#i mean... i still think everything is a sign

[salemlunaa]

ೄྀsome of you STILL don’t understandೄྀ

you must get comfortable in your god state to really succeed

ೄྀPART I | STOP NEGOTIATING WITH THE 3D

To get comfortable in your god state you need to understand that it is you ALONE that manifests. Stop consuming and spreading misinformation, you don’t have to “meet in the middle”with the 3D for your manifestations.

“If you want your dream bod to be manifested you have to stand firm AND workout”

“If you want to manifest clear skin, it’s good to visualise but you should also be focusing on skincare”

“If you want to manifest good grades you can affirm but you actually have to study”

“You can’t expect to manifest when you aren’t bothering to do anything in the 3D”

bullshit. absolute bullshit

although it’s important to still take care of your necessities, there’s no such thing as meeting halfway for your desires. If you think that you don’t understand what manifestation is. And with the assumption that it is, means that you don’t understand your full potential. As soon as you think of a desire it’s yours, no negotiating needs to be done with the 3D. All you have to do is stand firm.

Why are you making deals with the 3D?, “okay, okay if i workout in the 3d and manifest my dream body in my 4d it will come” that just isn’t needed

“okay but it does help things move faster” “it does help things become a little easier” nope, still wrong!

you don’t have to lift a finger for something that’s already yours. never. same goes for inducing pure consciousness, you don’t have to spend hours saturating your conscious mind in order to shift. You can have the worst day and still induce pure consciousness because that’s all it is: a state of consciousness.

ೄྀPART II | EVERYTHING YOU DO IS PERFECT

To get comfortable in your god state you must also understand that you’re doing it all right. Stop asking dumb questions, you’re doing everything correct. The fact that you rely on bloggers to tell you if you should do this or that as if they’re your god shows that you don’t truly understand (and it’s getting really frustrating).

“will i still be able to induce pure consciousness if I lay on my side rather than in a starfish position?”

“do i have to affirm?”

“what if i don’t do this one blogger’s method to the minute details, does this mean i won’t shift?”

asking stupid questions like these confirms that you still don’t understand the extent of your power, you still don’t understand who you are.

And if you don’t understand, you will never progress, treating this like a chore that you have to perfect is where you go wrong. As a god, everything you do is correct, you could even induce pure consciousness by standing straight up and singing heavy metal at the top of your lungs, because what ever you say goes.

Stop sitting back up after minute 5 of it “not working” to check if you’re doing that method correctly. Why does you living your dream life depend on other people’s rules, are they the gods of your reality or is it you?

And you do know this still counts as you putting the void state on a pedestal? There are people who find out about pure consciousness and induce it that same day. Get your head in the game.

1: You don’t have to lift a finger for your dream life

2: You’re doing everything correct, you are “I AM” trust that and you’ll induce in no time

Both of these things, negotiating with the 3D and asking if your doing it right in YOUR OWN reality are signs that you don’t trust yourself enough. Learn to actually trust yourself and accept your fate as a god and you’ll have everything you dream of

NOW GO GO GO, GO GET YOUR DREAM LIFE

🍵🪷To understand and succeed you must trust yourself

[redeemingvillains]

the apothecary's rebel - mattheo riddle

summary: hogwarts' bad boy can't seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you're working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you're simply a means to an end, or something much more.

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of severe injury, broken bones, blood, etc.

a/n: this is so tropey and i'm not sorry about it! credit as always to the lovely @pizzaapeteer who has definitively determined that mattheo's favorite quidditch team is the falmouth falcons, which i will faithfully honor in every fic that i write.

The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, he had rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, crimson and amber; it stained his white collared shirt and seeped into his emerald tie and dark robes but despite it, he was smiling, laughing actually as his eyes glinted at Professor McGonagall who was dragging him alongside her into the infirmary.

"Please, Professor" he implored, "I can't help myself when someone runs their mouth like that, I can't, it's like a curse or something, my fist just flew to his face, what was I supposed to do?!" He was smirking as he looked at her, but she ignored his gaze as she yanked him before you.

"Enough, Mr. Riddle!" she said shrilly.

He tugged his arm out of her grasp. "I don't need the infirmary, m'fine" he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"You're dripping blood on my floor" she retorted, pointing to the maroon spots at his feet.

He glanced down and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further across his face.

