

He senses her gaze on him and shifts his position so that he can watch her discreetly and see her looking at him through the glass walls of her gallery pretending to paint. Having failed subtlety, she repeats the same strokes over and over again, creating an unusual blob of blue and white. Judging from the look on her face, it seems as if she wishes to talk to him again.

The wind picks up, and the white sheets whack him in the face, covering his sight. He doesn't need his eyes to see that the girl is giggling at his predicament and he wonders how on earth she finds his suffering a source of amusement.

'If it makes her happy.'

He quickly finishes the rest of the laundry and heads inside, ready for the girl to pounce on him the moment he steps back into the house and sure enough, she approaches him as he places his shoes down on the floor.

"Are you planning on doing the groceries soon, Cael?"

She pretends as if she were simply asking him out of curiosity, but he knows better. Noticing the way her feet fidget, he smiles at her and nods his head.

"Yes, I am. I'll be here for an hour or two before I leave, so I'm not in any rush."

"Then..."

She holds up a box of new paint he had gotten for her and asks him eagerly;

"Can we paint together?"

He smiles serenely. He notices that she has started to paint less in her time here despite not having much else to do. So he agrees, it's best if she picks up the brush again, and he wants to spend some time with her anyway.

"Alright then, let's head to your gallery."

After moving a new set of blank canvas for Cael into the gallery, the both of them start to paint side-by-side, and a tranquil silence falls across them. They have never needed idle talk to feel comfortable with one another once they start painting, and in a way, Cael is glad he doesn't have to force himself to act as her guardian during these moments, where time passes like the wind.

Right now, it's just him, Cael, and the girl whose existence has made him spiral to a deep end he can't get out of.

He hears her choking on her paint water again, startling him out of his thoughts. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he hands her a clean handkerchief and a proper glass of water to clear her throat. While wiping her mouth, she wheezes a hoarse "Thank you" before finally calming down and resuming her painting. Next time, he hopes that she'll learn to separate the glass that holds her paint water, and the one that holds her drinking water at opposite ends the next time.

However, years of spending time with her has made him acutely aware of what her next course of action may be. So it doesn't surprise him when she takes the shift in mood as an opportunity to nonchalantly ask him;

"Can I...join you later? To do the groceries?"

Her voice is still slightly hoarse as she says this, and as if afraid it won't be enough to convince him, she adds;

"It's just, wouldn't it be easier if the both of us carried the load, instead of just you? I can help you and I won't stray away-"

He places his brush aside on the easel and despite placing it down as gently as he could, the sound of it rings loudly like a bell, as she immediately falls silent. Her response is like a whip to the heart, lashing and cracking an irreparable crevice and he doesn't know why. But she does not back down and stares into his eyes after his gaze finds her.

"I understand that you wish to go out. But it is dangerous." He says, making sure he speaks gently to appear as affable as possible.

"The trip to the main island is full of danger. Those who wish to capture and hurt you may take the chance to do so."

Standing up, he moves forward towards her until their faces are only a few inches apart. He feels the tremble of her breath on his mouth while he, softly, lightly, rests his fingertips on the area under her eyes.

He doesn't remember ever coming this close to her before...this, and the proximity makes him feel slightly giddy.

He feels sick.

"It is better for me to protect you here, than endanger you by letting you go outside."

He hopes to convince her by emphasizing about the possible dangers. But in their proximity, their eyes find each other and it is not he who wears the heavy stare. It is her. She gazes at him and for the first time since he's brought her here, he sees something else that is not the hue of hopelessness in her eyes that haunts both him and her even when she's smiling. It is an emotion he cannot recognize.

Acquiescing to his desires, she nods her head.

"Yes...Cael. I'm sorry to have bothered you again with this."

She excuses herself, abandoning her painting as she exits the gallery claiming she needed some alone time and he lets her go. At the moment, he has no heart to chase after her and offer comfort. The unease he feels in his chest roots him on the spot and he wonders about the way she looked at him.

There is a sinking feeling in his gut, telling him it was not his words that had convinced her.

What did she see?

He fears the answer.

You coward.

Day #122:

She has begun to hide her emotions from him now.

Placing a plate of strawberry toast on the table, Cael turns his head towards the kitchen door to find her entering the room. Her steps are slow and heavy, but retain their daintiness and mimic the footsteps of a doll.

She draws a chair back and sits down. It's early in the morning and as usual, Cael makes breakfast for her. He greets her with a practiced smile.

"Good morning, I'll be preparing some black tea shortly. The strawberry toast won't turn cold just yet, so it's fine if you want to wait until then."

She nods her head quietly and whispers "Thank you, Cael", before she starts staring out at the window.

He frowns inwardly to himself as he turns towards the teapot. Strawberry toast had always been her favourite. Knowing her, she would have long scarfed down her food regardless if the tea was ready or not.

Does he really not understand why however? He does. And yet, he stays in denial. Knowing that the moment he wakes up from this dream, it will tear him apart with no mercy. It will break him.

"!"

He hears a clatter on the floor and turns around to see that she has dropped her butter knife and now sports a cut of scarlet red. Alarmed, he rushes over to her, forgoing the most practical solution of immediately finding a bandage in favor of taking her hand in his and pressing his handkerchief to the wound. For some reason, his time here with her has eroded him of his logic and has now turned him into someone who breaks out in cold sweat over a mere injury.

"...What happened?"

But if it's her who was hurt, then it's not just a mere injury to him. That was enough to send him into a frenzy. He looks up at her face hoping she'd answer him already but freezes.

When humans feel pain, it is common for them to react in kind. Be it a shift in facial expression or an outburst of sound.

But looking into her face, he finds nothing. Sees nothing. Blank eyes stare back at him expressing nothing and everything.

Regardless of her time here, she should still be susceptible to the average human response towards an injury. Simply put;

She does not want to share her pain with him.

She is fearful of you.

Cold silence fills the room and Cael thinks about the time they've spent painting in the gallery together, silently sharing their feelings amidst the soundless interactions. He bites his bottom lip before standing up and walking towards the cupboard containing bandages.

"...I dropped my knife on accident. It won't happen again, Cael."

"..."

"Cael?"

There is a tinge of worry in her voice.

He finds a box of plasters hidden in the corner of the cupboard and grabs it with unnecessary force before returning to her.

Will saying her name right now scare her more than reassure her?

Bending down, he starts applying a small bandage to her cut.

"Please..." he murmurs.

He has no right to feel afraid of her reaction. He was the one that turned her into this after all.

But he still keeps his head down. Refuses to look at her vacant face once more even as he continues speaking.

"...please be more careful."

Maybe he could still have her like this.

"I will, Cael. So..."

She cups his face with her hands, with a touch softer than he could ever hope to mimic with ones as bloodstained as his own, and holds his face up to look at him properly.

She smiles the best she can. It's hollow like all the rest before, but it is kind. The way she always is towards him even now.

"...don't worry."

"..."

"If seeing me hurt makes you this upset, it won't happen again."

Like the ghost of a whisper, he hears the silent continuation of her words;

I just don't have to show it.

While most birds avoid human abodes, a little one enters through an open window in search of food. Sensing no predators around, it jumps inside.

