#her best look / role tbh

[fiapple]

i'm getting towards the end of the skypeia arc, & i'd like to say just how much i adore the way the female strawhats have been treated.

just... every aspect of how the way their characters have been previously contextualized influences the story-line is treated with a masterful amount of consideration. we're given so many layers to both of them that enrich not only their characters specifically, but the arc, and the one piece world as a whole. without nami & robin having their specific skills, and their specific values, without those being built upon, the story would have come to a halt.

you could not have skypeia without nami & robin being who they are as individuals. not just because they never would've gotten there without nami, but also because the way these women think is itself foundational to the machinations of the arc as a whole.

to be totally upfront, if you think any other strawhats were more central to the skypeia arc than nami & robin were you are full-on fucking lying to yourself.

[curapicas]

TLOVM s3ep11 SPOILERS

While I was fascinated by Ripley's subdued expression as she killed Percy, I quite like how her reintroduction didn't touch on any of it. After all she took the wrong lessons from that moment, belittling his reasons and when he's brought up by Vex, she talks dismissively of him - nevermind she made elaborate schemes to get her narrative mirror's attention. It's why Ripley is the villain - she refuses to reevaluate and learn, and this worst version of herself is all she ever gives others. "I was going to make the world better" suure

Ripley died as she lived, reaching no one

[wovetalesarc]

love my wife.

[lesbovalentine]

im thinking about tehanu again

[astranauticus]

idk what is it about that one throwaway line from han sooyoung about her writing 10 chapters in one day that finally broke me but oh my fuckin god i love her so much

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light: Part 2 [Plug!Az]

SUMMARY: Azriel hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, and when you agree to smoke with him and go for a drive, truths aren’t the only things that are shared. (6.6k)

WARNINGS: lots to unpack tbh, so let’s start with swearing, (male) masturbation, teasing, flirting, kissing (!!!!!), mentions of abusive families, reoccurring themes of use of recreational drugs (weed), Az driving while smoking/stoned (I do not condone that so please do not do that in real life!!)

A/N: firstly, thank you so incredibly much for all of the love on part one, I’m so excited to share what I have planned for this series!! This part is longer than the first, so maybe grab a drink and a snack hehe

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Why don’t we give the brownies idea a try?”

Azriel’s head felt like it may explode. For the past two hours, he’d been stuck in a discussion between his brothers regarding new ideas for new products to sell. And while Az and Rhys had no ideas to suggest (all agreeing cocaine, molly and ket were not up for discussion), Cassian was still hellbent on making weed brownies—despite knowing not a damn thing about baking. 

“Cass,” Rhys sighed, pinching sharply at the bridge of his nose. Azriel was going to lose his shit, he couldn’t go through this again—for a fifth fucking time. “We literally spoke about this last week! None of us know how to bake!” 

Cassian paid no mind to Rhysand’s clear frustrations with him and scoffed as he threw his head back on the couch. “It can’t be that fucking hard.” 

“Then by all means, buy your own shit and burn it while you try and figure it out.” 

Azriel blinked, looking between the pair. He’d barely said a word, too worried he may get a bit too heated. Cassian got like this sometimes—most of the time—and more often than not, Az got the idea he only did it to get a reaction out of Rhys, who had very little patience when it came to him.

Someone had to play mediator and devil’s advocate in every situation, and somehow, even since they were teens, that role always landed on Azriel’s shoulders. 

Deciding enough was enough, he leant forward and peered between them both. “As much as edibles would help out sales, Rhys is right,” Cassian snickered at him, “It’s not a good idea right now. Not when we have no clue what we’re doing, and especially not when we’re having problems with our supplier right now.”

It was silent in the room for a moment, for the first time in an hour. And after a few minutes passed and no one spoke, Rhys stood from the couch with a sigh. “I’ve gotta get going to the parlour. All my sketches are there and I’ve got a long day and a huge back piece to tattoo tomorrow.” 

He clapped a hand against both Az and Cassian’s shoulders before bidding them a goodbye and leaving. Cassian remained sulking on the couch, thick and toned arms crossed on his chest with an unsatisfied scowl on his face. Azriel took purchase on the coffee table in front of him, lips pursed to suppress his amusement.

Cassian often got like this if he was told no or something didn’t go his way. When they were younger, Azriel used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. But now, in their mid-twenties and Cassian sharing a striking resemblance to that hunky character from that one Disney movie, Azriel found his sulking the best form of entertainment. 

“Are you not working tonight?” Az broke the silence with a lighthearted question. As much as he found his brothers face amusing, he didn’t really have the energy to deal with it all fucking night. He had shit to do, people to see. And he didn’t particularly want to bring Cassian along to his drop off’s—not when Cass scared the shit out of most people. 

“Club’s closed, waiting for Nes to finish. Staying at hers tonight,” he mumbled.

Relief was quick to flow through Azriel’s blood as he let out a breath. His phone chimed from his back pocket as he said, “Tell her I say hi,” and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of Cassian’s mouth.

Az and Nesta had a decent friendship, he was closer to her than he was Feyre, but maybe that was because Nesta didn’t tiptoe around Az like most other people did. Maybe that was why he liked you so much. You didn’t shy under his gaze, and you didn’t treat him differently after noticing his scarred hands. 

Yes, he saw you watching, inspecting with hurt and curious eyes. But you didn’t say anything so neither did he. And when you purposely brushed your skin against his when you took that bag of bud, he knew you’d done it out of silent reassurance. 

And yet, he hadn’t heard from you since you met three days ago. Not that he expected you to message so soon, not after you said the 3.5 would last around two weeks, but he still felt that deep disappointment whenever he checked his phone and your name wasn’t the one to have messaged him. 

He needed to get a grip on himself, really. But you were different. So different from anyone he’d ever met or known before. You didn’t play up to any facade, you didn’t hesitate to tease him back. You were honest, painfully so when you admitted you were clueless, but that only made him find you even more endearing. 

“What about you?” Cassian’s voice drilled into his ears, abruptly pulling Azriel away from the memory of you. He quickly typed back a reply to a client that he could drop off within the hour and shoved his phone back in his pocket. 

“What about me?” Az asked. 

“Any plans?” 

Azriel shrugged, elbows leaning on his spread thighs and the oak coffee table creaked beneath his firm weight. “I’ve got a few deals to do, but that’s about it.”

Cass nodded, finally unfolding his arms and letting them drop to his sides. “Well, you know where I’ll be if you wanna come by, Nes would be happy to see you.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I saw her two days ago.”

His brother gave him a look, one that suggested ‘yeah, I know, but you’re like her best friend and she loves you to literal death’, and that was that. 

Cass left soon after, picking Nesta up from work and leaving Azriel home alone for what seemed like the thousandth night in a row. He didn’t mind it, not really. He enjoyed his own company and when Cass stayed at Nesta’s and Rhys stayed at Feyre’s, it meant Az could play around with new melodies and not be scolded for playing guitar at 4 a.m. and waking everybody up. 

Having the apartment to himself was a win-win for everyone involved. 

Only tonight, he didn’t want to sit and play with new sounds and rhythms. Not when his mind was completely distracted by you. By your smile, your eyes, by that sensual voice of yours that he hadn’t stopped replaying in his memory for the past three days. 

It wouldn’t hurt to send just one text, right? Just the one, just to check in on how you were finding the bud. As if you hadn't smoked it before they met. 

He shouldn’t. This wasn’t what he did—he didn’t chase after girls, he never had, and he most certainly did not get hooked—especially not on someone he’d known for three days. 

And yet, despite that, Azriel found himself on your messages, hovering his fingers over the keyboard and typing out a quick text and sending it before he could even think about it. 

Azriel: how’s the bud?

But it wasn’t his lack of thinking before sending the message that had his jaw slack, no. It was the fact that as soon as the message travelled from the box to the messaging thread, you had already opened it. Like you were already on the chat. Perhaps debating your own text to him. 

Those grey bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen and Azriel made quick work to click out of the conversation. His heart should not have been stammering in his chest the way it was, he should not have felt so anxious about what you may think if he read your text as quickly as you read his. 

You: very good. And you were right. 7 joints! 

And then, another.

You: I may need a top up sooner than i thought, if that’s ok?

Azriel: what happened to it lasting you 2 weeks?? Nah, that’s fine. Did you wanna meet up tonight?

You: would that be ok?

Azriel: yes. Old tower in 20?

You: life saver <3 see u then!

He tried his damned hardest not to stare at the little heart you sent him, tried his best not to picture you thinking about texting him to meet up again. But all he tried, it didn’t work and a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth. 

//

His Ford Mustang parked outside the Old Tower fifteen minutes later, the engine still humming softly and his eyes flitted between the rearview mirror and his view in front of him, trying to gauge which way you’d come from. 

He didn’t expect for you to come out of the shadows in a third direction, one in the wake of the passengers side, and he didn’t realise until the door opened and you slid your body inside his car, shutting the door behind you. 

“Hi,” you turned to him with a beaming smile—eyes gently blazed with a moody pink hue. 

Azriel drank you in. Your hair was down today in what he presumed was your natural waves, face bare of makeup save for the sheen of pinky lip gloss that coated your mouth. You wore an oversized cropped olive cardigan; the large buttons done up just enough to offer a slither of a peek of the white bralette you wore beneath, and a pair of straight-legged black cargos. 

Gods, you looked even better than he remembered, but Azriel wasn’t naive to your staring either. Your eyes caught notice of his thick, muscled arms. They weren’t hidden beneath a jacket this time. No. They bulged from the black t-shirt he wore, and his brown skin was etched in intricate swirls and shapes and designs in black ink. 

You gulped, visibly so. Tattoos had always been an immediate attraction for you—not that Brandon ever had any—but the sight of Azriels and the one that hid beneath the sleeve of his top and curled up and around his neck… Gods, your throat felt extremely dry.

And Azriel noticed everything. 

“I thought you said you didn’t smoke much?” 

Your eyes finally snapped to his hazel ones and warmth coated your cheeks and chest. You cleared your throat, blinking a few times to regain some sense of composure. “I don’t,” you retorted. “Girls night. And it was my turn to host.” 

Azriel tried not to think too deeply into the idea of you having a night at home with your girlfriends, stoned and warm and cosy and all inhibitions thrown out the window. He wondered if those were the types of things you did with your friends. He’d been with a few before that did. 

He looked away as soon as he felt that familiar tightening in his jeans. “So, you want another 3.5?” He cleared his throat, lifting the compartment between your seats. 

You hummed, eyes following his movements. Your gaze lingered on his biceps for a moment, trailing down to the veins that protruded from his smooth skin. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. Oftentimes than not, you found yourself horny and riled up when under the influence, but never like this. Never so strongly at the sight of two veiny, tattooed arms. 

“Um, yeah… please.” You finally spoke. “I promise it’ll last me longer than three days this time.”

Azriel prayed to the fucking mother above that it didn’t. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he retrieved a 3.5 baggie and handed it to you, closing the compartment again and the second he opened his mouth to speak, you were already grabbing a marred hand and shoving two twenty’s into it before forcing his fist closed. 

Perhaps it was the buzz of the joint you smoked on your way, or perhaps it was the pure arousal you felt at the sight of him and the feel of his hand in yours that gave you a surge of confidence. Whatever it was, it had you saying, “Pretty clients might get a discount from you, but incredibly attractive, tattooed plugs get full pay from me.”

Azriel was stunned for a moment, by both your boldness and the shameless compliment. His mouth blubbered open, a retort just as flirty as yours on the tip of his tongue when the sound of his ringtone blaring through the car’s bluetooth speaker cut him off. 

He disconnected the call a bit too quickly, an amused smile teetering on the curves of your already twisted lips. Azriel paid no mind to his own actions, instead turning back to you with a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. 

His lips parted in another attempt to speak when that gods-dammed phone interrupted him for a second time and you could no longer hold your laughter. Azriel decided there and then that the next time he saw you, he’d make sure he heard that sweetness again. 

You didn’t give him time to cut the call off again. Instead, you reached for the door handle and offered a grateful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m out.”

His senses were too on overdrive. Too torn between wanting to stop you, even if to spend a few more moments in your presence, and the deafening sound of his fucking phone. But you’d exited the car and closed the door behind you before he could do anything about it. The cash was still stuffed in his warm hands and the incoming call continued to make his ears bleed. 

“What?” Azriel seethed the second he answered the call. It was silent for a moment, the caller caught off guard by Az’s tone but that only pissed him off further. 

“It’s Brandon,” the line paused for a moment again. “You about?” 

Azriel felt his blood boil. “If I don’t fucking answer the first time, that usually means no.”

He disconnected the call without another word, marred hands now gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. He hated the way he was reacting over you—over being interrupted from your presence. But he couldn't help it. Couldn’t get the thought out of his head of how sweet your lips probably tasted with that gloss. And without it. 

Azriel’s chest heaved slightly, that all too familiar sense of arousal tightening in his pants. He couldn’t stand this, couldn't understand how a tiny slip of your bralette could have his mind and body reacting like this. How a subtle smirk and a sultry gaze could have him ready to blow a load in his pants. 