"Ms. YLN!" McGonagall said, making it clear that he was your problem now as she squeezed her eyes shut in aggravation then spun on her heels and left.

You stood from your desk at once startled and awed by the situation, but Mattheo's gaze followed McGonagall out of the room.

"M'fine, I don't need anything" he repeated as he continued to swipe at the blood that wouldn't stop running.

You begged to differ as you took in the gash on the bridge of his nose, and the early signs of a black eye. You handed him a cloth which he stuffed under his nose halfheartedly, barely glancing at you, and before you could do anything else, he jogged back to the doorway, peered around the corner and disappeared.

Your week went by without anything nearly as exciting occurring beyond the normal bumps, bruises, and burns from spells and potions gone awry before you saw him again, this time of his own volition.

He caught your eye as his large framed graced the doorway. He was dressed for quidditch, still in his shoulder pads and Slytherin practice jersey. His dark curls were windblown and his cheeks were flush with exertion; sweat glistened on his brow and you thought fleetingly to yourself that no one had the right to look that sweaty and that good at the same time.

You stood from your desk to approach him, eyebrow quirked when he held up his hand by way of explanation, where two of his fingers were bent the wrong way, clearly broken. You motioned wordlessly for him to sit on the nearest cot.

He sat and immediately focused his attention out the window, peering like he was hoping to see the quidditch pitch from his vantage point.

You gathered a few supplies and approached him and he thrust out his hand, eyes never leaving the window.

"Go on then, get it over with" he said shortly. "I wanna get back to practice."

Unbeknownst to you, he was no stranger to broken bones, nor the sharp, relentless pain that came with the healing process and he was doing everything he could to steel himself for it.

Your touch was warm and tender as your fingers gently examined his hand.

"What position do you play?" you asked.

"Beater" he said simply.

You handed him a dose of healing and numbing potion, which he chugged in one go, thinking briefly that it tasted much better than he remembered.

"Are you any good?" you continued as you took the vial back from him and continued your work on his fingers.

"Are you joking?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.

You shrugged innocently, a sly smile on your lips, though you never broke your focus.

"Yeah, I'm good" he said. "Best Slytherin has seen in a while. We might actually have a chance at the cup this year if Flynt can keep his head straight and Goyle can stay sober long enough to sit on his broom."

"A daunting task" you teased.

He laughed genuinely this time, your humor enough to garner his attention and break his gaze from the window as his eyes fell on you instead, and you could feel yourself flush under his notice.

"Harpies or Cannons?" you asked, trying to guess his favorite team.

"Falcons" he said, smirking at your knowledge of quidditch.

"My brothers root for Ballycastle, but I'm partial to the Magpies" you replied.

Now he was flat out impressed and had about a million questions for you, but just as he opened his mouth to ask them, you step back and smiled.

"You're all set!"

He thought you were joking until he looked down at his carefully bandaged fingers.

"You should be able to grip your broom just fine. Put some ice on it after practice if you can, otherwise it will hurt like hell when the potion wears off."

You were gathering your supplies as he wiggled his fingers with trepidation. He felt a dull ache, but nothing more, and he could easily grasp his broom despite his mended fingers with the unique way you'd wrapped them; it'd felt better than any mending he'd had before and whether it was your talent or the deft way you'd distracted him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering "S'bloody brilliant."

"Thanks" you said genuinely, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as you shot him a playful smirk of your own. "Best Ravenclaw's seen in a while" you teased, echoing his words from earlier before you walked back to your desk.

The rest of the afternoon you found your thoughts wandering between the books you were trying to study and the boy with dark curls and a smirky grin who seemed magnetized to mischief, how even the brush of your fingers against his strong, calloused hands had had you struggling to focus on healing, the very thing that came most naturally to you.

You were both happy and disappointed that you didn't see him soon thereafter, glad perhaps that he was keeping himself out of trouble and in one piece. You caught glimpses of him occasionally in the busy corridor between classes or in the Great Hall surrounded by his raucous group of friends, but you tried your level best not to stare, in turn missing his equally ardent attempts to catch your eye.

It was perhaps three weeks later that you awoke late on a Saturday night to a muffled pounding on your bedroom door. Bright moonlight shone through your curtained window as you struggled to get your bearings and the pounding relented, heavy and urgent.