Day #???:

She has decided to completely lock herself in her room. Only occasionally coming out for meals when she feels like it, or to go to the gallery and stare at the open sky.

And Cael...

Cael doesn't know what to do anymore.

He tries his best to coax her, of course. Offers her new paints, albums featuring her favourite singers, and cooks the different types of food she would always ask him to make back when he took care of her when her mother died.

But she is not the young child who once poured dish soap into the washing machine anymore. She has grown and matured. Saw his wrongs, and the monster he is. None of his efforts will work on her anymore. She is a grown women, not a teenager.

Initially, he thought that he would be able to keep her here despite the fact she had the capability to leave and thought so long as he sheltered her from the outside world and took her away to Neverland, she could still find happiness and comfort in this small bubble he's built for her.

But he never thought that...this would become something he couldn't fix. He thought he could fix anything.

"...It's time for lunch."

Knocking on her door, he hopes that the allure of the pasta he holds in his hands will be enough to bring her out of her room. But minutes pass and once again he has no choice but to resign himself to the fact that she won't be coming out of her room today either. Still, it's not good for her to continuously skip meals. She may die of malnutrition if she doesn't eat properly.

The very thought makes him shudder with fear and he has to hold himself back from pleading with her again like the last time. The plate in his hand trembles with his slight movements however, and he has to straighten himself properly lest her food falls down on to the floor.

He recalls the time he offered her a handmade pastry, something that he thought she would have jumped at eagerly even with her current state, in an attempt to pry her out of her room. But it had been days since she'd last eaten and desperation had gotten the better of him.

He still remembers everything with clarity.

With his head hanging down and his hair unfurling limply from his shoulders, the pastry he held on a plate fell to the floor with a loud clatter, with his hands having lost their strength for some unknown reason. When did he lose control of his own body? But what he does know is that his whole being feels hollow. And for the first time in days, she finally opens her door. Aggressively so. A loud bang resounds across the house as she slams it open and such a violent outburst makes him raise his head in surprise and he finds her staring down at him with her vacant eyes and the features of her face having twisted with worry again.

He feels a knife twisting in his chest. He thinks it might kill him.

But he ignores the pain, ignores the impulse to plunge his hand into his chest and physically rip out that lump of pain, and uses his hands instead to embrace her.

It is sudden and quick, startling her. But she slowly relaxes in his trembling hold and moves her hands to pat his back awkwardly.

"Cael?"

"..."

Again, he finds himself unable to respond to her. She continues talking.

"I'll come down to eat, alright? I'm sorry I made you worry."

Pulling back, she faces him and gives him what should have been a smile of assurance to put him at ease. But he knows that stretching the corners of the mouth does not make a real smile. He does not love that smile.

The worse part is? He still finds her so, so lovely.

"It won't happen again."

She tries to voice it confidently, to be sincere about it, because she knows that will be the only way to convince him. And just for a split second, he sees the ghost of her, smiling back up at him in exuberant joy, and watches it all melt away to bones like a burning candle in the same second.

How many times has he heard her say that?

How many times will her make her say that?

He's grown nauseous of it.

She stayed true to her word, for the next few weeks only anyway, having retreated back into her habit once more to Cael's misery.

Placing the plate in front of her door, he can only hope that she would come out of her own accord today. While he knows that he could simply convince her to come out of her room the way he did last time...

The thought of doing so makes him shudder with disgust. Knowing that he can affect her like that to such a disturbing degree, gives him an itch he can't scratch off no matter how hard he tries. He hides it from himself well, but his palms still carry the faint scars of a history of digging his nails too deep into his hands whenever that suffocating feeling comes back to haunt him.

He flexes his hands, to make sure he's not unconsciously doing it again.

He did.

Still, at least he's not bleeding this time. Marks as red as it could be, but not bleeding.

She bled.

Sighing, he accepts the fact she won't be leaving her room anytime soon and makes his way downstairs. He hears each and every step he takes a little too clearly, something that he has become accustomed to ever since she has stopped talking regularly. Or rather, ever since she came here. There was a time where being in the same space as her would bring a variety of noises, ranging from her loud caterwauling after having stubbed her toe, the sound of her footsteps banging against the floor as she runs across the house, or just....the sound of her being there.

And she was always there. She used to always be there.

He reaches the living room and a quick glance to the right brings the door of her gallery into view. Cael hesitates for a second, and another two, before making his way towards it. He doesn't know why, he could never understand his own impulses, but he's given up on trying to control them.

The door creaks open, an evidence of a long time gone by since it was installed, and Cael walks into the space of her gallery. Despite her no longer using it frequently, he made sure to keep the entire room clean. Dust is an annoying irritant, and something that would have disturbed her by constantly triggering her allergies, disrupting her focus as she painted.

He sees a canvas lying upright on the easel close by the windows, and the blue, white blob she had painted a while ago has now transformed into something else. He inches his way towards it after deciding to take a closer look, and feels a foreboding sense of trepidation for some unknown reason. Having always left her alone when she painted, he has never once seen the results of this one creative endeavour and wonders what sort of painting could she have possibly produced in this life of stagnation, where true inspiration has become a corpse.

Closing in, his eyes land on the painting...

And he sees himself.

He is standing on the coastline of Harp Island's beach as the waves rock back and forth against the rocks. By perfectly capturing the melancholy of the ocean, and coupled with the expression she drew on his portrait, the somber and gentle colours give off a hue of loneliness as he stares out towards the sky as if he were waiting for someone. And he...

He thinks he may die from the pain in his chest.

He grasps the area over his heart while gasping, as his ears ring from the words that bore down on him like cursed chants;

It's because of you.

She stays here because of you.

Wendy choose to stay with Peter Pan.

So that was what she saw.

You are lonely without her.

"I see."

You must let her go.

"I know that now."

Again and again, the whispers torment him with the truth, but he answers all of them with a mind clearer than ever before. There is no hesitation in his answers, only impatience.

Simply answering won't do after all, he must act on it.

Still, the entire ordeal leaves his mind in a frenzy and by the time he comes to his senses, Cael isn't sure just how much time has passed. He looks up at the painting again to see that the moon has risen, with it's benevolent light illuminating the gallery and the portrait.

He thought that her painting would have been a reflection of vacancy, but instead what he finds is the secret he has been denying for so long.

His heart still hurts, but looking at the lonely portrait before him, he finds that the hazy edges of his vision has cleared, and sees the consequences of his actions as clear as day. Similar to how one would clean the fog from their glasses.

Cael laughs bitterly to himself and clenches his fists as he stands up.

"This cannot go on."

If he lets her go now and admits his forbidden feelings, he may break.

But perhaps, he would rather be broken if it meant she could be fixed.

He makes up his mind.

"To Godheim it is."

[aria0fgold]

Jokid fic unleashed! And everything bout it is long, even the tags. I did not expect the tags to get that long too, whoops.

[project-sekai-updates]

It's all about confidence~

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: toxic relationship, obsessiveness, possessiveness, denied break-up, abuse, manipulation, ish-kidnapping

♡ inspired by this by the lovely @eevwrites

♡ FEM reader

You’d wanted to be nicer about it. You’d planned it carefully, actually—even written down the words you were going to say in several drafts on your notes app. 