Christ, he needed to sort himself out. Absent-mindedly, Azriel snuck a hand between his thighs, large scarred hand palming at his length through the fabrics. His breathing turned quicker, his moments growing needier. If he didn’t sort himself out soon he’d been in agony. 

With one hand on the wheel, he forced himself to drive—only for a moment or two until his Mustang was parked idly between two buildings and switched off the engine to not draw too much attention to himself. 

He was above this—above getting himself off semi-publicly. But he couldn’t fucking help it. He didn’t care how shameful and icky he might’ve felt afterwards, not when he was so desperate. 

As soon as the car was covered in shadows of darkness, he unclasped his seatbelt and unpopped the buttons of his jeans. He didn’t bother to pull them down, only releasing the zip and reaching into his boxers to tug his length free. 

The second he felt his skin on him, he shuddered. His slender fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, offering himself a teasing squeeze as he slowly moved. Azriel didn’t need lube or lotion—not when pearly beads of semi-translucent arousal leaked from his pink, ruddy tip. He smoothed it down his length, mewling at the contact he rewarded himself. 

And all he could think about was you. 

Your eyes, your lips, your voice.

He let his mind wander to sinful images of what may lay hidden beneath your clothes—beneath that little white bralette. Azriel quickened his pace as his eyes fluttered closed, the back of his head hitting the headrest. He throbbed in his hand, a gruff moan tearing from his throat. 

Azriel could picture you clearly in his head; on your knees in the footwell, your dainty hands around his cock as your lips kissed and sucked him. His hand in your hair, bobbing you on his length, watching your eyes water from the size of him as he hit the back of your throat. 

His breathing grew ragged, filthy images of your choking on his cock filling his brain, clouding his sensing and coaxing a release out of him. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever come so quickly before in his life, but the idea of you looking up at him with sultry eyes through thick lashes had him spurting warm ribbons of cum into his hand as he cupped his head to minimise the mess. A desperate attempt to replicate what he imagined the warmth of your mouth would feel like. 

As his breathing began to even out, the post-nut clarity hit him like a ton of fucking bricks. Shame boiled in his blood, a tint of pink embarrassment painted on his cheeks as if the shadows judged him, too. The idea of seeing you again while knowing what he’d done to the thought of you… it made his insides churn slightly. 

But more than that, it made his cock leap again in anticipation of soon being in your presence once more. 

//

“Az, what do you say? Up for a double date?” 

Feyre couldn’t hide her smile, unable to keep her emotions in check when it came to her attempts to set Azriel up. But the instant disappearance of his smile wasn’t missed on her. Nor was the way his shoulders tensed slightly. 

He sighed. “Fey, as much as I appreciate your concern for my love life, I don’t need to be set up.”

She pouted at him. Despite that always being his answer, she still held a shred of hope every time she suggested it. Even if he never changed his mind, she was willing to continuously try, even if he did find it annoying. Even if she didn’t tell him until the very last minute. 

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Az?” Nesta piped up with a wide grin from her seat in the couch, tucked closely into Cassian’s side who paid no mind to the conversation at hand. 

He rolled his eyes at her. “There is no girl.” 

“Guy, then.” Nesta scoffed, waving a hand. 

Azriel didn’t want to entertain this conversation, especially not because it had somehow brought his mind back to you. Something he’d been so desperately trying to avoid. 

Though, he supposed it was inevitable. He would be seeing you again at some point and then he’d be stuck right back where he started. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself— why he didn’t allow himself to pursue you if that was what he truly wanted. 

His phone chimed from his pocket. 

In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that Azriel didn’t hear from you for two weeks. It gave him ample time to attempt to get his hormones in check, but it didn’t stop his blood from warming everytime he received a notification. Each time, he was left with slight disappointment to find it was just another client. 

Until today. Until now. Where your name was in fact the one on his lockscreen and all of that forgetting and willing to get you out of his mind faltered. 

You: Hey, are you free later?

Azriel: I'm free all night.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel assumed you were looking for a more direct answer. So he sent another text. 

Azriel: old tower in an hour good for you?

You: see you then.

He couldn’t help the frown that furrowed in his brows at your reply. Given, your only communication was mainly through text, and perhaps he was looking too much into it, but you didn't seem yourself. And that thought shouldn’t have irked him as much as it did. 

He barely bid anyone a goodbye, throwing a mumbled ‘see you later’ as he grabbed his shit and left. 

His first stop was to Sean, a lean Asian guy that had been buying off Azriel for two years now. He was decent enough, never tried to haggle or complain about the prices. They shared a mutual respect and minimal words were shared when Az handed him a Q and Sean gave 140 in one swift motion. 

And just like that, Azirel moved onto the next.

And then another. 

And another. 

Until he was waiting at the Old Tower and watching your silhouette approach the Mustang. You entered the car just like you always had done, though you didn’t meet his gaze this time. Instead, you kept your line of view ahead. Your hair obstructed the side of your face, effectively shielding you from his prying eyes. 

“Sorry I’m a little late.” 

Azriel absolutely did not like the quake in your voice as you spoke, nor did he like the way you seemed to cower into your body and clothes. Clothes that didn’t seem to match your usual vibe—instead, the mismatched black sweatpants and bright pink puffer jacket gave off the impression you threw on whatever was around you. 

Somehow, Azriel still thought you made it look good. On you, the outfit looked both planned and effortless. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the case. 

“You good?” he asked through the piercing silence. 

You hummed, twisting the bulky silver ring on your thumb. “Yeah, just tired.” You tried your hardest to offer a convincing smile as you turned to him, but Azriel noticed the way it didn’t meet your eyes—the eyes that appeared slightly bloodshot, though he had a suspicion it wasn’t from smoking.

Not wanting to press on the matter, Az opened the compartment and pulled out a baggie of your usual amount and kept it pinched between two scarred fingers. You reached for it, the cash in your other hand but he kept his grip tight. 

Azriel raised a brow. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

You could see the concern flood his hazel eyes, and the sight pulled on your aching heartstrings. How could someone who was a virtual stranger care more for you than the ones who were much closer in your life?

You didn’t trust your words, so you nodded and he finally released his hold on the bag. “Alright,” Az sighed. “It’s a different strain than my usual stuff, so go a little lighter with it. It’s pretty strong.” 

You were incredibly thankful for the warning, though you couldn’t help feeling a little offended. Did he really think you were so naive and new to this world that you couldn’t handle a new strain at your usual strength (which, admittedly, was very weak) without greening out? 

But as quickly as that feeling rose, it faded. He was a dealer, afterall, and he couldn’t afford to lose business all because someone thought they knew better and had a bad trip. 

“Thank you,” you muttered out, already reaching for the handle when his ruggedly soft voice stopped you. 

“You wanna smoke before you go? I can drop you back after.” 

You whipped your head to him, blinking through slightly blurred vision. With a brow raised and widened eyes, your lips parted. “Together?”

A smile stretched across his full lips, one so full of charisma and keen interest that it awakened something deep in the pit of your stomach. Something you distinctly remember feeling the last time you saw him. 

“Why not?” 

You swallowed as your hand slowly fell from the handle and made its way back in your lap. Your smile morphed into a smirk that matched his and the air shifted into something unreadable. Something palpable but not quite real. 

“Really? Do you normally smoke with your clients?” 

Azriel’s wicked grin widened. “I do with the cute ones.” 

You choked on a laugh, rolling your head back until it hit the headrest and Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard anything so fucking beautiful in his life. That laugh would haunt him in his dreams to a blissful paradise. 

“First, I’m pretty. Now I’m cute… what’s next?” 

Damn the rules he set himself. Damn the restrictions he forced when it came to someone who piqued his interest. It was about time Azriel took what he wanted for once. Even if that meant he started with no longer feeling guilty for flirting with you. 

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Azriel started up the engine and shifted the gearstick. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” 

He tilted his head to the dashboard compartment and you pulled it open. The small warm white light lit the cove, a golden hue casting on a small yellow tin. Throwing a glance to Azriel, he nodded and you pulled it out, closing the compartment and popping open his travel tin. 

It was packed with perfectly rolled joints and blunts. The smell was strong—potent—but you didn’t mind. Not as much as you had before. You picked one random of the bunch and pinched it between two fingers. It was rolled tightly and packed full, a very small twist of paper at the end and you hummed, impressed. 

Of course he could roll perfectly. And you had a feeling just two pulls of one of those would keep you warm and fuzzy for the remainder of the night. 

“There’s a lighter in the cup holder.” Azriel spoke as he pulled out of the space and began to drive further out of the lights of the city. 

You pinched the lighter. Just a simple black one, no funky pattern or engraved initials like most others had. No, Azriel’s was one that came in a pack of five and the other four were somewhere in the car or back at his apartment. 

“We can smoke in here?” you asked softly, that crack in your voice easing. 

Az hummed, taking a right turn. “If you’re comfortable to.”

You waited a moment, eyeing the joint and then him. “You drive when you smoke?” 

He seemed to notice your somewhat apprehension when he nodded again. He turned to you briefly before flicking his eyes back on the road again. “I drive better when I’m stoned. But if you’d prefer, we can park up somewhere.” 

You shook your head, warmth caressing every inch of your body. You didn’t know what it was, but something had overcome you. An overwhelming sense of pure yearning. You could admit when you first met Az that he was attractive, incredibly so. But now? Watching him, speaking with him, smoking with him… oh God’s… you had a fucking crush on your plug. 

“You wanna start it or should I?” Azriel’s voice broke you from your epiphany and you blinked quickly, willing the rising heat to just fuck off and give you a moments reprive. 

“Oh,” you squeaked. “You can, it’s your weed.” 

He didn’t look away from the road, not for a second. With a hand on the wheel and the other shifting gears, he edged his head closer to yours and angled his face just slightly with his lips parted. You were stunned for a moment, realising what he was asking you to do, and you swallowed back that bubbling arousal as you placed the unlit joint to his lips and sparked up a flame, igniting the end.

Az hummed in thanks as he took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a fucking sight. Cheeks ever so slightly hollowed and eyes barely squinted as the smoke filled his lungs. 

A scarred hand left the gearstick to reach for the joint, his thumb reaching for the bottom while his forefinger grazed the top and he pulled it away with another fresh intake of breath, settling the drug further. 

You were soaked, you were sure of it. Your previous problems from today were a distant memory as you finally watched him exhale and bring the joint to his lips again for another long pull. 

The sound of the windows opening broke you from your trance and only then did you realise you hadn’t yet put on your seatbelt. You tore your gaze away to clip yourself in and when you turned back, Azriel was offering you the joint. 

With your free hand, you accepted it, the other stuffing the cash in his cup holder with the lighter. You inspected the joint, tried not to let your heart race. You’d only ever smoked with your friends and Brandon. Never with a dealer. Never with someone like Azriel. 

You slotted your pursed lips over the same area Az did, and inhaled as deeply as you could. The burn at the back of your throat was stronger than when you smoked your own joints, and as it filled your lungs you pulled it away and held back a cough that gagged to release from your throat. 

With a shaky exhale, you swallowed around the dryness of your mouth before bringing it back to your lips for another drag. When you pulled it away, the burn wasn’t as bad and you passed it back to Azriel who took another turn on the roads. 

“Where are we going?” You pondered, a certain rasp to your voice from the strength of the joint. 

Azriel took two short pulls and angled the burning end out the window, flicking off the excess ash before offering it to you again. 

“Wherever you want,” he replied. “But first, we should probably get some food for when the munchies kick in.” 

You laughed as you exhaled another breath and handed the joint back to him, waving a hand to signal you were tapping out and did not intend on smoking anymore. Five pulls of that shit was more than enough for you. You could not handle the idea of greening out in his car with him. 

Azriel stifled a laugh and finished off the rest of the joint by the time he pulled into a drive-thru. He placed his order first, turning to you with flushed cheeks and hazy eyes. You blinked a few times, your brain requiring a few moments to catch up with what was happening. 

“I’ll have the same as you.” 

He stifled a laugh as he spoke into the machine, doubling up on his order and driving through to the next window. Azriel paid no mind to you when you attempted to offer him your money—barely even looked at you as he tapped his card against the reader and then reached for the cash in the cup holder, shoving it back in your empty palms. 

“You can keep that, too.”

You knew it wasn’t up for discussion, so you begrudgingly took your cash back and stuffed it into your jacket pocket again. Az stopped in the parking lot, the two of you eating through hushed yet uncontrollable giggles at the people that passed by. 

It was the first time you’d heard his laugh so unrestricted and it spread another shot of warmth through your body. It continued like that for another undisturbed hour, where after the food, Az sparked up another joint and began the drive to your apartment. You’d told him Old Tower was fine, but he wasn’t okay with that. 

“Too many freaks around at this time of night. I’ll drop you to your door. Put your address in the GPS.”

And it wasn’t until the drive back to your apartment that you were reminded of your previous troubles. The ones that caused your teary eyes and sombre mood. The buzz off the night felt like it had dwindled away the second you thought of your situation, and you were left slumped in your seat again, fiddling with your fingers. 