Occasionally, Madam Pomfrey summoned you in an emergency and your heart trilled as you pulled a large sweater over your lace and silk pajamas. You moved quickly to open the door, only to find Mattheo slumped and leaning against your doorway.

He swung his head to look at you with noticeable effort and you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in his face, scraped and dirty with a large cut on his eyebrow that you were already calculating would need stitches, and a smaller but sizable cut to match on his lip. His mouth was bloodied and the gash on the bridge of his nose was back.

"Gods, Mattheo" you whispered as you reached for him. "Let's get you down to the infirmary."

"S'four inthe mornin' m'not gonna explain to them why I looklike this" he said, his speech slurring as he moved to brush past you into your room.

"Can'tyou fix me n'here?" he asked, as he swayed and you moved to support his weight.

"I-I don't have what I need, I don't have any numbing potion..." you tried to say.

"Can't hurt more'n it already does" he huffed as he sat on your bed.

The sight of him there, rumpling your sheets caught every last word in your throat and you busied yourself grabbing what you could to buy time to still your racing heart.

"What happened?" you asked, finally.

"Me'n the boys got into one" he said, not offering more in the way of an explanation as he glanced around your room, making you feel exposed.

"And where are they?" you asked, glancing for a moment back at the door like they might follow him in.

"I wasn'about to drag five ofus n'here" he said with a smirk.

I wanted you all to myself he thought as he tried with significant effort to focus on you as you came to stand between his spread legs. Your sweater was falling off of your shoulder to reveal thin, silk pajamas that covered next to nothing; your hair was rumpled and wavy with sleep, giving you a relaxed and tousled look that had his mind racing with the image of you tangled in your sheets.

You held his chin softly in your hand, turning his head slowly to the right and to the left. You could smell firewhiskey on him, and could see the pupils of his eyes blown wide as they looked unwavering at you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly.

"You might have a concussion" you said quietly, focusing on the facts instead of the fantasy in front of you.

"Probably" he agreed, his voice thick and raspy.

Your eyes shifted from his strong gaze to focus on his hands, attentively wiping away the dirt, gravel and blood from his knuckles, your fingers running down his palms. His eyes fluttered, thinking you had no right to make him feel this good by touching his hands, and then immediately he thought about your touch anywhere, everywhere else.

You leaned further into him to attend to the cut on his eyebrow, softly whispering the spell to mend it, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin and he closed his eyes in earnest, letting your words wash over him, calming him from what had been an intense and violent night; they didn't flutter open again until you gently touched his lip.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" you asked.

"S'other ways you could make it feel better" he said, smiling widely in way that set a twinkle in his eye.

"Very funny" you said, redoubling your efforts, without realizing that for once he wasn't joking.

He reached out a hand to grab your waist, attempting to pull you into him, but you mistook it for an effort to steady himself and set a hand on his shoulder.

With the amount of alcohol in his system you thought, there is little to no chance he remembers any of this.

Mattheo woke with a throbbing headache and for the life of him he couldn't piece together why his friends visibly looked like they'd lost a brawl, while he looked...fine; his hands and face were clean and his split lip and eyebrow were reduced to small cuts and scrapes, nearly healed.

He had a foggy memory, like a dream, of you tracing your fingers over his lip, a touch he retraced now like he could feel you on his skin, could feel your warmth from being pulled out of bed, and then he remembered how good you'd smelled, like vanilla and amber... Had he really gone to your room in the middle of the night? He would almost be embarrassed if he didn't feel so fucking smitten about it.

The group dragged themselves to breakfast, hoods drawn; Theo even sported an oversized pair of sunglasses, whether to cover his black eye or to abade his hangover, no one was sure. They were talking in rasp whispers about the night before when Mattheo caught sight of you leaving the Great Hall with a few of your friends, his feet moving on autopilot towards you before he knew what he was doing, breaking rank to his friends' bewilderment.

"Hey" he said, catching your attention. "I-uhh, thanks for last night, I guess" he smiled, even as he carded his hand through his hair, a bit abashed.

"I am genuinely surprised you remember any of it" you said, laughing.

"F'course I do" he said confidently.

"So, you'll keep your promise then?" you retorted as you cocked your head expectantly.

Promise? What fucking promise?

"Yeah, of course I will" he said, even as his mind drew a complete blank on what you were referring to.

Your eyebrows shot up as a wide smile graced your lips and you crossed your arms, ready to challenge him before you were interupted.