This was his fault—his fault that things were ending this way—his fault for making you do it now and not someplace else, someplace private where you could talk properly and do it right. Yes, this wasn’t what you wanted—this is what he’d made it be by forcing your hand—forcing your hand to throw a drink in his face in front of an entire crowd of drunk and dancing onlookers, as well as a handful of your mutual friends.

“Grow the fuck up!” you bark, taking on a hostile stance by placing your kitten heel down hard—glaring at him in all manners of vicious. “I’m not your property—and after this night, I’m not your girl either.”

No—it wasn’t how you wanted to end things—breaking up is something that should be done carefully—responsibly, and at the very least sensibly—not drunk or in the heat of a moment in some club a late Saturday night, but that’s how he’d made it happen. Always on you like a dog with a bone, a pest to your party—asking you to drink less, to wear more, to stop dancing like that, and to go home early with him. Fuck that, and fuck him. For the last time.

You glower at him for a moment—wanting to see your words solidify as they dawn on his shell-shocked face dripping with your drink. You watch long enough to catch his cheeks start to pool with bright, chagrinned pink—even in the dim club lights—before ripping your wrist out from his grip and stomping away from him, back into the crowd of sweaty, indiscriminate bodies all having fun to the beat of the drum and bass blasting over the speakers.

You might apologize for it tomorrow—tell him you hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, then break up properly as you’d intended with your well-written note at a Sunday cafe. But right now, you just want to dance. Hell, that’s what you’d come here to do—not to stand pretty between his arms and listen to him whine about all the people checking you out. Jeez—a fucking party pooper if there ever was one, and an insecure loser at that.

Your relationship ended mere moments ago, but you’re already feeling fantastic—ecstatic even—freed and light as a feather, like a big burdensome weight has just been dusted off your shoulders and given you a squeaky-clean break. In fact, with the way you’re feeling right now, not to mention the way you’re looking—hair right and makeup done up drop-dead gorgeous in your perfect little black dress hot as all hell—you might very well go home with someone else.

Is what you think in your alcohol-induced head—looking back at the guy who’s rubbing back into your grinding, thinking he’s quite a solid rebound. He even buys you another drink! Then two, then three, and ooh wee, guess who’s going home with a hot stranger!

The two of you stumble out of the club together—drunk and dumb and giggly, ready to order a cab to his place. It would be the first time in a very long time you’d have a one-night stand, but you have no mind to rethink it. On cloud nine, where you cling to the good-looker—as though you were scared he’d slip through your fingers if you let go for even a moment—as if you’d been denied a fun time for so long, you feared someone might come and take the thrill away.

“There you are,” a voice breaks your laughter, cracking the bright smile on your face. “Finally done?”

You go quiet, and so does the world around you—stopping dead in your tracks, you look up through your lashes as if ashamed to meet his gaze—knowing it would be harsh.

“And who are you supposed to be?” tonight’s unfortunate boytoy cocks his head.

Your boyfriend–no—your ex-boyfriend squares up, folding his arms upon his puffed chest, arms that look more threatening than you remember, then cocks his chin with an unamused face. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Pfft—no, you’re not,” you slur with a scoff, shaking your head, trying to sober up. “I broke up with you.”

Your ex doesn’t find it as funny, giving you a steely glare while raising a strict pointer at you. “Shut it. You’ve had your fun.”

He then grabs your upper arm hard, pulling you away from the stranger and close to his side—grip so tight his knuckles whiten against your flesh.

“Sorry about her,” he chuckles at the stranger with a stiff smile on his face. “She gets like this sometimes—y’know how girls are…” He looks down at you while he says the next thing, “Attention whores.”

And then he laughs again, looking back at your friend—who, at this point, is looking a little uncomfortable where he stands caught in the middle of the awkward exchange.

“I apologize if she got your hopes up, but she’s only doing this to rile me up and has absolutely zero intentions of going home with you—so you might as well just scram.”

He’s already backing away when you interject, “Hey—” 

But he just throws his hands up. “Sorry, you’re fine, but I’m not touching this.”

Your ex scoffs with a smirk. “Smart kid.”

And then the guy’s gone. Just like that. Slipped away—leaving you alone again with him. The one you can’t ever seem to escape.

“Tch—look at you,” he grumbles, looking you over, still with a mean grip of your upper arm. “ You’re a drunk mess. I’m taking you home.”

You plant your heels—or try to at least—as he starts dragging you along towards the lot where he’d parked his car. 

“Stop!” you say, wanting to pull your arm free but failing. “I told you already—I’m not your girlfriend—we’re done, so leave me alone.”

He doesn’t pay you any mind, maintaining a straight route to the car.

“Let go!” you whine, tightening your hand around the strap to your purse before slapping it across his back. “I said—”

“I thought I told you to shut your mouth,” he growls once the two of you reach the car. “I’ve had about enough of this attitude of yours.” 

Turning to face you, he instantly yanks your handbag out of your grip, all but confiscating it—his warped expression only a short inch away from yours, glaring at you with his teeth clenched.

“Now, if you know what’s best for you, you’re gonna sit your bratty ass down in the car and put your goddamn seatbelt on before I get even more pissed off than I already am—then maybe, just maybe, I’ll go a little easier on you once we get home.”

He pops the passenger’s door open before throwing you inside—keeping your purse to himself as he rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, along with your phone and credit card. Left no other options but to take your chances in the sketchy club district, all alone, in the middle of the night, with no good means of getting home…

You deliberate it, holding onto the door handle, ready to jump out—but ultimately, you sit pretty as he starts the car.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[oh-no-its-bird]

Sakumo being a super popular borderline sex symbol in his era will never stop being my favorite hc, I need to see more of it

All the people his age and younger had a crush on him. It was just a Thing(tm) where 9 times out of 10, a Konoha shinobi's first crush was probably Sakumo. Even other villages young shinobi hung up his bingo book picture above their bunk and dreamed of both killing him, being killed by him (in a hot way), having a battlefield fling with him, and more. There was blackmarket fanfiction. He was incredibly popular among civilians all over fire country. Some popular romance novels had love interests very blatantly based off him.

Even before they were on a team together, Obito and Rin both had a silly kid crush on Kakashi's dad (Obito more than Rin) and he was aware of it. This did not help make him like them any more. (By the time hearing smthn positive ab his dad would have made Kakashi softer, they'd both gotten better at hiding the crush, so to Kakashi it looked like they'd gotten over Sakumo.) Even Minato had a bit of a thing for him, not really but like— strong, popular, feard and very friendly ninja who is now paying him some attention (bc hes his kids teacher) he's not immune. Kushina understands, she is also not immune. (Kakashi is going to throw a fucking fit)

Even after his failed mission, when his reputation crashes and burns within the village, he still can't completely shake his admirers— they possibly just get more disrespectful ab the attraction when it mixes with the hate. (Which tbh could make for an interesting discussion all on its own)

Kakashi is haunted by his father's insane popularity for decades after his death. He does his very best to ignore the lingering evidence of people being insane ab his father.