Azriel noticed your change in mood almost immediately as he glanced over to you before flicking his eyes back to the road. He took another drag of the joint. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You pondered his offer for a few moments, weighing out whether or not you should. In the end, what difference would it make? If you divulge your issues or not, it wouldn’t fix them. But perhaps talking about it might help. 

“My sister got married yesterday and no one told me.”

Azriel blinked rapidly, almost spluttering on the breath he exhaled. “What?” 

“Yeah.” 

He waited patiently, eager for some sort of explanation as to how and why something like that was kept from you. But he didn’t know the relationship with your family, he couldn’t presume anything. For all he knew, you had troubles just like his. 

“My family and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. I was born from a toxic relationship so I was cast aside as a kid, I guess. I thought we were past that, though. I thought things were better.”

That familiar ache sat heavy in Azriel’s chest. He knew all too well the hurt that came from being shunned by your own family. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Especially not somebody like you. 

“I’m sorry.” His words held such compassion and sympathy. No pity, just pure understanding. 

You blinked back the tears, not wanting to show just how much it had all affected you. But it was no use. A single drop slipped down your cheek and as quickly as it fell, you wiped it away. 

You were agitated now, extremely so. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, Az.”

“Why would they do that?”

There was a pause. And then, “because her now husband was my first everything.” 

You waited for the statement to settle into the thick night air. Your first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. First love. Azriel could understand even more now just how much it hurt you. And the fact they kept it a secret? Even your family knew what they did was wrong. 

“I’m so sorry, that’s truly fucked. But you know, families suck sometimes. I only speak to my mom.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t realised you were even on your street until he parked right outside your apartment and flicked on his hazards. 

Azriel flicked the but of the smoke out the window and held out his hands, showcasing the marred flesh and patchy skin. “My half brothers did this to me when I was eight. They didn’t like that our mom had me with another man before she had them. They said that my bastard blood tainted the family, so they wanted to taint me.” 

Azriel had absolutely no fucking idea why he was divulging such an intimate and traumatic part of himself. But he made no attempt to hide or sugarcoat any of the truth. Especially not when he looked up from his hands and caught sight of your face. 

Salty tears silvered the linings of your eyes at the truth of what had happened to him. Bile crept up your throat and hatred for his family formed. Eight years old. You felt sick. 

“Az… I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t even…”

But Azriel waved it off with a gentle smile. “It’s awful, sure. But I’m fine. I wouldn’t have met Cass and Rhys if that didn’t happen. They may be my found family, but they’re my brothers. Blood doesn't mean shit to me.

A single tear slipped down your warm cheek, staining the skin in its wake. Azriel reached out to wipe it away, his touch gentle and soft and yet all-consuming. Your gaze met in a flickering glance of hazy eyes and fluttering lashes. 

And then next thing you knew, your lips were on his. 

Azriel was quick to kiss you back; moulding his plump lips around yours as his large palms cupped the sides of your face. He was sweet on your mouth, a hint of salt from his fries and he swiped his tongue across the seam of your lips, you almost imploded. 

Azriel was no better. The second he got a taste, he was a starved man. Your tongues met in needy strokes and Az had never tasted anything like you before. Sweet like the watermelon lip gloss you wore, and a tang of smoke that haunted your mouth. 

He was hooked, desperately fucking hooked. Your own hands reached up to hold his wrists in hopes of keeping his touch on you. Azriel kissed you deeper, licking across your teeth before settling even deeper in your mouth. 

It was needy and messy and every unspoken word of desire was poured into that kiss, your touch. He could stay like that forever, kissing you, tasting you. Azriel could feel himself stretching in his pants, and from the almost inaudible whimper that strained from the back of your throat, he was certain you were just as needy between your own thighs. 

The thought spurred him on, as it did you. Your hands trailed down his forearms to his biceps, feeling at the muscle that tensed beneath your touch, until your arms were wrapping around his neck and he was pulling you closer over the centre console. 

Azriel kept a palm caressing your jaw while the other snaked to the side of your neck, his long fingers weaving through the hair at your nape and blunt fingernails scratching at your scalp. 

In your drug and lust filled haze, Azriel was shifting in his seat. You let one arm leave his body to reach for your seatbelt, planning to unbuckle it and crawl into his lap for a deeper, richer taste of him. 

But the second the safety belt was released, the blaring sound of an incoming call through the car's speaker jolted you both apart. It was then, and only then, that the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. 

His eyes were glazed over with something you’d never seen on him before, his lips even plumper and smeared with your gloss. You didn’t look much better. Only your eyes were wider than his and your hair had been a lot more dishevelled. 

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the insistent ringing of his phone jarring your eardrums. For the fourth time tonight, warmth settled over you again but in the form of embarrassment. He confided in you about a trauma so deep, and you’d kissed him. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologised breathlessly. 

Too caught up in your own fear and anxiety of what you’d done, you missed the way Azriel’s brows furrowed. His confusion quickly turned into panic when the thought settled in that perhaps you had regretted it. That even though you kissed him, perhaps you felt he had pressured you. 

And that made him sick to his stomach. 

Before Azriel could utter a single word, your hand was on the door handle and you were pushing it open. “I’m sorry, I should go.” 

You climbed out of the car as you uttered another apology, and slapped the door shut without so much as offering him another glance. The incoming call died to voicemail but Az couldn’t take his eyes off your empty seat, couldn’t get the taste of you off his tongue, the feel of your lips off his. 

Frustration grew at himself. Azriel turned forward in his seat, nostrils flared and teeth grit. He’d fucked it. He’d gone and fucked it entirely. His open palm smacked against the wheel before gripping it tightly, taking a moment to compose himself. 

He looked over at your seat again. 

Despite the lack of your physical presence, you were still there. In scent and touch and taste. 

Azriel was fucking done for. 

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[artbiter]

wolf in sheep's clothing

art donaldson/reader nsfw summary: art falls for you first yet patrick gets the fortune of having you. what else is art supposed to do but play dirty? tags: stanford!art, stanford reader too, art is a borderline homewrecker, art donaldson is a SNAKE, patrick gets cucked right under his nose </3, oral, slight body worship, TBH idk note: hi this is my first time writing ff since .. 2021 .. and this is definitely a diff style from the ao3-approach i usually take to writing but please enjoy i really like art donaldson i really like challengers and i really like art taking what he wants (and i really like mike faist in blonde curls)

art donaldson is not a homewrecker, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his chance with you.

he first meets you at one of his games, eyes flitting over the crowd and panting hard after a rather close singles win, before his gaze is magnetically drawn to your pretty face in the bleachers. smiling with your friends, you look so happy to just be watching this game, and when you make eye contact with art you wave excitedly like he's a celebrity, and whisper to your friends after he salutes back with a grin, trying to catch the breath your gorgeous smile has knocked out of him.

he wants to find you so bad after, and so he does. your friends are tennis groupies, hanging behind to flirt with any guy with a racket in hand, but you're just there for moral support. he chases after you just before you leave, just to say hi. an innocuous greeting and thanks for your support. and he sees how jealous your friends are that you tag along once with them and immediately get picked up by art freaking donaldson, but you seem to be oblivious, beaming at him and clasping your hands to your chest. you tell him he was great out there, that you've never "gotten" tennis but that you can feel he's a pro anyway. you part ways and he can't stop thinking about you.

when he tells patrick that he's met the prettiest girl he's ever seen at one of his matches, patrick thinks it's endearing and the epitome of dumb puppy love.

"did you even get her name? or were you just drooling over her?"

"nah, that would've been weird... right? oh shit, should i have? i was trying to be normal about it, i don't know." art beats himself up for not even picking up on your name in conversation, and resolves to seek out your identity and ask you out.

so when he finally has the fortune of seeing you again at a party, he's heartbroken when you smile and wave to patrick in tow.

"patrick!" you laugh and bound up to the pair. "didn't take you as a stanford party type of guy."

"i'm a plus one tonight. lucky i ran into you, huh?" patrick is eye-fucking you and doesn't even try to hide it, and art feels like doubling over in pure grief.

patrick notices but says nothing, only introducing you to art. "yeah, i'm here with my buddy art." he slaps art on the back lightly and art finds out that you and patrick met at another party before this. he remembers you from patrick's anecdotes over lunch, where patrick wouldn't shut up about the hottest chick he's ever seen who wouldn't go home with him, but has been texting ever since.

some other girl, presumably one of your friends, attaches herself to art's arm for the rest of the night, but he can't bring himself to notice or care when patrick kisses you and you lean into it.

patrick got to you first, and art hates himself for it. he won't admit it, but he feels the resentment festering inside of him as soon as patrick announces it's official.

the next best course of action for art is to play the best friend role, obviously. except like the unassuming snake art is, he's going to be your best friend, too.

he's your puppy, waiting on your beck and call — whatever you need, he's got it. your bio homework is impossible? sure, you can copy his. you got no sleep last night? he has your regular order from your favorite café committed to memory. patrick's being such a bad boyfriend? oh, tell him all about it.

"he's so inconsiderate," you whine, slumping over your pillow. "can you believe he forgot our six months? and when i brought it up, he didn't even say sorry. he was just, like, 'i didn't know we were still in high school.' i wanted to die, art, really."

art clicks his tongue in sympathy, criss-crossed on your dorm floor and nodding along to your laments. "no, he's definitely wrong here. i'm sorry he forgot something so important." for good measure, he adds in, "guys should be looking out for their girlfriends all the time. i'd be celebrating monthly anniversaries if i had a girl."

"ugh, right? i thought so, too." you flop back onto your bed, turning your head to gaze at art. he thinks you're so beautiful like this, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, bare faced with tears tinging your eyes. "you're a good guy. i don't know why you don't just date."

he doesn't want to date anyone if it isn't you, but he doesn't say this.

art watches you and patrick continue for another few rocky months, marked by arguments spawned from patrick's chronic nonchalance and your sensitivity to his perceived lack of care. and art gets the full report from both sides; patrick tells him all the time about how he's really trying to make you happy and support you, but he doesn't see why you value such small things. and you cry to art, sobbing that patrick never takes you out anymore if it isn't to fuck, that patrick is too friendly to other girls. art thinks to himself that patrick doesn't deserve you, but he rubs small circles on your back and reassures you that you need to do what's right for yourself.

(he's elated when you don't remove yourself from his touch.)

when you finally break it off with patrick, he hears it from his best friend first.

"dude, she dumped me." patrick's voice buzzes over the phone. "not gonna lie, i saw this one coming. but i thought i was doing good, seriously. fuck, what am i gonna do?"

"i'm sorry, man," art sympathizes before he hears a knock on his door. "yeah, it really does suck. take a breather for a few days. i'm sorry, but i really have to go right now." he peeks into the peephole and sees you standing outside. "let's talk more later?"

patrick is still rambling on the other end, but art hangs up and opens the door for you to immediately come spilling.

"art, i broke up with him. i really couldn't do it anymore." you tell art more things he already knows, like that you liked patrick a lot but you were just uncompatible in the end, and that you wished he listened. as always, art feeds into you, agreeing with your every word. something deep inside art tells him it's wrong to coax his best friend's girlfriend into breaking up with him, and that he's messed up for offering you his support when patrick technically should come first. but when you look up at art through wet eyelashes, sniffling and yearning for comfort, who is he to deny you?

art cups your face gently and presses his lips to yours. he doesn't miss how your eyes widen, but you don't jerk away. his heart pounds in his chest as he holds the small of your back with one hand while the other caresses your cheek. you smell so clean and warm, and your lips are so soft art wonders how patrick could ever give you up without a fight. it solidifies art's need for you, that if patrick won't make you happy, he will.

when you pull away from him, you're breathless, voice barely above a whisper. "art, i don't think we should—"

he can't contain himself from kissing your neck, relishing the soft, smooth expanse, inhaling your scent so deep into his lungs he finds it oxygen. "tell me you don't want this." he laps at your jaw, sucking light bruises onto the sides of your throat. "tell me you don't want me to treat you the way you should be, and i'll stop."

you moan his name involuntarily, and art takes it as the green light to carry you to his bed and kisses back up to your lips. "i'm sorry," he murmurs into your skin. "i'm sorry. i want you so bad."

"then show me," you sigh softly, hands rooting themselves into his blonde curls as his tongue probes your mouth.

like you even had to ask.

tugging down your sweatpants and feeling like coming just as the sight of your underwear, art immediately tears it off of you. he latches himself to your cunt, already weeping, and he looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. "already so wet for me, baby?"

"mmf..." your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tighten their grip as you push his head forward, and he obliges.

he licks wide stripes, feeling you convulse and twitch every time his tongue comes in contact with your clit. his dick throbs in his pants just from eating you out.

"you taste so sweet. fuck, you're delicious," he pants, making out with your pussy like it's your lips. "don't know how i survived this long without you."

you buck your hips up into his mouth, mewling and spasming as he suckles and licks at just the right places. your cunt is soaked, but neither of you can tell whether it's from your arousal or how much art is slobbering over your pussy. "right there," you squeak out, a hot wave washing over your body as you cum on art's face.

and fuck, art almosts busts on the spot with you. his mouth doesn't cease, swirling patterns all over your vulva, grazing over your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you as you lock your legs around his head desperately.