One day he realizes one of his favorite romance novels has a romance interest based off Sakumo and has a break down ab it and can never read the series again.

When raiding an old abandoned enemy camp w Team Ro, he finds an old, autographed photo of his dad covered in lipstick marks in the communal bathroom. He chooses to ignore it but it's quickly spotted by his teammates, who do not know who Sakumk is, and v quickly begin to remark on the poster, who this mysterious Konoha nin is, and ahaha damn he is kinda good looking, huh? (Kakashi wants to DIE)

Shisui ends up taking the poster back to Konoha with them and hangs it up in the ANBU communal quarters where it is VERY quickly recognized. And also some of the people in that room recognize it so quick bc they also used to own a similar poster. (Kakashi wants to DIE someone PLEASE kill him now)

Its only when he's given team 7 that he finally thinks he's escaped the legacy of his father as Konoha's Most Sexiest Shinobi. Only for Naruto, when being trained by Jiriyah, to find his drafts for Icha Icha very clearly inspired by his dad. Which he can never publish for multiple reasons (lingering respect for Sakumo. Also for Kakashi, who is his biggest fan and would probably never look at him again.)

Naruto somehow accidentally brings this up with Kakashi who like. Has war flashbacks and immediatley stands up and walks away as Jiryah scrambles to try to explain himself and Tsunade looks on in scorn (she will approach him later to carefully ask for the drafts while trying to seem like she's not really asking for them bc she's too proud to admit it)

Naruto and Sakura discover Kakashi-sensei's dad was a sex symbol. I don't even know how they'd react but like. Oh my god. Oh my god you guys.

Funniest option would be they accidentally revive his popularity a little bit by being so loud ab it they like, remind people ab him. + introduce another generation to the idea of him

Kakashi is crouched on the floor with his face in his hands. When will he be freed from this hell.

Sasuke does not escape tho, he goes to sound and finds a picture of Sensei's dad in Orochimaru's office (???????)

This is such a shitty sketch but the vision:

Itachi, who learned who Sakumo was from that poster thing, goes on to find a photo of him in ""Madara's"" belongings and gets super weirded out but ultimately doesn't. Super care. But also. Like. What. What.

After Itachi finds the photo, which Obito genuinley forgot he fucking had and keeps in part just bc its like one of the only belongings that remained from his Konoha days, he shoves it somewhere in Kamui to forget about.

But then in the Obito vs Kakashi Kamui fight, it fucking flutters down in the middle of the fight and Obito fucking dies of humiliation as Kakashi realizes he will truly Never Escape and that this reality is his own personal hell

Uhh endgame Kakashi becomes Hokage and accidentally retreads his father's path in becoming the new Konoha Sexy Man. Which simultaneously crushes him (he will never escape) and fills him with delight (he will now be able to impart the pain of having your father figure be lusted after by all ur friends and acquaintances onto his students)

[hrefna-the-raven]

Home

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1 - 2

Words: 1476

Warnings: smut (18+)

Summary: Michael has escaped Smith Grove's Sanitarium...

Reader: short female reader, female genitals in smut scenes

The voice echoing in his mind persisted, urging him to go to Haddonfield but the back door he was sliding open was miles away from it, for today he listened to another power rising from deep within. Stepping inside, he found himself standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the assortment of sweets and candies neatly arranged on the countertop. A faint smile curled at the edges of his mouth, knowing that you had purchased each one of them according to the list. Right next to it, neatly folded, was a black witch costume with a small hat resting atop of it.

You were sitting on the couch, engrossed in the movie "Bates Motel" when a continued cold draft caught finally caught your attention. With a grunt, you switched off the TV and lifted your body from the comfort of the couch, making your way towards the kitchen. Your fingers fumbled in search of the light switch, and as it clicked on, your gaze shot up, landing on the tall masked man standing at the counter, his fingers gliding over the tiny hat from your costume. You immediately recognised deep blue striped pants and the torn dirty gray bathrobe that seemed tiny hanging on his imposing figure.

"Michael!", you shouted in shock and total disbelief.

Your body froze for a moment. It was something else seeing this mountain of man standing in your kitchen, close to midnight, all alone and far away from the security that Smith's Grove provided. How could he even be here? Did he escape? Just as you wondered why nobody had informed you about the escape of the patient you mainly took care of, the sharp ringing of the wall-mounted phone next to you startled both you and Michael. Without diverting your gaze from him, you reached out and grabbed the phone, placing it against your ear and waiting a moment before speaking.

"Hello?"

"Oh nurse, heavens! I'm glad I was able to reach you. Michael has escaped, he killed several on his way out."

There was a pause on the other side as Loomis waited for your reply. Any sane person would have freaked out while being trapped alone in their home with the sanitarium's most infamous patient. The doctor on the other end of the line was you're only chance to call for help and as the thoughts of what any sane person would have done in that moment flashed before your inner vision, your body had its own surprise in store for you. Your hand gestured for Michael to close the door behind him while you shot a warm smile at him before focusing back on the phone call.

"Oh my god, that's terrible! Did someone alarm the police? Do you know where he's headed?"

Michael blinked in disbelief as you faked a shocked tone while the traces of your smile still lingered on your lips. His eyes never left your figure, his hand fumbling behind him to close the door. The enigma that was you continued to surprise him, eluding the expectations formed by the cruel world around him, only to grace him with the kindness he not only thought lost after his mother stopped visiting him. No, you continued to surpass it and as he stood within your kitchen, he almost felt a sense of home, carrying his thoughts to the one he had back then as he briefly wondered where his little sister could be now.

"No I haven't seen him. Why would he come here? Have you checked in Haddonfield where his sister lives now?"

You winked at him, feeling freed from your confidential oath as he was technically, officially, not near you to overhear such information. Michael felt stunned at your response. Back in the sanitarium he had wondered more than once if you'd be able to peak into his mind as you always seemed to understand him so well and now you had answered the very question that had been lingering in his mind. A strange sensation burned underneath his skin as if he wanted to...wanted to kiss you. His breaths grew heavier and his hands pressed tightly against his sides, trying to hide the trembles.

"I'll keep a look out but I'm sure he won't waste any time coming here. You too. Goodnight Dr Loomis."

You hung up the phone and turned back to Michael, taking a few hesitant steps into his direction.

"So...uhm...what brought you here? You could also have tried to find your sister."

A small shivering breath came from behind the mask before Michael slowly pulled it off his face and pointed at you. Your brows furrowed for a moment and you contemplated on the possibilities before answering cautiously.

"Me? You came here because of me? To see me?"

He nodded, placing his mask on the counter beside your costume and sank to his knees, arms outstretched, waiting for you to approach him. He was aware that you probably knew the circumstances that led to his escape, Loomis would have surely informed you how much blood stained his hands tonight. And yet, you chose to send the doctor straight to Haddonfield all the while wearing a smile on your face. You had a choice tonight and you chose him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes when you wrapped your arms around him, exhaling relieved at the shared closeness. It had been a long time since anyone had chosen him, and now here you were, gently cradling his face, your gaze filled with nothing but affection. His heart ached beautifully as the feeling of home nestled within. He leaned in closer, his lips pressing on yours in a, first, tender kiss that quickly morphed into burning passion he couldn't control any longer. Strong hands slid beneath your butt and you gasped when you were lifted onto the counter. Long fingers wrapped around your shorts and panties, tearing them off with such force that they were flying off to the corner of the kitchen.

"Michael!", you shrieked in surprise but your legs parting on their own betrayed your desire.

Michael groaned at the sight of your wet folds before him. Not only had you chosen him, but you were also willing to surrender yourself to him, to be his. He silently vowed to worship you as the angelic being that you were, grant you the pleasures of the heavens you descended from. Gently, he positioned your legs over his shoulders and leaned forward, his face coming tantalisingly close to your cunt and you could feel his breath fanning over your wetness. A deep, sinful moan escaped your lips as his tongue pressed flat against your swollen clit. His fingers dug deeper into your flesh as your sweet taste began to fill his mouth, igniting a feral hunger within him. His sloppy licks grew faster, sucking at your clit in between before shoving three fingers into your dripping entrance. You cried out in pleasure as he kept thrusting into you, pushing you fast towards the edge of your release. The man between your legs had nothing in common with the shy calm patient from the observation room, the one standing between your legs ate you out like a starved man, worshipping you for the loyalty you showed him. Your fingers entwined in his hair, urging him closer as you bucked your hips and cried out his name, panting and finally coming undone while pure bliss washed over you. Michael mumbled something against your folds before rising and using his sleeve to wipe away your juices from his face. You still breathed heavily, chuckling as you hopped off the countertop, searching for your pants in the kitchen corner.

"That was....wow....I-I should return the favour", you spoke softly, pulling up your pants.

As you glanced up, a short gasp escaped your lips as you discovered Michael already standing beside you, his arms sneaking around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Later", he murmured, his voice coarse and deep, "let's sleep."

Those little words, so simple and yet the desire that gave birth to them ran so deep. Michael never truly had someone, his dark thoughts being the only company he ever knew until, one day, you stepped through those doors in the Sanitarium. He had always wondered it how would to be to lie down in bed with someone, not a single worry in his world as only happiness seeped through his body and the warmth of your touch lulling him into slumber. You led him upstairs and cuddled up to him on your bed, slowly sinking into a blissful sleep in the arms of Haddonfield's most feared man. Michael caressed your arm, eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off, one final thought lingering before surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber. Home...

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story 😊

[majestyeverlasting]

Hellooo, can I please request a Joel miller x reader oneshot where the reader had a really bad day at work and she’s calling him from the bathroom crying and he immediately rushes to pick her up? 🥰🩷

𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary A disheartening setback at work leads you to call Joel, who always knows exactly what you need [fluff, 1.6k].

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! Really enjoyed writing this one.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Hi, are you busy right now?

A heavy exhale is freed from your chest the moment you hit send. It’s quiet in the bathroom except for the rhythmic drip of the leaky sink faucet. Muffled voices arise from the hallway as people pass by, some preparing to commute home. Warm tears stream down your cheeks. 

No sooner does your phone vibrate to life, a picture of you and Joel at McKinney Falls filling the screen. There isn’t much time to compose yourself before you press the accept button with a shaky thumb. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Got done early today, we’re cleaning up the site,” Joel greets, wind in the background. Tommy’s voice emits from nearby as well, followed by rowdy, cackling laughter. “Hold on a second, lemme get someplace quiet.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

There’s shuffling on his end of the line that eventually subsides. It’s still worth clinging to even though he’s miles away. 

“Sorry about that. Everything alright?” Concern dances around the edges of his words. You can tell he’s trying to keep them from being consumed. 

After Sarah moved out for college, he’d gotten better at accepting that every phone call he received from her didn’t automatically mean trouble. Most of the time, she simply wanted to catch up now that she lived two hours away. 

However, the opposite was true between you and Joel. Nowadays, you spend so much time together that there’s seldom a need to talk on the phone. The fact that you were calling him, from work, no less, meant something was up. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, but it doesn’t do much for the wavering of your voice when you finally speak up again, “Just wanted to hear your voice.” 

Your subsequent sniffle makes him grow still. You can see it through the phone. It’s in the way he doesn’t immediately respond, gears undoubtedly turning in his head. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” There’s a gentle, almost melodic quality to his voice that makes you wish you could lay your head on his chest and feel the rumble of his words. 

“Today’s just been a lot,” you tell him. “You know Alexander, the Bulletin’s editor?” He makes a small sound of affirmation. “It wasn’t his decision, but he pulled me aside to let me know my feature has been put on hold for further revision.” 

Relaying the news makes fresh tears well in your eyes. Over the past few weeks, Joel has watched you pour yourself into each stage of constructing the story to do the subjects justice—the meticulous research, heartfelt interviews, and late nights perfecting every draft. 

It was a labor of love, a piece that sought to illuminate the struggles of longtime Austin residents, artists, and small business owners navigating the challenges of gentrification and displacement. 

“Something about it being redundant.” Which, for all you knew, could be higher-up code for we don’t want this stepping on the toes of donors with deep pockets.  

“You’re kidding,” Joel grouses, disappointed for you. 

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “I wish I was,” you breathe. “Redundant, yet they’ve got room for age-old dieting tips and holiday gift guides every year,” you say, voice wavering. 

“I know, I hear you. I’m so sorry, baby,” he soothes, releasing a heavy sigh. “At least it hasn’t been canned entirely. That’s worth something.”  

He’s right, but it still feels like a slap in the face considering all the time invested. From you and everyone who shared their story. 

“It just sucks,” you sniffle. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night, and now I feel even worse.” A dull ache has settled in your temples. 

Shuffling arises on Joel’s end of the line again, and you remember that he’s still on site. 

“I’m sorry. You can go if you need to.” 

Instead, he comes back with, “Hang tight, okay? Gonna come get you.” 

When you bite your lip instead of responding, he keeps talking, “Should be there in twenty, give or take.” 

As appealing as it sounds to be whisked away, reality is quick to set in. 

“No, it’s fine, Joel. Tommy and the guys need you. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t good for it,” he replies. 

•••

Outside, you’re met with a relaxed breeze and the dwindling warmth of downtown, where the sun eases towards the horizon. A few tourists mill around, men and women in business casual stride by with messenger bags. At Joel’s truck, which is parallel parked across the street, he gets the door for you. An 80s station plays low on the radio, Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run faintly recognizable. 

You watch as he rounds to the driver’s side in that relaxed stride you love. He looks handsome despite his mused hair and the specks of dried paint on his shirt. When he climbs in, you’ve taken notice of the ice-cold raspberry tea in the cupholder closest to you. 

Along the way, he’d stopped and gotten it from the cafe you and Sarah frequented whenever she was visiting from school. You only went alone as an occasional treat, but he knew how much you liked it. 

A smile buds on his face when you pick it up and take a grateful sip. There’s a softness to his gaze that makes warmth bloom in your chest. With him, even the little things seemed to say, I see you. 

When you extend the cup his way in a silent offer, he waves you off. However, curiosity gets the better of him after he pulls off the curb. “Guess a sip won’t hurt.”