"too much, too much!" you feebly try to pull his head up from your cunt, but he's so addicted to your taste he barely notices how sensitive you are now, how your clit twitches and aches for a break.

art can only laugh softly as he pulls himself back up to you, kissing you gently as his hands roam underneath your shirt and to your bra clasp.

"mm, you're so good," you gasp into art's mouth as his kiss becomes sloppier. "so good to me, art."

"it's what you deserve," he mumbles back, unhooking your bra and clumsily pulling your shirt off so your tits spill free. and even art is admired by his own self-restraint, just staring at your perfect body on display for him. he's been dreaming of this day for months now, jerking himself off late at night to thoughts of you sucking his cock, to pictures of you smiling on his phone, to the memory of your voice the day he met you. it's so wrong of him to fuck his best friend's ex fresh after the split, but why do you feel so right beneath him? "i've been waiting for this," he whispers into your neck. "been wanting to show you how much i want you. want to make you feel good. want to treat you so much better."

"fuck me, art, please," you beg him, relenting and palming at his boxers. you're so fucking easy, letting him touch you like this and being compliant as he undresses you, kisses you all over, shrugs his boxers off as you help him position his cock right at your entrance. it's not your fault that art has been nothing but kind and gentle to you. it's not your fault that he's been flirting with you since day 1, and now all his desires have culminated into head of a lifetime. and art finally has what he wants now: you.

and even when he barely pushes the tip in, he wants to cum inside of you so badly he feels dizzy. "so fucking tight, i'm gonna cum, gonna cum right now," he gasps in your ear as he unsheathes himself, stretching your warm, tight hole. "so perfect, holy shit. fucking made for me, baby, you feel so—" he can't stop himself from rutting into you, and he just about comes undone when he hears his name tumble from your lips in pained moans. it takes all the self-control in the world for art to not pour himself into your wet heat right now.

"slow down, art, fuck, you're so big," you sob, clawing at his back. he wishes he could fuck you nice and slow, the way he always envisioned his first time with you would be. he'd fantasized about nights with you full of languid strokes, making you scream his name with calculated, intentional thrusts straight to the spongy patch buried within you. but art is just a humble man, and when your walls, silky and warm, are choking his dick, he can't resist fucking into you like a jackhammer. you cry, moaning uncontrollably as your hands clutch tightly at him, letting his cock ruin you.

art's head goes fuzzy, and all he knows now is your pussy trying to milk him dry and that he can't say anything coherent besides strings of guttural moans telling you how warm, how tight, how good you feel on his dick, how your sweet cunt was made for him, how beautiful you look and sound at his mercy, how he wants you to be his so bad and that he'll do anything for you to be his. that his only regret is not claiming you first.

you keep crooning in his ear, honeyed moans that intoxicate him dizzier and dizzier as you tell him that he can have you. with a few more stutters of his hips, and a convulsing squeeze from your walls onto his cock, his head falls into the crook of your neck as he pulls out and shoots ropes all over your stomach, right as you cry out his name uncontrllably, heaving beneath him. a low, resounding grunt rips from his throat while his seed paints your abdomen, and he feels you shiver upon the warmth touching your skin.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again like the gentleman he is. his breath still heaves at an uneven rhythm, staggering as he attempts to regain his composure, but every time his eyes fall upon you it feels like he wants to go for round 2. "i'll clean you up, pretty girl. you were so perfect." he presses his forehead to yours, sweaty and damp, and whispers, "you were made for me."

some sick sense of pride fills art from head to toe as your body trembles in an attempt to catch your breath, your hair disheveled and lips puffy, patches of skin blooming pink and red from art essentially making out with every inch of your body. and you blush when you catch him staring, covering your face and murmuring for him to come back to bed.

he did this to you. he made you such a picturesque image of ruined perfection, splayed out on his bed and stained with his cum, pleading for his embrace.

patrick would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands.

[crescenthistory]

hihi i love ur work sm <3 could you pls do a barty crouch jr sunshine x grump except the reader is the grump? ik barty isnt rlly sunshine like but he seems a lot more outgoing and energetic when compared to the reader. for the prompt could it be a.6 where the reader is just being her usual grumpy self and barty sort of mocks her? if the idea doesnt sound so appealing u dont have to do it i understand !! (also ignore the fact i submitted this earlier but forgot to put the prompt lmfao)

hi sweetheart! first of all, no i will not ignore your earlier ask because what you said about my writing was soso sweet and i think about it daily<33 i am a truther of barty being the sunshine in these dynamics because his chaotic energy needs a bit of a grumpy counterpart which is why i'm also a bartylus truther shhh so i'm in love with your idea, thanks darling xx this was so fun to write, why is he like this

Prompt: A.6 "Aren't you just a sweetheart?"

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), you are in gryffindor sorry and marauders!bestie, mostly barty pov so it's sassy and biased, banter/bickering, language, some innuendos/suggestive jokes, they do not kiss physically but are making out in barty's head tbh, jegulus appearance my loves, a little bit of bartylus snuck in there

Note: i love their dynamic here, might write some more blurbs with the same storyline/concept

continuation can be found here <3 and here

Barty could not believe Regulus had betrayed him on such a carnal level.

Becoming chummy with Gryffindors in general should be considered a cardinal sin, but shagging one on the regular? Insisting that shagging was a “crude term” for it and insisting Barty accept that his best friend, stupid wanker, is actually in love with and dating James Potter, the epitome of Gryffindor bravado?

Absolutely unacceptable. Arguably a hate crime, and he told Regulus as much, only to be met with an eye roll as the black haired boy continued to drag him along to where his new boyfriend was sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by friends.

“Well, if it isn’t Baby Black?” A girl called as Regulus approached the group, hauling Barty along with him. Others around smiled and greeted Regulus – not Barty.

“Shut it, McKinnon,” Regulus grumbled, sheepishly taking the seat on James’s left that he had saved for him. Barty could spot a slight pinkish blush creeping up on Regulus’s cheeks when James murmured a hey love and kissed his cheek.

Barty could puke at the sight.

Nevertheless, he shoved some Gryffindors further down the table to take a seat beside Regulus. For whatever reason, he had believed it necessary to bring Barty with him every single time he meets James’s gnarly pack, so Barty assumed the role of protective friend while still making it exponentially clear that he disapproves.

“No acknowledgement for me then?” Barty looked around the table who were in one degree or another cooing at the fresh couple. All except Sirius, who, like Barty, was faux gagging at the sight.

It’s a new low for Sirius Black to be your one ally.

“Make yourself note-worthy, and we’ll say hello to you, Junior.” The gruff voice came from you, who conveniently was sitting opposite Barty this morning.

You were thus far the most tolerable of James’s friends, mostly because you had yet to be as loud and obnoxious as the rest, despite the red and gold around your neck. You had yet to say almost anything at all, but what you did say had a habit of drawing a snort from Barty. Mostly because it was never particularly kind.

Your eyes didn’t leave the crossword puzzle you were working on as you ate, shutting out the bickering around you, yet somehow picking up on Barty’s comment. 

Intriguing. 

“I take great personal offence to that, Treasure.” Barty's voice was incredulous but he sported a contradicting wicked grin, happy at the opportunity to wreak a bit of havoc if he must be seated here.

“Ew.” You looked up at that, eyes narrowing at the pet name he gave you. He decided then and there, that was the only way he would refer to you from now on. “And good. Maybe it can help you build some character.”

“Oh, come on,” James butted in, finally drawing his eyes from Regulus – who he had sneaked an arm around before the boy could protest at the public display of affection – and looking at his dear friend and his disgruntled friend-in-law. “Be nice to Junior, he slithered here all the way from the comforts of his dungeon.”

“So did your boytoy, Potter, so watch your mouth.” Sirius, James and Regulus all winced at the word boytoy, though for very different reasons.

“And so I am being nice to him,” James retorted, squeezing Regulus as he looked down at him. “Aren’t I, love?”

“Shut up,” Regulus whispered.

“You’ve already said that today, Reggie,” McKinnon replied with a sly grin. “Find another comeback, why don’t ya?”

Regulus just rolled his eyes at her while Sirius bumped his shoulder into hers in a sign of approval.

“Anyway.” Barty drew the attention back to him as he spoke up, but his eyes were trained on you. “Build some character you say? What character would you like me to be, Treasure?"

You sized him up, clearly debating whether to follow James's advice or take Barty's bait. The latter seemed to win.

"Someone less disruptive would be a great start."

"That would hold more bite if you didn't willingly surround yourself with this lot," Barty laughed, waving his arms a bit too theatrically towards your friends, some of which were scowling at him, others nodding in agreement. Barty swore he could hear James whisper fair under his breath.

"Willingly is a bit of a stretch." You side-eyed Sirius beside you with a sly grin, who took a few seconds to process your sentence. Once he realised, he gasped and swatted at your arm for the disrespect.

Barty was enjoying himself much more than he expected.

"Aren't you just a sweetheart?" His grin never faltered as he continued his one-sided staring contest with you. As if you were the only thing in the room of notice, as if your friends weren't right there and needed to be won over by him as well.

“I can be,” you drawled, fighting to keep your face neutral. “You just gotta earn it."

Barty tilted his head, eyes narrowing with interest as he studied you. There was something undeniably magnetic about your sharp tongue, the way you seemed to remain so unbothered by the chaos swirling around the table.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, inching just a bit closer. “And how do I do that?”

Finally, you locked eyes with him properly, levelling him with your stare. Your expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe?—beneath your cold exterior.

"That ship sailed so long ago, you can't even see it from harbour, Junior."

"Good thing I can swim." Barty winked at you, and part of him thought he caught you look flustered for half a moment as his comments grew flirtier by the minute.

“Fine by me, easier to drown you if you jump in the water willingly."

Barty barked a laugh, unphased by your words. "Don't threaten me with a good time." He could feel Regulus giving him a look from his right, but Barty ignored it. He was far too entertained by you now. “Tell me, do you give everyone such a warm welcome, or am I just special?”

Your lips twitched, but you held your ground, flicking your eyes back to the crossword in front of you. “You’re just annoying.”

Regulus groaned softly, clearly wishing he could disappear into the floor. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to subject himself—and by extension, Barty—to the whirlwind that was James Potter and his pack of friends, but he also wasn’t blind. He saw the way Barty’s attention had shifted, how your sharp, biting comments had hooked him in a way nothing else had managed to. He could practically feel the chaos brewing.

James, ever the peacemaker, clapped his hands together. “Right, well, now that we’ve all sufficiently insulted each other—again—how about we chat about something less murder-y?”

“No promises,” you murmured, flipping a page of the Daily Prophet as you continued working through the puzzle.

“Good efforts, Potter, but I fear she's just too intrigued by me” Barty sighed, leaning back in his seat as if exhausted by the mere prospect of attention. “I have that effect on people.”

“Oh, sure,” McKinnon chimed in, rolling her eyes. “We’re all positively obsessed with you.”

Sirius, looking entirely too pleased with himself, gave you an exaggerated wink. “I’d pay good money to see her put you in your place, Junior.”

“And I’d pay good money to see you mind your own business,” you retorted coolly, not even sparing Sirius a glance. Neither boy seemed sure if the comment was meant for Sirius or Barty, but didn't let that deter their entertainment.

Barty watched the exchange with open fascination. He couldn’t help but admire how easily you held your own amongst this overzealous group, considering their tendency to overwhelm people with their loud, boisterous energy. You were like a still, cold lake amidst a storm, unbothered by the wind and waves crashing around you.

He leaned closer to Regulus, his voice dropping slightly as he muttered, “I like her.”

Regulus, still recovering from the emotional whiplash of being dragged between Barty and James’s worlds, gave Barty a flat look. “Don’t.”

Barty’s grin only widened. “Too late.”

It became a strange, almost delirious routine for Barty to be swirled into the life of James Potter and Co. He minded it less and less, irritation soothed almost instantly once he saw you.

He sought you out every time Regulus brought him along, plopping down beside you on the common room couches, leaning on your chair at the library, catching your eye in the hallways. You presented begrudgingly, always rolling your eyes and scoffing, but your resolve crumbled slowly and the smile you were fighting became more insistent.

You and your dry retorts, you with your books or puzzles in hand, you and your knowing looks that grew more affectionate.

Barty was thoroughly fascinated.

"Don't screw this up for me please," Regulus would whine as the two of them walked back to the Slytherin dorms with just a few minutes left before curfew. They had dragged out their time sprawled across the couches by the fireplace at Gryffindor.

This time, as most times of late, Regulus hadn't asked Barty to come – he hadn't needed to. While the two usually spent most of their time together, Barty had practically been glued to his side as of late, ready to jump on the opportunity to see you.

"I won't," Barty dragged out the words with annoyance, as if he had said them a thousand times as of late. "Don't worry your pretty head so much Reggie, James won't care that I'm bantering with his bestie."

"It's not just the bantering I'm worried about," Regulus muttered, but Barty caught it clear as day. He gave his friend a look that demanded further explanation.