For the first time in what feels like hours, you smile when Joel hums at the flavor. For a moment, it doesn’t feel like the world is ending anymore. When he places his hand on your thigh, you intertwine your fingers with his, and he gives your hand a squeeze. 

A comfortable silence settles between you. It isn’t until you’ve left downtown that Joel speaks up again, voice measured and sure, “Your story will get out. Those guys know good journalism when they see it, and they’re gonna have to run it.” 

You glance over at him, your lower lip caught between your teeth as hope kindles in your chest.

“Hell, I’ll make my own publication if that’s what it takes. The Miller Times.” 

A chuckle bubbles out of you, but you could cry at the same time. For an entirely different reason this time. 

“I could get in trouble for going to a different publisher,” you remind him, running your thumb over the back of his hand as a small smile plays on your lips. “I’m on staff.”  

“I know, honey.” Joel squeezes your hand, a playful glint in his eyes. “Admit it, though. You thought about it for a second. The Miller Times has a nice ring to it.” 

He can see you fighting against your growing smile. “It’s alright.” 

“I’ll take that,” he concedes. Then, a greater air of sincerity settles over him. “What’s that one saying—setbacks are setups for something better.” 

You nod, gazing out the window as you turn into his neighborhood. 

“Don’t let this weigh you down.” 

You felt worlds lighter with him. 

•••

The warm spray of the shower feels so good against your skin that you remain under it even after the day’s troubles have washed away. Three months ago, you would’ve had to use Joel’s body wash, but your products and belongings had since made their way here. Some, he bought because he knew you’d be around, and others—namely, clothes—that migrated from your apartment. 

The word home has lost its shape in that regard. Not in a detached way of not belonging in any one place, but in that Joel’s house had begun to feel like just as much of a home as your cozy one-bedroom a few miles away. 

When you finally step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around yourself, you can see straight into the bedroom, where Joel is stretched across the bed. The sound of the shower door closing prompts him to sit up with a low grunt. You offer a shy smile upon meeting his gaze. 

“Promise I’m not creepin’ around,” he says, standing to his feet. “Just wanted to see if your headache was gone. Can bring up some Tylenol if you need it.” 

“It’s fine. I feel better now,” you assure. With a satisfied nod, he turns to leave with the intent of giving you space, but stops in his tracks when you speak up again, “You’re allowed to creep around if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Joel saunters into the bathroom doorway, propping an arm against the frame. The motion causes his bicep to strain against the sleeve of his shirt. Getting to see you like this, the intimacy of it all, always makes him feel grateful and warm. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“You’re the boss,” you lilt.

With a low chuckle, Joel pushes out of the doorway and moves to stand behind you. You stare at your joint reflection as he rests his large hands on your hips, then leans down to press a delicate kiss to your bare shoulder. His frame is broad and rugged behind you, but his eyes are kind. 

When you rest your hands over his, he presses a second kiss to the crook of your neck. Then another just beneath your ear. His lips are so soft and warm against your damp skin that you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine and makes you press back into him. 

“I like you like this,” he whispers. “Relaxed…smiling.”

Now that you’re in his arms, it’s hard to imagine having stayed at the newsroom. With the meetings, chatty colleagues, and constant blue light. It’s quieter here with Joel. The world at large has disappeared while your smaller one keeps turning.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” you admit. 

But Joel did. He always did. 

-

Thank you so much for reading. Like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all.

MORE

[incessantscreech2000]

Image transcriptions below:

Legendary South African Jewish Freedom Fighters

And Their Condemnation of Israel

Many people don't know that several of Nelson Mandela's closest and earliest comrades and co-conspirators were South African Jews.

These Jewish comrades and their work was pivotal to the defeat of South African apartheid, giving them a unique perspective on the state of Israel.

—

Joe Slovo (1926-1995) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. In 1942, at age 16, Slovo volunteered to travel to Europe to fight the Nazis. Upon return, he studied alongside Nelson Mandela. He eventually was a founding member of uMkhonto we Sizwe, the paramilitary arm of the African National Congress.

Slovo was exiled to Mozambique by the apartheid government. Whilst there, his wife, legendary Jewish anti-apartheid activist Ruth First, was assassinated by a parcel bomb sent by the apartheid regime.

Working from abroad for the fall of apartheid, he eventually returned and became a Minister in Mandela's government. Throughout his life he remained a staunch critic of Israel.

—

"Ironically enough, the horrors of the Holocaust became the rationalization for the preparation by Zionists of acts of genocide against the indigenous people of Palestine. Those of us who, in the years that were to follow, raised our voices against the violent apartheid of the Israeli state were vilified by the Zionist press."

- Joe Slovo

—-

Denis Goldberg (1933-2020) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. He spent 22 years in prison, mostly in solitary confinement, for his political activity alongside Mandela.

He was finally freed when his daughter, who lived in Israel, lobbied the Israeli government, which was closely allied to the apartheid regime, to release him. Due to his staunch opposition to Zionism, he refused to join her in Israel.

—

"The violence of the [South African] apartheid regime was nothing in comparison with the utter brutality of Israel's occupation of Palestine."

- Denis Goldberg

—

Beata Lipman (1928-2016) was a Jewish South African anti-apartheid activist. She drafted the original Freedom Charter in her own handwriting in 1952, which became the basis for the constitution of free South Africa after the fall of apartheid.

Lipman was a proud Jewish critic of Israel, penning many letters condeming Israel over its treatment of Palestinians.

—

"We who have fought against Apartheid and vowed not to allow it to happen again can not allow Israel to continue perpetrating apartheid, colonialism and occupation against the indigenous people of Palestine. We dare not allow Israel to continue violating international law with impunity. Apartheid was a gross violation of human rights. It was so in South Africa and it is so with regard to Israel's persecution of the Palestinians!"

- Beata Lipman in joint letter

—

Ronnie Kasrils is a Jewish South African who was also a founding member and Chief of Intelligence for uMkhonto we Sizwe.

In 1992, Kasrils led an unarmed protest when the apartheid government opened fire, killing 28 of his comrades and injuring over 200 others. He went on to serve in various Ministerial roles after the defeat of apartheid.

In 2001, Kasrils was co-author of the

*Declaration of Conscience by South Africans of Jewish Descent, which calls Israel a colonial apartheid-state. He has drawn criticism for stating that Israel has behaved like the Nazis.

—

"We recognise the operation today by the Palestinian resistance in Gaza as a legitimate expression of their right to resist. We support all efforts of oppressed people to liberate themselves from their oppressors in the same way we did in our liberation struggle.

We are saddened by all violence but Israeli Jews will not realise peace until they accept a future where they will live with Palestinians as citizens in a single, democratic Palestinian state, with Palestinians being compensated for seven decades of colonisation, occupation and apartheid."

- Ronnie Kasrils, 7th October 2023

[prythianpages]

Shining Like the Sun | Lucien x Reader

summary: Lucien walks in on you singing a familiar tune to your daughter.

word count: 1,200

warnings: fluff

a/n: This has been in my drafts for a hot minute and I decided to finally edit it. Here is another part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: and a part two to this one-shot. It can also be read as a stand alone as this takes place many years after. I just wanted to take a lighter approach to this song since the first part was dark/angsty.