"You clearly fancy her, Barty!" He just blinked, as if to say and? Regulus groaned. "Just don't mess anything up with her to the point where she gets so angry she doesn't want to see you anymore. I don't want to have to deal with managing my time between you and James because she wants you dead."

Barty sighed dreamily at those last words, whispering wouldn't that be hot? Regulus gave him a corrective slap up the back of his head.

"I won't okay, I won't!" Barty was the one grumbling now, trying to deal with the infatuation in his stomach, just aching to go back and bicker some more with you, while also calming his best friend down. "I don't want to actually like hurt her or anything, I just like getting a little rise out of her."

Regulus paused before the entrance to the Slytherin common room, levelling Barty with a glare. He realised then that he seemed to have a type of person he prefers to associate with, because you had given him that same look earlier when you debated each other about who should get to sit in the comfy chair. He suggested you just sit in his lap in the chair – a great compromise, really – and a beautiful blush crept up on your face when you scoffed.

"If she will make you happy, please do go for it. But be careful, please." Regulus's tone of voice was intent, leaving little room for argument.

Barty still found some, of course, but he was soft for his friend and gave way.

"Fine, don't worry, I've got it under control," he all but whined. "It's not everyday stoic Regulus Black begs me for anything, so fine."

There was a smile on Regulus's face when he shoved him then, finally stepping into the Slytherin dorms to call it a night.

You were in the library the first time Barty got you all to himself.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Barty found himself wandering through the library, absentmindedly scanning the rows of books. He wasn’t really paying attention, more so killing time before his next Quidditch practice and possibly looking for some trouble, when he spotted you in a far corner. Much better.

For once you were free from your larger than life friends, nose peacefully buried in another one of your books as you twirled your quill before your fingers. Barty knew you were waiting to scribble something in the margin, and a surprisingly soft warmth sprouted in his chest when you did. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made his way over to you, leaning casually against the bookshelf beside you.

“Fancy seeing you here, Treasure.”

You didn’t even bother looking up. “If you’re here to annoy me, I’ll hex you. Finally got some peace and quiet."

Barty laughed, taking the seat across from you without invitation. “You wound me. What makes you think I’m here to annoy you? Maybe I just wanted some quality company.”

“Quality company?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow as you finally looked up from your book. “And yet you chose to sit with me.”

“Exactly,” Barty replied smoothly, flashing you a grin. “You’re the most interesting person in this castle, and I’m bored. I’m sure you can entertain me.”

You gave him a long, appraising look, as if trying to figure out what his angle was. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Nope.” His characteristic cheshire cat grin was playing across his features, and you ignored the stirring it caused inside you.

A pause stretched between you as your staring contest prolonged, and for a moment, Barty thought you were going to ignore him, go back to your book, and continue the delicate balance of biting banter and cold indifference that had marked all your previous interactions.

Then, much to his surprise, you closed your book with your fingers keeping your page. You leaned back in your chair as you regarded him with a calculating gaze. “Fine. Though if you’re so desperate for company, then you tell me something interesting. Junior.”

Barty blinked, not having expected you to actually engage. His grin grew and he felt pride bloom in your chest as you began to sport your own.

"Oh, I'll tell you anything you want, if it'll keep your attention on me, Treasure."

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 5

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.0k

c/w - language

a/n - yall have been all up in my asks today, so i pumped this chapter out. gotta give the people what they want fr. sorry it’s a lil short, this chapter was kind of a filler tbh! also, did anyone catch the irl past references in the first scene? ;) as always, hope yall enjoy!! (also, this is unedited. like usual lol)

Azzi is woken bright and early the next morning by none other than her best friend, who seems awfully cheerful considering the night they just had.

“Wow, P,” Azzi grumbles once she’s sitting up in bed, watching Paige buzz around the room through bleary eyes. “It’s early for you.”

“Didn’t really sleep,” Paige says, slipping out of her pajamas so she’s only in boxers and a sports bra. (Azzi knows she should probably look away, but she doesn’t.) “We gotta run to the store, get up.”

“Okay,” Azzi yawns, blinking slowly while Paige slips into a pair of basketball shorts and a crop top that Azzi’s pretty sure belongs to her. “Be up in a sec.” But Paige disappears into the bathroom and Azzi can’t help but lay back down, snuggling under the warm sheets—if she’s being honest, she didn’t get much sleep last night, either. But where the lack of sleep is making Paige hyper, it’s making Azzi want nothing more than drift back off for just a few more minutes.

She’s barely fallen back asleep when something large and solid lands on top of her, and she buries her head into the pillow, groaning. “Ow, Paige, get off.”

“Get your ass outta bed,” Paige responds, but she is laying across the entire length of Azzi’s body like a warm, nice-smelling weighted blanket, and it only lulls Azzi back to sleep. She thinks about the irony of it, that their roles have switched this morning—usually Azzi is the one who has to drag Paige out of bed.

She’s only half-asleep but she swears she’s started snoring when Paige rolls of her and jabs her in the ribs. “Azzi!”

“No, Paige, please,” Azzi mumbles, throwing an arm over her face. “I’m tired.”

“Well I’m not going to the store by myself,” Paige says stubbornly, tugging on Azzi’s hand. “Come onnn.”

“We’ll go later,” Azzi tries to reason, but Paige won’t have that, pulling on her arm even harder.

“We gotta go now, Lauren’s gonna be here in a couple hours.”

Oh. Right. Paige’s siblings get back from their respective activities this morning, and of course Paige would never reunite with them empty-handed.

“Okay, okay,” Azzi concedes, finally sitting up once again, stretching out her arms. Paige, satisfied that Azzi is up now, gets back out of bed heads back to the bathroom.

“Get ready fast, I wanna give ourselves plenty of time,” she calls, and Azzi watches her as she washes her face in the sink, rubbing her face aggressively like she always does.

Yawning, Azzi finally gets out of bed, wincing when she finds her neatly packed suitcase next to Paige’s already disorganized one, her clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. “Paige, we need to unpack today.”

Paige pokes her head out of the bathroom and looks down at the mess that is her suitcase, then shrugs. “Nah, it’s okay.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Azzi says, kneeling down to move her suitcase away from Paige’s before she starts carefully rifling through the outfits she packed. “I dunno what to wear.”

“It’s warm out today,” Paige says, disappearing back into the bathroom. “You pack those lil jean shorts? With the flowers on them?”

“Yeah,” Azzi replies, instantly looking for those. “But my ass hangs out in them.”

There’s silence in the bathroom and Azzi thinks maybe Paige didn’t hear her, but a moment later she’s saying, “Yeah, wear those with your purple tank.”

It may raise her eyebrows, but it also makes her smirk, and Azzi does exactly as Paige says.

Thirty minutes later, the two of them—after successfully sneaking out of the house without running into Paige’s parents—are at the store, tossing anything they think her siblings will like into the basket. A new video game and snacks for Ryan, and some brand-name makeup and flowers for Lauren. (They also get energy drinks, even though Azzi doesn’t think Paige needs it.)

By the time they get back home, they should still have an hour until Lauren gets home—but as soon as they walk through the front door a young, strawberry-blonde girl is barreling into Paige’s arms, squealing.

Paige grunts dramatically, and then hands off the grocery bags to Azzi so she can wrap her arms around her little sister. “Whoa, what you doing home?” she asks, bending down to kiss her hair. “We were supposed to get here before you.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Lauren replies, muffled from where she’s buried in Paige’s chest. “So I came home early but you weren’t even here, and Mom and Dad said they didn’t know where you went to.”

“Sorry, Laur,” Paige responds, rubbing her sister’s back before pulling away. “We were out getting some stuff.”

Lauren waggles her eyebrows. “Gifts?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Paige smiles when Lauren giggles excitedly, and it’s only then that they address Azzi, who is standing somewhat awkwardly, trying to let the two sisters have their moment.

Lauren’s smile falters only a little when she sees Azzi. To her credit, she still sounds cheerful when she says, “Hi, Azzi, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, good to see you too,” Azzi responds, smiling as openly as she can. She’s only met Paige’s siblings a few times—not counting Drew, obviously—and so it’s a little uncomfortable when Lauren goes in for a hug. But this is a twelve-year-old girl, and Azzi is a grown adult, and she welcomes her with open arms, hugging her as well as possible with her groceries still in her arms. Paige takes them back from her after only a second of her struggling.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Azzi comments, because that’s something that you say to kids, right?

It seems to be a good thing to say because Lauren pulls back and beams up at her. “Mom says I’m almost as tall as Paige was at my age.” She looks back at Paige with a proud smile.

Paige grins back, ruffling her hair. “That mean you gonna start playin’ ball?”

“No way,” Lauren replies, playfully vehement. “Ryan keeps saying he wants to try, though.”

“I’ll convince him, for real,” Paige insists, and they all start moving to the kitchen so they can set the grocery bags down.

“Can I see my gift now?” Lauren asks, sliding into a bar stool.

Paige wags a finger at her. “Nuh-uh. We gotta wait for brother.”

Lauren groans dramatically, then giggles at herself and looks curiously at Azzi. “So, is Josh not here, then?”

Beside her, Paige freezes. Azzi glances cautiously at her, and she collects herself quickly, sharing a comforting look with Azzi. “Um,” she says, rounding the island to sit next to Lauren, “did Mom not tell you?”

Lauren wrinkles her eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

That’s enough of an answer, and Paige runs a hand over her face, clearly nervous to have to go through this all over again. It makes Azzi angry, for the millionth time, at her parents—of course they wouldn’t tell her younger siblings. Of course they’d make Paige do it.

“Well, uh,” Paige starts, “yeah, no, Josh isn’t coming. He and I, we actually broke up.”

“Oh.” Lauren frowns. “Sorry. Are you sad about it?”

“No, um, it’s okay. I realized I didn’t like him that much.”

“Why not?” Lauren asks.

“Well, because,” Paige looks to Azzi for help, and all Azzi can do is nod at her. “It’s because he’s a boy.”

Lauren’s frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she looks down at her lap, then makes eye contact with her little sister, “I mean I don’t really like boys, Laur.”

Lauren stares at her sister, and then she glances at Azzi before looking at the countertop, eyebrows furrowed just like Paige’s do when she’s thinking. “So,” she begins slowly, looking back up to Paige, “you like girls? Like, you like like them?”

“Yeah,” Paige says, and she and Azzi share a look, unsure of where this is going. Azzi hasn’t even noticed until now that she’s holding her breath.

“And you wanna date them?” Lauren clarifies.

“Well, I actually am dating one already,” Paige says, and before she can finish her sentence Lauren looks back at Azzi and she can swear she sees the moment it clicks in her brain.

“So Azzi is your girlfriend?” she says.

Paige hesitates, then says, “Yeah, she is.”

Azzi was expecting a lot of reactions, but Lauren’s bright, proud smile wasn’t one of them. “I guessed!” she hops off her barstool to round the island and give Azzi yet another hug. “So that means I have a new sister!”

Sort of incredulously, Azzi laughs, rubbing the younger girl’s shoulder. Paige blinks once before saying, “That’s not how that works.”

“She’s my in-law now,” Lauren replies with a duh tone, like Paige is slow, and it makes Azzi laugh again.

“No, she’s not your in-law until we get—“ Paige cuts herself off, biting her lip and Azzi stops laughing. Because they’re going to ‘break up’ almost as soon as this trip is over and they can’t get Lauren’s hopes up too much about things like marriage.

Lauren doesn’t seem to notice. She shakes her head firmly. “She’s my sister. I don’t care what you say.” Smiling slyly up at Azzi, she says, “So, cooler older sister,”—Paige gasps, offended—“will you please convince your girlfriend to let me open my gifts now.”

Azzi falters, but then she’s looking over at Paige, who is staring at her little sister with something like awe, and she decides that for now, they should just enjoy the innocent, loving acceptance of 12-year-old girls.

——————————————

By the time Ryan gets home Paige’s parents have joined them in the kitchen, and even though it’s tense with them around, Lauren’s chatter lifts the tension significantly. When the front door opens, Ryan barrels into Paige in a similar fashion as his little sister did, and the three siblings reunite happily, all of them a bundle of teasing of arguing and catching up.

When Ryan catches sight of Azzi, nobody has time to be nervous or hold their breaths because Lauren wraps an arm around her waist and says, “Azzi is here because she’s Paigey’s girlfriend. Say hi.”

Ryan opens his mouth, then closes it, then glances at his parents—who are stubbornly avoiding anybody’s gaze—before looking at his older sister with a questionable expression. Paige nods, and so he turns back to Azzi and says, in classic teenage-boy fashion, “Hey.”

Azzi takes much satisfaction in the way his parents fumble over themselves, apparently shocked that their children are capable of so much more love and acceptance than they are.

After the kids open their gifts, they drag Paige and Azzi upstairs to give them the ‘grand tour’ of their rooms. “Mine has changed,” Lauren says once they arrive at the room across the hallway from Paige’s. “We painted it sage green because the pink was too babyish for me.”

Paige and Azzi nod in agreement.

“And I don’t have my unicorn blanket anymore,” Lauren continues, jumping onto her bed to showcase this fact.

Paige places a hand over her heart. “You got rid of blankie? You love that thing.”

Azzi smiles, knowing that exact feeling—being a big sister and watching your siblings grow up without your permission.

But then Lauren heads to her closet and rummages around inside before pulling out a tattered, pink baby blanket with unicorns sewn into the fabric. “Don’t tell Ryan, but I couldn’t actually get rid of it.”

Paige sighs in relief.

Ryan’s room is dark, lit only by red LED lights, and his bed is unmade. He’s got a PS5 set up in one corner of his room and a desk that looks widely unused in the other. There’s dirty clothes everywhere.

“It’s kinda messy,” he says, carelessly tossing a few clothes off his bed to sit in it, powering up his TV.

“You take after me,” Paige says proudly, and Azzi nudges her in the arm, rolling her eyes. Paige grins at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Ryan glances away from his TV at them.

“So, you guys are really dating?” he asks.

At the question, the both of them share a nervous glance—does he suspect something? But when Paige says, “Yeah, why?” he replies with a simple, “I figured.”

“Whatchu mean?” Paige asks.

He shrugs nonchalantly, looking back at his TV. “I could tell. Whenever we came to visit you were always texting Azzi or calling Azzi or talking about Azzi. It was all, Azzi this, Azzi that, my name’s Paige and I’m soooo in love with my little Azzi-Wazzi—“

“Yo, okay, bye!” Paige says loudly, going to shove Azzi out of the room, but she keeps her feet planted, amused and so, so curious.

“No, seriously, it was annoying.” Ryan sighs. “I remember the one time we came up and Azzi was staying with you and y’all kept playing footsies under the dinner table. It was gross.”

“We did not!” Paige exclaims as Azzi laughs loudly.

“Did too. And that night you dragged Azzi to your room and I heard you moaning really loud allll night.”

Azzi is cracking up now, and Paige puts her hands on her hips, having given up on trying to drag her away. “Okay, now you’re just making shit up. That’s inappropriate.”

Ryan shrugs again, a slight smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happened, though.”

Paige puts her face in her hands. Azzi looks over at her, grinning widely, and knows it’s her duty to give her shit for this later.

——————————————

During the aforementioned later, while the two of them are getting ready for bed side-by-side in the bathroom, Azzi’s barely even opened her mouth before Paige says, “Don’t.”

The two of them didn’t get a second alone for the rest of the day, because Paige has a little sister and it’s kind of her job to follow them around everywhere and ask annoying questions. Or at least, annoying to Paige. Azzi was more than happy to let Lauren talk her ear off—she’s never had a little sister before.

And besides, she’s used to it considering who her best friend is.

Lunch was spent outside on the porch, soaking in the sun, and it was good because Paige’s parents opted to eat inside. But dinner was awkward, all of them sitting around the table, eating the roast beef Dean had made. Lauren still didn’t seem to pick up on the tension, but Ryan, being a little older, did—apparent in the way he looked curiously between the four adults at the table. He never asked about it, though, and when Paige held Azzi’s hand over the table her parents didn’t say a thing (though Dean looked a bit like he wanted to smack their hands apart) so that’s gotta be a good thing.

Now that they’re finally alone, Azzi is not going to miss out on her opportunity to tease the hell out of her best friend.

“So, you’ve always been a little obsessed with me, huh?” she grins, ignoring Paige’s warning.

Paige rolls her eyes, but Azzi swears her cheeks turn a little pink. “He was making that up.”

“Weird, because I believed him,” Azzi replies, watching as Paige starts brushing her teeth. “Seems like a trustworthy kid.”

“He’sh a fifteen-year-old boy, you can’t trusht none of those,” Paige says around the toothbrush in her mouth.

“Maybe it’s you I can’t trust.”

Paige spits and then gives her an offended look. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Would you?” Azzi teases, and for some reason, it seems to actually make Paige nervous.

She turns away, wiping her mouth on a towel. “‘Course I wouldn’t.”

“Not even if you had a big, fat crush on me?” Azzi says, wish is super unfair because Azzi is the one lying about her big, fat crush, but it feels pretty good to project.

“Bro,” Paige groans, walking into their room, kicking off her basketball shorts on the way.

But Azzi isn’t going to let up. “He seemed pretty serious.”

“He said he heard us moaning,” Paige says, looking around on the floor for a pair of pajamas. (They did not, in fact, unpack today.)

“Okay, he might’ve lied about that,” Azzi admits. She watches, amused, as Paige mumbles to herself while pulling on a pair of PJ pants before she pulls her shirt over her head. “What’re you getting all nervous for?”

“You’re teaming up with my brother,” Paige replies, flopping onto her side of the bed.

“You apparently talk about me 24/7,” Azzi counters.

“Talked,” Paige immediately corrects, and when she sees the triumphant grin on Azzi’s face, she backtracks. “I mean, I didn’t! Obviously I didn’t, that’d be weird.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi says, “super weird.”

“And I’on even think about you like that, you’re my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not even my type, for real.”

“Uh-huh.” A week ago, maybe even yesterday, that sentence would’ve been a dagger straight through Azzi’s heart, a harsh reminder of her unreciprocated feelings. But Paige says it like she’s trying to convince herself, and she’s clearly all flustered, her cheeks very evidently pink now, and Azzi wonders—

Slowly, she makes eye contact with Paige, unbuttons her little jean shorts, and shimmies out of them.

Paige averts her gaze, reaching onto the bedside table to take a drink of water.

Interesting. Taking it a little further, Azzi turns away from Paige and pulls her shirt off, letting Paige know two things at once: one, she is wearing a thong, and two, she has not had a bra on all day.

Behind her, a coughing fit starts and she can hear Paige thumping at her chest while her water goes down the wrong pipe.

She grins to herself, sauntering into the bathroom. “Imma take a shower. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.” And without a glance behind her, she closes the door.

Pressing her ear to it, she can hear Paige mumbling to herself. She can’t make out exactly what she’s saying, but she does make out a few strings of curse words.

Well. What an interesting development this is.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

Natalie Wood (West Side Story, The Great Race)—She went through so much shit which I know can be said for all these women but Natalie really was a star and her death often overshadows her career and life. She could make you cry, but she also had the capacity to be incredibly funny which I think is lost on people.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Natalie Wood:

Judy Garland:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

[mxtxfanatic]

Tbh, I think if you read an mxtx novel with the expectation that the story’s hero is meant to learn some valuable lesson that fundamentally changes their character and views on life, then you are reading her books wrong. There’s not a single mxtx protag (currently) in existence who changes by the end of the story. It’s the world they live in that is changed because of their actions:

—Shen Yuan’s Shen Qingqiu transforms a toxic masculinity fantasy into a queer romance in which the unhappy stallion protagonist with a harem in the 100s is given his monogamous happy ending with a husband he actually loves and values with reciprocity. They fuck off to their forever honeymoon after exposing the corruptness of the cultivation world that ruined Luo Binghe’s life to begin with, and all of this was only possibly because Shen Yuan was just a genuinely nice fucking person. The world lives to see another day and a fuckton of people who died (or didn’t even get to exist) in the original stallion novel get to live long, more fulfilled lives in Shen Yuan’s revision.

—Wei Wuxian is killed for sticking up for a condemned clan, is resurrected against his will, and still stands by his actions in his first life while protecting those that continued to wrongfully condemn him. As a reward, the corpses of the people he died protecting save him and his loved ones (and the rest of the bystanders who killed them), he bags himself the most perfect and perfectly matched man in the cultivation world, and he continues to help others and do what he wants to the ire of the cultivation world who are now too embarrassed to fight him. The younger generation look to him as a beloved teacher, protector, and role model to aspire towards.

—Xie Lian rebelled against hierarchy as a beloved prince of a prospering kingdom, then as a beloved god against the older gods, then as a reviled scraps god against the then most popular gods of the present day. He was always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed it and to never hold resentment even if that kindness blew up in his face (and it often did). He gets to marry the man (ghost) who has seen him at his best and absolute worst and chooses him unconditionally, something no one else has ever done before. At the end of the novel, he is the god that all the other gods look to for guidance and strength.

None of these stories humble these characters for being good people. Even when their morally righteous actions net them unimaginably terrible results, even when they falter in the face of their failures, they ultimately remain true to their goodness. And none of the books humble them for that, because being good is not a character flaw. So in short: please stop talking about how mxtx protags “needed” to learn valuable lessons to “be good people” when they were already good people from the very beginning. These stories are not about how the world changes people but how genuinely good people can change the world just by actively being kind even with no benefit to themselves and especially if that kindness leads to detriment.

[etrsilk]

₊✩‧₊˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐏!𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐔𝐀⇝ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .ᐟ

| 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘱!𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘢

| 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ✘

| 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸

↬ Killua is 20 here!!

➘ your sexual relations are the only times when Killua is really communicative, even at the very beginning of your sexual life !

➘ He really loves foreplay and takes his time to explore every part of your body, he is also naturally very talented and wants to give you back the device every time you do something to him

➘ Although I think like the first point it's a few things that really depend on his mood, I feel like Killua is very verbally expressive during your intimate relationships. He’s definitely the type to compliment you or describe how he feels!

➘ Killua loves aftercare so much, I feel like even though he's not the best at physically demonstrating affection, it would be a completely different matter after your intimate relationships. He loves it so much when right after intercourse, you lay on top of him and cuddle him until you fall asleep ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ ♡

➘ He loves looking into your eyes while he makes love to you, it creates a real thing that makes him so horny!

➘ Killua is very attentive to your reactions and constantly adjusts his actions to maximize your pleasure, tbh he thinks more about your pleasure than his own 😭😭

➘ Killua likes to surprise and can initiate intimate moments spontaneously and unexpectedly.

➘ I think Killua really likes to experiment a lot, but never too far outside of his comfort zone.

➘ he's the type to ask you to suck him when he's stressed or tense, he uses this excuse regularly to shove his cock down your little throat

for one of your role plays, you go to a hotel. Role play involves pretending you are two strangers flirting in a hotel !

“I shouldn’t talk to you, I’m an engaged man.”

“Wow, I happen to like engaged men, tell me about your future wife”

“She is truly incredible, she is the most beautiful woman I have seen in my life.”

"If she's so amazing, why are you here talking to me tonight?"

“Because I respect her too much to do to her what I’m going to do to you tonight.”

— (I deeply love everyone who knows where this dialogue comes from ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ )

—English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[koolades-world]

Could you do the brothers + Dia with a mc who has young nieces/nephew that view them as another parent and mc views them as their own kids at times and acts as such to them?

Take care!!

aww hi!! yes of course this is so cute

enjoy!

Mc with nieces/nephews that treats them like their kids

Lucifer

sorry, they're not your niece anymore, his now

he gives off such dad energy so he's fit for the role of uncle

he's already seen you act like a tired parent to his brothers, but seeing you around an actual child and the tenderness you treat them with makes him feel warm and fuzzy

for someone who’s so busy, he suspiciously always has time to play family with you and your niece

Mammon

your nephew is obsessed with him and thinks he's so cool

he would never admit it, but he would die for your nephew and he seems you in him <3

this kid gets everything he wants from him

the parental side of you only makes him fall more for you <33

Levi

at first, he's freaked out

he knows nothing about kids and his limited knowledge comes from anime, which he knows isn't helpful

eventually, once he gets to know your niece, and sees the close relationship the two of you has, he tries his best to warm up

after all, he needs the approval of your favorite person to remain by your side

Satan

is so relieved your nephew is of the age to read and respect books

he’s actually so excited since children are usually afraid of him, but not your nephew! he was quick to hug him once you introduced them to each other

he’s absolutely obsessed with going out in public with the two of you and acting as a family

he secretly wants someone to mistake you as a family just so he can have the privilege of playing father and husband, if only for a while

Asmo

takes lots and lots of pictures of you guys but posts almost none

those are treasures for him and him alone, and because he doesn't want to post your nieces' face online <3

he loves to play dress up with the two of you! he knows your niece is enjoying it too since he's the king of fashion and never misses

whenever you and her are over, he finds an excuse to bring you both of a cute themed cafe that he knows she's going to find amazing

Beel

100% your nephew looks up to him like he looks up to you

at first your nephew was a little intimidated, but beel’s welcoming nature and kindness drew him in just like it did you

despite being young, your nephew wants to follow him and accompany him everywhere when he can

he even wanted to lift weights like beel so you got some foam ones and it became a fun family activity

Belphie

tbh at first, they both think the other is boring

belphie mostly sleeps and toddlers hate naps, and your niece does kid things obviously which he thinks is awfully boring

however, they have one common love: you

eventually once they both realize this, he takes your niece under his wing and is training her to be just like him

Diavolo

he's absolutely enchanted with you and your parent vibes

the relationship you have with your nephew is something he could only dream of having and he wants to be hands on so bad

the two of you are this kid's parents now sorry i dont make the rules

your nephew thinks he's so cool and is always asking for the three of you to spend time together

[atlabeth]

all of me | luke castellan

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: sooooooo i know that i said i would work on something else but this hit me and suddenly i could not rest until i wrote something for it so you're getting headcanons since i can't formulate proper thoughts. some of this is dialogue but most of this is pure stream of consciousness. im already kind of obsessed w them ?