As the sun ascends to its highest peak in the beautiful blue sky, its bathes the court in a warm glow. It’s been years since Lucien officially moved to Day Court, accepting his title as Helion’s heir. Yet, he still finds himself getting lost in the beauty of it all.

It was not easy for him to come to terms with the truth and he was grateful to have you by his side. The one constant in his life. The one who loved him even when he couldn’t find it in his heart to love himself.

A soft, melodious hum echoes through the courtyard like a gentle breeze. Lucien’s lips curve up into a smile and he allows the lovely sound to carry him forward. His eye softens immediately when he finally spots you.

You stand in front of the magnificent crystal fountain, humming a familiar tune to your daughter as you gently sway her back and forth in your arms. The fountain is your daughter’s favorite place. Her tiny eyes love to watch the way the crystals catch the sunlight, entranced by the resulting rainbows that dance across the courtyard. She loves it even more when you bring her close, her hands always reaching out for the moving water in a silent request to let her touch it.

But your daughter is not focused on the fountain at this moment.

Her attention is solely focused on you... much like her father’s.

“Tonight the super trouper beams are gonna blind me, but I won't feel blue."

Lucien pauses as you begin to sing, admiring the scene before him. Your voice possesses an enchanting allure that never fails to draw him in. And so he listens, entranced and enamored, knowing that he would follow you to the ends of the Prythian over and over again just to hear the sound of your voice. 

“Like I always do,” you continue to sing, smiling when your daughter begins to scrunch her nose in delight. Lucien feels a tug in his chest–a sign that you’re well aware he’s watching. And then you’re finally lifting your head, meeting his gaze across the courtyard.

“‘Cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you.”

Sensing his warming presence, your daughter shifts in your arms. Her mouth parts as she spots her father, tiny hands reaching out for him. She is the spitting image of Lucien with her russet eyes and cascade of deep red hair that curls softly around her golden skin.

Lucien grins, finally bridging the distance between you. He graciously takes the infant into his arms, chest tightening when your daughter beams up at him. Her tiny hands grasp at his face, poking at his cheeks.

The way she looks up at him always makes his heart swell with such warmth. When she was first born, he worried his scars and mechanical eye would frighten her. But all he sees is pure awe and adoration reflected in those russet eyes.

Your eyes shine with mirth at the sight. “Someone missed you.”

Lucien playfully nips at your daughter’s fingers, eliciting the most adorable fit of giggles. So he does it one more time, chuckling with her, before turning to you. Your hair is swept to the side, leaving your back exposed and his gaze flickers toward the tattoo etched there. 

What once used to be a trapped bird in a cage is now a bird soaring free, its wings spread wide in flight. A powerful symbol of your journey and a testament to Lucien's promise fulfilled—to liberate you from the bargain that bound you to that wretched place.

You had been freed to follow your heart, to explore the world, and to love without restraint. And you did, your heart choosing him, overwhelming him with a feeling he had thought he'd never be able to feel again. It appeared that the Cauldron had also finally favored him when the bond snapped, revealing you two to be mates.

His thumb sweeps over the black ink before letting it fall to the small of your back. He presses a kiss to your forehead and then walks you both to one of the day beds.

“Just someone?” He asks, russet eye sparkling as he already knows his answer. You had sent a couple of tugs through the bond while he sat through a meeting with Helion and other members of the Day council. It was something you both did, a means to check on each other.

“Maybe, I missed you too,” you reply coyly.

Lucien scoffs. “Maybe?”

You only laugh in response but the surge of love that floods through the bond says otherwise. The hand at your back lowers until he finds your own, his fingers intertwining with yours. Lucien settles himself onto the day bed, your daughter secured safely in his hold while he tugs you along. You hesitate, a slight furrow to your brow.

“Don’t you have another meeting to attend today?”

Lucien’s nose scrunches at the reminder—a charming trait your daughter has clearly inherited. He glances up at you with a playful smile, tugging gently at your hand once more. “Can’t you just let me enjoy the sweet company of my girls?”

Your daughter coos in agreement, prompting Lucien to raise his eyebrow at you.

“Besides, I have at least an hour until then,” he assures you, russet eye lighting up when he feels your hand relax in his. “Now, come.”

You let him pull you closer, curling up by his side as his familiar, comforting scent envelops you.

“That song you were singing,” Lucien begins as your daughter begins to crawl up his chest. She presses one tiny hand against him to lift herself while the other tangles in the loose strands of her father’s hair. 

“I’ve always heard you humming it but I don’t think I’ve heard the words until now.”

“Really? It’s about when I first met you,” you say, lifting your chin to meet his warm and curious gaze. Blush rises to your cheeks. “I thought you knew. It's Sol’s favorite too.”

The two of you then look at the bundle of joy nestled between you both. Sol’s eyes crinkle, joyfully overwhelmed at the attention. “Sing it to me,” Lucien pleads gently, pulling the two of you closer to him.

And so you do. 

Your voice floats softly through the air, wrapping around the three of you like a gentle embrace. Lucien closes his eyes, savoring the melody and the meaning. Beneath the warm embrace of the sun, with his two favorite girls by his side, all his worries melt away. Your daughter follows suit, nestling her head into her father’s chest, her eyes slowly giving in to sleep.

“Still, I'm thinking about you only,” you continue to sing, smiling softly to yourself. Your daughter nestles deeper into Lucien’s chest, her eyelids growing heavier. With a tender caress to her cheek, she finally succumbs to sleep. “There are moments when I think I’m going crazy.”

“But it’s gonna be alright. Everything will be so different when–”

A light snore disrupts your song, and you let out an amused chuckle. Even as Lucien drifts off to sleep, his feelings of happiness and love flood through the bond you share. Your own eyes close, basking in the warmth of it all.

Surely, a nap wouldn’t hurt.

ABBA x Acotar Masterlist

I found a dreamy cover of super trouper and listened to it a lot when writing this.

tagging those who read the first part and were interested in a part two: @acourtofimagines, @flymetovelaris, @zeprussia, @mybestfriendmademe, @hardcoremarvelfan

@tele86, @secretlyhers, @sarawritestories, @evergreenlark

I would love to eventually write a part that is set in between the first part and this one that focuses on how Lucien saved you but I'm still trying to find inspo for that. Like I'm unsure if I want him to find reader again UTM or for Lucien to invoke the Autumn duel or for him to get Rhys involved. For now, enjoy this fluff bc Lucien deserves all the happiness in the world <3

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

[lilbitdepressed27]

Jenna Ortega/ Fem!Bodyguard

Summary: you’re her bodyguard also g!preader

Warnings: bad smut prepare your self

WC: 1.7k

Author’s Note: it’s my first time (most likely my last) writing smut. Don’t know where this came from but hope y’all like it. Sorry for any mistakes. Also I have few too many unfinished drafts some of them being AU’s for Tara I’ll try to finish them as soon as possible. Or least finish one.