wc: 3.7k lollll this got away from me but it was so much fun.

warning(s): parental death, fighting, normal royal stuff. fluff, angst, all that good shit

princess!reader and knight!luke

yeah

and they're childhood friends bc they grew up in the castle together

YEAH

luke is the son of a kingsguard and he wants to be just like his mom 

his father is out of the picture (booo) and his mom never really talks about him but she’s raised luke the best she can

shoutout to may castellan, she was the first female kingsguard! and definitely the first to personally guard the king 

you are the heir to the throne and the only thing you're sure of is that you want luke to be in your life

you basically spent all your time together because he was kinda the only one your parents would approve you hanging out with

most of the crownsguard don't have children and those that do have them live with their spouse outside of the palace, and your parents didn't want you spending time with the children of servants

and luke's mom is your father's closest friend because she's the king's personal knight and so everything’s basically already vetted and they don’t have to worry about you accidentally getting murdered by him 

so you and luke basically spend every moment of your free time together!! 

even when you’re not free tbh 

sometimes you beg your tutor to hold your lessons outside so that you can sneak glimpses at the knights training and luke training alongside them 

whenever he sees you, his face always instantly brightens and he will lose focus in whatever tf he’s doing because he’s only thinking about you now 

and instead of either of you doing what you’re supposed to do, you just spend the whole time making faces at each other and trying to grab the other’s attention 

after his mother tries (and fails) to get him back on track a million times and your tutor realizes that you’re never going to listen to her historical prattles they allow the two of you to talk for “FIVE MINUTES AND NO LONGER MY BOY” and your tutor is all “i ask that you do not delay our lessons any further, your highness” 

and tbf you and luke could notttttt care less. you immediately join up and you start teasing him about his form and how he was holding his sword and he just makes fun of you for having to be a princess

“Your form is horrendous, Luke! How do you expect to beat anyone holding a sword like that?” 

“At least I’ll be on the battlefield one day. You can bore our enemies to sleep with your recounts of Aureldan history.” 

“Oh, I bet I could beat you right now. I’ve got royal blood in my veins.” 

“And I’ve got knight’s blood in mine,” he says. “I’ve at least got a sword. That’s more than you have.”

You huff. “Mother says I have to learn propriety before I even think about picking up a weapon.” 

“Do you want to hold mine?” he asks immediately, his eyes lighting up as he offers it over. “It’s just wood because Mom doesn’t want me to hurt myself, but that means it’s safe for you.” 

you do. obviously. 

You’ve got soft hands, untouched by the world, and the sword feels foreign in their grasp as you realize this is in fact the first time you’ve ever held a weapon. You cut it through the air a few times and Luke is grinning wider than ever 

“I think the role of a warrior princess suits you,” he says.

“It is nice,” you muse as you turn it over in your hands, already growing used to the feeling of it. 

“And you look great with it,” he says. “Powerful.” 

“I’d give myself a splinter before I can do anything with it,” you retort as you hand it back to him. “It’s a nice thought, though.” 

His eyes light up. “You should train with us sometime. My mom is the best at teaching— she’d teach you everything you need to know!”

You glance back at your tutor, who is very clearly eavesdropping, and you sigh as you look back at Luke. “Maybe in a few months.” 

Luke’s mother calls his name and it’s obvious that your time is over. You hug each other and promise to meet up as soon as your responsibilities for the day are over, then go back to your respective duties. 

Your tutor takes you inside because she doesn’t want anymore distractions, and you wave at each other like crazy as you’re walking back into the castle.

so yeah. you’re best friends and you have been since you first met as children, and though it is a battle for your betters to keep you on task if you’re near each other, you just light up when you see each other and it actually helps 

You’re learning dining etiquette and if you get told that you’re using the wrong spoon again, you’re going to lose your mind. 

luke is hurrying through the halls to catch up with his mother and you both catch a glimpse of each other. 

your posture straightens, he stops in his tracks, and you both smile at each other. then luke’s mother calls his name again and he’s on his way again. 

spoons aren’t that bad, you think 

you’re mulling over history books in the library that make you want to fall asleep.

luke just happens to be walking past on the way to his chores, and when he spots you, he yells out your name and waves at you. you wave back, and you both stifle laughs as your tutor shushes you 

suddenly, you’re not feeling so down.

Luke is training on his own out in the yard before dinner and he’s about ready to break his sword over his knee because he can not get this damned move right. 

he hears your voice across the way and sees you, all dressed up and with your parents about to get into a carriage. you’re on your way to a ball, he remembers you telling him earlier, and he finds himself smiling. 

You had been complaining about it, and Luke had told you to just think of the two of you hanging out whenever you were bored. You said you were already planning on it.

His smile widens. He’d be thinking of you too, wondering what it would be like for him to attend with you. Dressed in the same gaudy outfits as the rest of the court, having to go through the same dull niceties that you’d been raised on, listening to stories from other royals he couldn’t care less about. 

Standing beside you as an equal. 

Luke’s young, but he already doesn’t care for nobles and their court. But he thinks he would wear any amount of uncomfortable suits and listen to any number of dull proposals for you. 

for the rest of the night, he trains better than he thinks he ever has. 

and of course, you break the rules together. GOD HELP YOUR CHARGES YOU ALWAYS BREAK THE RULES TOGETHER 

your tutor cannot count how many times you’ve slipped out of lessons and she’s found you in the halls talking with luke, him smiling brighter than she’s ever seen as he listens to you go on and on and on 

your mother cannot count all the times you’ve talked about what you and luke did that day instead of describing to her any of the history or arithmetic you were supposed to be learning 

May always keeps watch over her son, but she’s been known to turn a blind eye when Luke thinks he’s being sneaky to go off and see you. 

and of course, sometimes you actually hang out when you’re allowed to hang out lol 

you’ve run around every bit of the palace grounds together, you ride horses together (with parental supervision of course), and once you’re a bit older, you’re actually allowed to practice with luke and the rest of the knights! 

typically, it’s a shorter session with May teaching the two of you, and typically, it ends with both of you ready to die because you’re just kids and even though Luke is a prodigy, you are sooooo bad at swordfighting. it’s honestly not even funny how bad you are at it the first couple of lessons 

But May just pats you on the shoulder and promises to work with you until you’re as good as her. 

(luke pouts and says he wants to be better than you. you forget that you’re holding a sword and just start complaining at each other) 

(“you CAN’T be better than me luke I’m the princess”) (“YES I CAN MY MOM’S THE GREATEST KNIGHT EVER”) (“SHE PROTECTS MY DAD WHICH MEANS I CAN BE THE BEST EVER”) (“THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE”) (“YES IT DOES”) (“NO IT DOESN’T”) (“I’M YOUR PRINCESS YES IT DOES”) 

(the lesson ends when May has to pry you two apart) 

but we haven’t gotten to the knight part. 

because it’s a bit sad. 

what happens to may in pjo canon is awful but 

May Castellan dies when you and Luke are sixteen. A month after your birthday, in fact. Four months after Luke’s. 

(he’s always held those three months over you, especially as you get older.) 

(it doesn’t seem to matter as much now.)  

rumor has it throughout the kingdom that she slowly went insane and then fully lost it, ultimately dying in an attack against the king during a ball that turned out to be a set-up. 

the only one who knows what really happened that night is your father as he was the only other person there at her death that still lives, but he refuses to talk about it, only saying that “Head of the Kingsguard May Castellan died a hero and shall be remembered as such”. 

Luke… does not take it well 

besides the king, he obviously spent the most time with his mother and it was obvious to anyone that she loved him with all her heart and wanted him to follow whatever dreams he may have had 

she’s given a knight’s funeral and you are beside Luke the entire time, holding his hand or him leaning against you as you listen to eulogies or even just sitting next to each other because your presence is enough for him. it doesn’t matter what—you’re always connected in some way, and no one says a single thing. 

he needs you, and you need him. it’s as simple as that. and no one dares to correct the princess when she’s icier than they’ve ever seen her.

You put on that front to protect Luke—you don’t want anyone bothering him, and you don’t want him to have to worry about you at a time like this. 

Because you know he would. He always does. 

When Luke gives his speech, barely able to hold back tears, he looks at you the entire time. he doesn’t tell you, but you’re the only reason he’s able to get through the day. 

Luke becomes a ward of the royal family. 

There’s no chance you’re letting him leave, and Luke doesn’t want to go either. The memories of his mother all around are painful, but he takes some small comfort that she’ll live on in Aurelda forever. 

Your parents have no objection to it—he grew up in the palace anyways, and he can practically provide for himself. You wouldn’t have let them say no. 

You’re thankful beyond words that Luke is still here. Because everything feels like a mess, and things are a little more manageable with him by your side. 

Someone tried to kill your father. They killed Luke’s mother instead. Both of you are broken in different ways.

Obviously, this sparks the beginnings of war both in Aurelda and in Luke’s entire being. 

but that’s a topic for another day. 

May’s death changes your relationship. 

She was his mother, obviously, but you were close to her as well. you could never forget every time she ruffled your hair and complimented your sword fighting, or every time she would acknowledge you in the midst of a crowd with a smile and a nod, or every time she would act like a mother and not a knight. 

she had the best hugs in the entire kingdom. 

But her death changes your relationship because Luke changes. 

He’s angrier. His edges have all sharpened, honed by his own spirit. He softens when he’s around you, but to the outside eye he’s impenetrable. He thinks you’re the only one that understands him. 

Others pity him, fear him, are jealous of him. 

You treat him the way you always have. Like your best friend. 

That’s all he needs. 

And so Luke throws himself into his training, vowing to become the youngest kingsguard in Aureldan history to honor his mother’s memory. He wasn’t able to save his mother, and he needs to become strong enough to protect the ones he loves from anything. 

(You don’t know it, but he thinks of you every time he closes his eyes and sees the night his mother died. He’s in the place of his mother and you’re in your father’s position, and Luke knows that he would sacrifice himself for you every single time.) 

So you don’t have as much time for each other anymore. Luke is on his kingsguard mission, and you’re starting to come into your own as the Crown Princess of Aurelda. 

You can’t sneak out of lessons anymore to go talk with Luke, because you’re starting to learn about the nuances of politics. 

Luke can’t let you interrupt his training, because he’s on a warpath and he won’t be stopped before he reaches his goal. 

You can’t neglect your responsibilities because they’re more than just etiquette or history lessons. War is going to come to Aurelda sooner or later, and you’ve got to be ready when it does.

You’re only sixteen, but neither of you are children anymore.  

But you’re still best friends. Nothing can change that—it’s just changed the way you show it. 

You take your morning walks with your mother past the training grounds, and Luke always smiles at you and salutes no matter what. You bow your head in a very refined, princess-y nod, and you continue on. 

Luke makes sure he’s always the one that gets to deliver news to you, even going so far as to make deals with other servants and messengers just to make sure he gets to see you at least once a day. 

Most of the time, you end up seeing each other at night. Just happening to end up in the kitchens at the same time for a midnight snack that results in hours of talking with each other. Bringing Luke to your balcony to look at the stars together. 

Even some midnight training has occurred together, though you always end up a sweaty mess and having to make a bath for yourself because you can’t alert your servants. Luke says he likes you best when you have that vicious glint in your eye while you’re training with him. 

Luke still has horrific dreams, and though he weathered them on his own for a while, one night he finds himself outside your door. When you open it, seeing his haunted eyes and disheveled appearance, you let him in immediately.

It’s not the first time you’ve slept in the same bed after nightmares, and you know it won’t be the last. 

(You spent the whole week together after his mother’s death. Not even your parents could complain when they saw the change in both of you.)  

And Luke does it. He completes his training, having become one of the fiercest and youngest warriors Aurelda has ever seen. Traditionally, knights are older, but an exception was made for Luke—he’s got the Castellan name and a childhood spent with the greatest knights in the kingdom to back him up.

You’re the first person he tells when he finds out, and your scream of pure joy must have echoed throughout the entire castle. You hug him tighter than he’s ever been hugged before, and for just a moment, in your embrace, he feels like you’re both kids again. 

Weeks from his eighteenth birthday, your father knights Luke Castellan in an official ceremony. 

Not just as a member of the kingsguard, though—he is sworn in as a knight, and as your personal bodyguard. 

Your father didn’t tell you beforehand, and you thank a childhood of courtly influence to keep the shock off your face. One hand tightens ever so slightly into a fist, and you let it out just as quickly. 

You can’t see Luke’s expression, kneeling and head turned downward. You would pay all the gold in the kingdom to know what he was thinking. 

“Sir Luke Castellan.” Your father’s voice booms through the hall, and a shiver even goes down your spine. “Do you swear to serve Aurelda as her loyal knight, through war and peace, through riches and debt?”

“I do,” Luke says. 

“Do you swear to protect the Crown Princess of Aurelda—” your father says your entire title, and for the fifth time you wonder how many middle names a princess needs, “—my daughter—with everything you have in you, until your dying breath?” 

Your breathing stills for the slightest moment. 