You stood a few inches away from the actress as she smiled and talked with a few fans. 'Never be too far from her. Keep her in arms length.' That had been a rule you always followed. The short six months that you've worked for her have been, different. You had joined the marines right after high school. Being in the marines for six years. You had been given the choice to renew your contract but you had declined. Figuring that six years was enough.

Now you worked as a bodyguard for a sweet actress. Jenna Ortega. Americas new it girl. So far you loved the job. Jenna was everything and more. Caring, kind and amazing. She was so kind to her fans, which was why you were behind her as she spoke with some. She had been talking with the small group of girls for the past few minutes. You looked down at your watch, the actresses had a tight schedule you had come to learn. Especially Americas it girl.

A small tap on her elbow was the signal. "Sorry guys but I have to go. It was nice meeting you." Jenna smiled and gave the four girls separate hugs. Thanking them and saying goodbye. Allowing you to lead her way.

"Bye Jenna! Bye Y/n!"

Strangers knowing your name had also been something you were now used to. You smiled at the girls and waved back. Leading Jenna away towards the building. It was a good thing it was a mostly empty parking lot. She had an interview but it was a video interview and she had it set back in her hotel room. It was the last thing she had scheduled for the day. You smiled slightly when she looked up at you, while you both waited for the elevator.

It wasn't long till you were in the hotel room. Closing and locking the door before you had your arms full of a short brunette.

"Finally. We're alone. How can I miss you so much when you're with me all day." Jenna complained her face hiding in your neck. She couldn't help but smile when she smelt your cologne. It was a sent she loved. The feeling of your strong arms wrapping around her waist as she wrapped her legs around your waist. The way you effortlessly picked her up. She had never felt so safe with anyone, not in the way she felt around you. From the very first moment she met you, she had known that it'd be easy being friends. She had not prepared herself to fall in love. Loving you was so free, so easy.

"Mmh I missed you to baby." You walked towards the bed and laid on your back. Jenna was quick to get comfortable on top, tuck her face into your neck. Stuffing her hands into your shirt. Smiling when you felt light kisses being placed on your pulse. Never did you think that by getting this job you'd find the love of your life.

"I can feel, how much you missed me."

Your breath hitched when you felt her grinding on your lap. Part of you hardening. Your hands moving to rest on the back of your head as you watched her grind on your lap. Bitting your lip at the sounds of her moans and whimpers. The way her nails dug into your stomach.

"Y-Y/n please." Her hips stuttered before trying to go faster. Her hands shaking a clear desperation of need, as she tried to unbuckle your pants. She looks up at you her eyes filled with lust and desire. "I-I need you."

"Now? baby you have an interview in a few minutes. Don't start something you can't finish." But just as you said that. You thought of something. Something that had you taking a grip of her wrists. Stopping her movement. Your length fell heavy on your stomach after you freed your self from your pants.

"Come on then. You know what to do." You knew exactly what you were doing. Was it risky? Yes. But did you love the thrill. Absolutely. You watched as she quickly pushed her panties to the side. Not bothering to take them off. It was a great thing she was wearing a skirt.

"FFuck." The overwhelming feeling of pure pleasure over took her body as she felt your tip grazing her clit. Then the stretch of your tip entering her. No matter how many times she was intimate with you, she'd never get used to your size. The need and want of always having you inside her was something she always craved. The feeling of your length stretching her out as she continued moving down until she bottom out. The ecstasy of it all.

You jerked your hips up, watching in satisfaction as she threw her head back the way her breathing hitched before the moans escaped her lips. The way her walls tightened around you as she continued to let out her screams of pleasure.

The sound of Jenna's phone ringing was heard throughout the room, "Answer the phone." Seeing the tremble of her body you knew she was close. But she had a job to do. So with that you gripped her hips. Halting her movements. You ignored the whine coming from her lips.

"Answer the phone. I won't ask again."

Knowing she couldn't argue she answered the phone. Her hand shaking, her hips instinctively twitching every few seconds. Like her hips had a mind of their own. "H-Hello?"

"Jenna the interview is in 5 minutes. Get your laptop set up, the link has been sent. I can go to your room to hel-No! I" A small moan escaping her lips, when you jerked your hips up. she was quick to cover it up with a cough. Eyes widening as she looked down at you. A smirk was what she got in return.

"I got it don't don't worry about it. I'll I'll see you soon." She hung up the phone throwing it to side.

"Y-Y/n baby please. Faster."

You knew it was a risk but your horniness was at an all time high. So you got the small foldable bed table. Putting it on your stomach. It already had her laptop.

"Nonono. I can't. I'll I'll just reschedule it."

"No. Do your interview or we will stop right now. Now be my good girl and do your job." Your hands squeezed her rear cheeks. Her soft flesh warm in your hands.

She could see how red she was. The thin layer of sweat was noticeable but not as much as she tried to focus on what the interviewer was saying. You were using her, your length still inside her. you stayed like that for a while, then you started to move. The shock of pleasure shot through her body, biting her lip so hard to keep in the moans that threatened to escape. She felt it again. And again. Every single twitch into her g-spot. It almost had her rolling her eyes in pleasure. But holding in the need to bounce into your length was starting become painful. She needed to come, needed for you to wreak her like you always did. The need for you to leave her satisfied and legs shaking from the strong orgasms. You never left her unsatisfied.

"You alright Jenna?" The interviewer asked when he got no response.

"Uh y-yea. Just think I'm coming down with a cold or s-something."

But then you started to fuck her slowly, her hips being held down by your strong hands. The pace was painfully slow.

"Oh a cold? I'm sorry to hear that. I'll try to wrap this up as quick as possible."

She covered her mouth with palm of her hand. Masking it as a yawn. As you found a steady but still careful pace. The pleasure she was feeling in this very moment was becoming too much. Just the thought of getting caught had her clenching on your length. The filthy thought stayed. What if people knew what was happening? The thought alone had her wanting to chase her orgasm more.

You on the other hand were having so much fun watching the actress struggle. Twitching your cock deep inside her, seeing her fight the pleasure as she tried to keep a straight face and answer the questions being asked. You could feel her wetness sliding down your cock. The way her thighs were trembling. Ah the self control that she was showing, it made you want test it even more.

Reaching your hand in between her legs, finding the swollen bundle of nerve and pinching it. Loving the muffled squeak that escaped her lips. Her underwear was completely soaked, the feeling of her clit in between your fingers, your own heart beat thumbing in your ears as her walls clenched your length the more you played with her clit.

Her knuckles were white from how tight she was holding the handles on the small laptop table.

"Okay Jenna that's it. Thank you for taking time out of your day to do this interview with me. I hope you get better soon."

"Th-Thank you. And thank you for having me." With a wave the interview was finally over. Slamming the laptop shut. She pushed the table off of you. Not caring that laptop was on the table as it fell on the floor. Her nails scratching your toned stomach. She couldn't take it anymore. She needed you, she needed you to move. The two orgasms that she had while she spoke to the interviewer were not enough. Although her thighs would say otherwise with how much they were shaking.

"Baby please, ffuck me."

The night was spent with rough but passionate love making. If someone asked her why she was walking weird the next day, she had ignored your smug look as she explained how she fell the day before. But she couldn’t deny that she was eager to do it again. The soreness be damned.

:)