Luke doesn’t flinch. “I do.” 

The thought of Luke dying for you is unimaginable. It’s something you’d never ask of him—you don’t think you could live in a world without him anyways. You know it’s what knights are expected to do—for king and country, my life for yours—but that’s for any member of the royal family—any member of the court. 

Luke is assigned solely to your protection. 

And he doesn’t even falter when he bonds his life to yours. 

As soon as the ceremony is over and Aurelda has gained three new knights, you’re on your way to Luke. You don’t care if anyone else wants to talk with the princess, you don’t care if your parents need to tell you something—royal propriety be damned, you need to talk to Luke.

He doesn’t look surprised when you march up to him, but there’s already a different air about him. 

Maybe it’s because in these past couple of years he’s absolutely shot up in height, maybe it’s because his insane training regimen has toned every part of him, maybe it’s because he’s done what no one else has done before, or maybe it’s just because he actually accomplished his goal. 

But when he smiles at you, that crooked slant to his lips that always meant mischief when you were younger, it’s enough to make that train of thought immediately shut down. 

“Princess,” he greets. “I think we’re going to be spending a lot more time together, these days.” 

“Yeah,” you say, the warpath you’d intended to be on fading away almost immediately with his words (and that goddamned smile that will certainly be the death of you someday.) “Maybe this is our way to make up on all that lost time.” 

“...I’d like that,” Luke says. 

“Can I hug you?” you ask wryly. “Or is that unbecoming of a brand new knight?” 

“I don’t think anyone will tell the princess she is doing something wrong,” Luke says. 

So you do. You hug him, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, and you hate that you had any doubt that he would. You’ve always felt safe in his embrace even since you were children, and now that he’s four times as strong and much taller, you feel it more than ever. 

He truly does look the part of a perfect knight. You remember the days of wooden sword fights and afternoons by the lake, wondering what your future awaited, but sure you would be together no matter what. 

You feel like you’ve aged a century since then.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you say as you pull away. “You’re incredible. I mean— you always have been, but this… It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. So I’m proud of you.” 

Luke brushes his curls out of his face with a gauntleted hand, his smile turning a bit more genuine. “It means the world, princess. You are… one of the main reasons that I even made it up here. So I have you to thank.” 

You feel your cheeks heat. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“You’ve been you,” he refutes. “You’ve stood by my side through everything, and you’ve always been there when I need you no matter what. You’ve done everything.” 

You’re thankful for the sheer sleeves of your gown, because now your entire body feels warm. And maybe that’s why you practically blurt the question out, but it’s been burning in your mind since the moment it happened. 

“Did you know?” 

He frowns. “Know what?” 

“That you would become my personal guard,” you said. “You’ve wanted to be a part of the kingsguard since you were a child, and now…” 

“Princess,” Luke says, “I asked your father for the honor.” 

That throws you off. “What?”

“Do you think he would entrust your wellbeing to just anyone?” he asks. “It’s part of the reason I’ve been training so hard—I wanted to prove to him that I was worthy of the position.” 

“Luke—” you start, but he shakes his head.  

“War is coming to Aurelda whether we like it or not,” he says. “All I want is for you to be safe. This way, I can ensure it.” 

“You said you would die for me,” you say. “You vowed it.” 

“That is generally how knighthood works, yes—” 

“Luke,” you interrupt forcefully. “I don’t want you to die for me.” 

“The goal is for nobody to die,” he says wryly. 

You cross your arms. “You know what I mean.” 

“Your safety is my number one concern, princess,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.” 

You stare at him. He stares back. 

You win, because Luke sighs and shakes his head. “We don’t have to worry about that at the moment. Right now, you have to get back to change before you sit in on an advisor’s meeting with the king and queen.” 

You frown. “How do you know?” 

“I’m your guard,” Luke says. “It’s my job to know.” 

“You were just sworn in!” you protest. 

“And I am always prepared,” he remarks. Luke holds his hand out in a gesture towards the door. “After you, princess.” 

You shake your head as you start walking. You hear Luke’s footsteps start soon after, much heavier than yours in full armor as opposed to your ceremonial dress. “You are ridiculous.” 

“Which is also my job,” Luke muses.

and so luke becomes a knight, but not just any knight.

your knight.

good luck handling that crush on him you've harbored since childhood now.

[eclecticwordblender]

i know this aunty who happens to be a homemaker and perhaps she is the only woman in my parents' social circle who is not financially independent. apparently she has never been very good academically and "chose" to be a homemaker. but her street smarts are absolutely off the roof. she has the highest emotional intelligence that i have ever encountered. she has a great sense of aesthetics. she has amazing people skills. her home is always impeccable. she’s a brilliant cook. her husband also has absolutely no idea about the functioning of the household because she has handled it so well. might i add she is also naturally very conventionally attractive. even at the age of around 50 she looks like she’s in her early 30s at best. this woman is the ideal tradwife by any standards.

her husband is also quite nice to her. always acknowledges her role in taking care of his household and his children. he’s generally one of the nicest and kindest men i’ve ever come across tbh. but despite all his niceness and kindness there is the occasional wife joke. and after all the emotional and unpaid labour she has put into their lives, it is his house after all. there is an obvious power dynamic where she constantly acknowledges her husband as someone she depends on, which is obviously true because she has no monetary independence. also, despite how smartly she manages the household, there are always jokes about how dumb she is in every social gathering and it is extremely humiliating to say the least.

this couple has a daughter who is in her late 20s now. she refuses to get married. now this aunty's in-laws refuse to get off her back because apparently she has failed as a mother because her daughter refuses to get married. aunty is often insulted about this in gatherings. her father in law once reprimanded her saying that she had one job staying at home and she couldn’t even do it properly. obviously, she was pissed off and answered back saying her husband was an absent father altogether. surprise surprise the husband started yelling at her in front of everyone saying that he had to break his back working for his wife was too stupid to get a job.

i’m sure these fights have escalated in private because recently aunty had a talk with me saying that i must earn my own living no matter what. this is the first time ever. we’re pretty close and she never said anything of this kind. she has also stopped pestering her daughter to get married and recently admitted that she is right about not wanting to get married altogether. i have also witnessed a recent drastic change in her personality lately. she isn’t as chirpy as she had always been.

now i do not know what is going on with her behind closed doors. but what i do know is that she has nowhere to escape because she has no monetary support.

if you think being a tradwife is a great choice, THINK AGAIN. perhaps your husband treats you right, but remember your life is at the mercy of how he treats you.

in an ideal world, money does not have the kind of power it does in our world. but unfortunately, we do not live in such a world. we as women, must, first and foremost secure financial independence for ourselves. money buys everything, even emotional and care labour. as educated and employable women, we also have a moral obligation to women who do not have the same privileges as us. we have a moral obligation to do whatever we can to offer them avenues to access whatever freedom we can bring their way. we owe it to the women who came before us, to the women who live with us, and to the women who will come after us.

YOU ARE A WOMAN BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

YOU OWE IT TO YOUR SEX CLASS BEFORE ANYONE ELSE. ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT.

[opal-owl-flight]

can I ask about the poster "agent 3" kids story?

Yes you can and here it all is!! Presenting…

tldr: She comes from a family of big name actors in the industry, and shes been raised from hatching to continue their legacy. Its…a lot of pressure to put on a kid, especially one who just wants to make her (impossible to satisfy) family proud. Despite being surrounded by impossible standards, the fakest friends chosen for her, being given everything she can ever want (except what she really needs), and putting on a hundred masks for everyone in her life for survival’s sake in a cutthroat industry, she chooses to be kind.

more details under the cut!!

Her name is Sariwa, which means “fresh” . Named for her spring green tentacles and as a blessing from her parents that shed stay youthful, beautiful. a hope that she would be seen and be adored (as freshness implies coolness/popularity in sploonworld).

Shes hatched into the acting industry, with both parents being big in the industry. From hatching she was expected, trained to be an actor like her mother is. The media adores them, this “sweet little family”, but no one knows how nefarious everything is when the cameras are off.

The dad is neglectful, disappearing into meetings most of the time. The mom is a helicopter parent to make up for it. Pointing out every flaw that Sariwa apparently has in either performance or appearance. Never giving praise. Except when she performs “well enough” on stage. This instills in the child this need to make them proud. to…to make everyone happy. She becomes someone whose dependent on other peoples’ praise to function.

Shes given everything else, dont get me wrong. Every material thing she’ll ever need. all the big popular “friends” chosen for her. But…shes not allowed to turf. yknow. biggest event in an inkling’s life here in Inkopolis. and shes not allowed to go to school either. shes too busy memorizing lines for adverts or-

The second she turned 14, she was chosen as the lead role for Cuttlegear’s brand new show abt Agent 3. She looked exactly like the legendary hero, according to the sources. All her time went into this project. Thankfully, unlike at home…her co-actors were very kind. Her parents didnt choose for her this time. She was meeting actual people who dont put on masks beyond their job. the actor they got for Cuttlefish, in particular, is a very kind soul, defending her when the directors get too pissy with her performance. (Those are the only people she fears, tbh shes fearful of most authority figures.)

*Cuttlefish is also depicted as kind and supportive in the show. and in most games. Unlike the real Cuttlefish, which is kind of a loony old man who pushes ideas on young inklings. He still gives more support and kindness that 3s dad ever gave, but thats only RELATIVE to how little he gave in the first place. One can only imagine the longing this inspires in the real 3.

Sariwa…since shes hatched shes had to put on an act. Be the perfect little doll for her parents. For the world. But her friends here, they inspired her to…have fun with what shes doing again. To take off the mask (mostly beyond the clock). Breathe life in the character when she can. (But lets be real…shes getting 3 spot on with how many parallels they have with each others lives.)

But what is she beyond the mask, her role? She wasnt allowed to do anything beyond this. She was forced to depend on her abusive parents and their associates. She cant live alone beyond them. Not allowed to turf bc shes “a prim and proper young lady; above such violent drivel that only delinquents participate in”. They gesture to 3, whos one of the faces Squidforce uses in their promotions, and say (ironically.) that she must not become that. Face ripped to shreds and eye mangled.

No one knows they got that from the real war that Sariwa is pretending to show.

The show does its best to be an accurate telling. Child friendly, to a point. Horrifying things still get kept in somewhat. Things that will horrify a child on stage.

If Sariwa is terrified of the props, can you imagine how it was for 3?

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And once she realizes all of this. Once she gets out of this situation thanks to Callie, Marie, and 3 themself. Does she feel guilt? Guilt for depicting the horrors in a way that glorifies it instead? A part of a project that aims to make people complacent to the real horrors that churned below?

There is one thing Sariwa feels about 3, that I am aware of rn.

“Im glad, that out of every story I couldve told, Im glad it was yours.”

Just like 8, she sung this tale in her hearts. Just like 8, she used this to break out of this terrible situation, answering the call of the ones who promised her safety. A better life. Like the way she stage broke through that prop in the choreographed Octavio fight, she broke through the influence of those around her.

*She actually went off-script a bit in that scene. After she beat down Octavio, she held out her hand. Mostly to help the actor up. But then, without realizing, she spoke, she spoke of making things better between the nations. That maybe he doesnt have to steal the zapfish anymore.

Her time with the octoling actors, and hearing the stories from the ex-octarians, made her aware and know the fact that theyre people too. The directors kept it in. They knew that if they released this as they have planned it, there will be fuckign riots from the ex-octarians or the Inkling “sympathizers”.

She saw the value this story held, despite the subliminal messaging that she wished wasnt implemented. That she wished she wasnt a part of. She saw that its a tale of hope. A tale that inspires one to become the hero of their own life. A tale that inspires one to make the world a better place.

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So she was hatched and raised to make people smile, singing her songs and dancing their dances. Much like the clan singer that was 4, except the tradition is much more healthy compared to industry standard. And she didnt become as mean as the people around her, at least not internally. She put on a mean mask but she felt the void within. When she was given kindness for a long enough time, she put her walls down.

And just like the real 3, she underwent through the horrors of expectations she had to hold up, and trying to make uninterested parents proud. They dont see her as their daughter, shes just a means to an end. She had to wear a hundred masks to survive and it made her lose her sense of identity. She had to be mature, she had to take the shitty behavior of adults who expect her to be like one too. It made her lose grip of who she is beyond this role. Hell, they made her so dependent on their handouts that shes not sure she can exist beyond this hell. Much like how 3 struggles to know a life beyond their duty.

And much like 8, she used the story she was telling to break out and get herself in a better situation. She met with the real Agents 1 and 2 (without her knowledge) and asked. Begged. for help, after her show ended. (3 also kind of pointed the two in her direction. Bc cod knows how horrifying this industry is. Shes lucky she didnt get any of the grosser horrors ~~its bc I didnt feel comfortable writing such topics~~)

And then shes faced with the same problem all the real legends faced. What comes after the end? When the dust clears, what happens next? She wasnt given a damn choice, she wasnt allowed to try to learn things beyond this role. to be beyond an imagined agent 3. a soldier for the screen. who is she now, that shes out of that battlefield?

little does she realize that the real 3s asking the same question for themself.