"—Wait, is this her?" Theo barged in, pushing Mattheo aside, the others following closely behind.

"Can she look at my nose?" Draco tried. "I think that fucker broke—"

"—No. Stop, stop it." Mattheo said, dragging them away from you gruffly as you laughed, waving to Enzo who was waving eagerly to you despite Mattheo's efforts to contain him.

Your cheeks were crimson. He'd told his friends about you.

That giddiness carried you throughout your day. You felt like you were floating from class to class, like a fifth house ghost, your spirits high even as you resigned yourself to the infirmary that evening while the rest of the school made their way to the quidditch pitch for the final game of the season, the House Cup: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

A dark storm had settled over the mountains and the last of the sun disappeared behind large, black clouds that brought with them torrential wind and rain that you watched cascade in sheets against the windows. You were disappointed to be missing the game, missing the chance to watch Mattheo play, but you were also happy to be inside, dry and warm.

You settled into your book, trying your best to enjoy it, but you found yourself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to clear your mind from the night before, the way Mattheo settled effortlessly on your bed in a way that even now had your stomach clenching, the way his dark eyes followed you in the white moonlight, the way he smiled under caked blood and the warmth and softness of his skin and his lips under your fingertips; and finally the way he'd grabbed you, perhaps stronger than he'd intended, fingers pressing into the thin silk that covered you, leaving imprints on your skin. Your heart was racing and you felt warm at the memory as you set your book down and exhaled shakily.

It wasn't a moment later that you heard a commotion in the corridor, loud voices and shuffling feet before a large group burst through the doors, professors and students crowding around two quidditch players, the sight making your heart constrict in your chest, until you noticed a red jersey on one and the flash of Draco Malfoy's bright blonde hair on the other. You scurried to help guide him to a cot as he groaned, his eyes squeezing in pain as a gash on his forehead dripped blood down the side of his face.

"What the hell happened?!" you asked Professor Sinistra who had a deep frown set on her face.

"The storm is making it impossible to see anything, they should have cancelled the damn match" she said. "These two collided and there's another one coming - he tried to grab Malfoy and took a bludger straight to the knee before falling 60 feet to the ground."

Draco continued to writhe in pain in front of you and Professor Sinistra was still talking but she sounded distant, almost underwater, because dread and fear had settled over you. Somehow you knew before you turned around that the third player was Mattheo, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him being supported between Theo and Blaise.

He was limping on one leg as the other dragged uselessly beneath him. He was soaked through, his hair stuck to his forehead and his jersey stuck to his skin. He was covered in mud and his face was like stone, marble white as he stared sternly at a spot on the ground, jaw clenched.

You dropped what you had been doing, rudely brushing past Professor Sinistra and rushed to his side.

"Here, put him here" you said to Theo and Blaise, leading them to an empty cot.

"Nahh - fuck - get someone else" Mattheo said sharply in a way so cutting and raw that you froze, like his words had struck you like a charm.

"W-What?" you said as the boys lowered him to the bed, exchanging glances.

"You heard me YLN. Get someone else!" he said angrily, almost yelling.

You turned to face the rest of the infirmary which was in a state of utter chaos between the nurses, students and professors running back and forth; the raging storm outside cracked and boomed, setting you further on edge.

Tears welled in your eyes at how overwhelmed you were and how angry Mattheo was. Your head was spinning. Clearly he didn't care about you at all, you had been a convenience, a means to an end, someone who could patch him up when he was too drunk to go to the infirmary, and he'd used his good looks and charm on you like he did everyone else to get what he wanted. You had been an utter fool. Now his injuries were serious and he wanted someone with experience, not some girl to exchange flirty banter with.

Your eyes scanned the room again and you swiped angrily at your cheeks as several tears escaped.

"Well, there isn't anyone else, Mattheo" you said, the realization hitting you simultaneously that you were responsible for him.

He groaned in annoyance and threw his head back on his pillow, which Theo and Blaise thankfully took as their cue to go. You drew the curtains behind them, struggling to calm yourself, to get a semblance of control.

"You took a bludger to the knee?" you asked. "What else, where does it hurt?"

He was silent, face grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Suppose I'll just have to undress you and find out for myself then?" you tried. But even that didn't work as he remained quiet and shame and embarrassment set over you.

You took a steadying breath and quickly wiped another errant tear away before approaching him cautiously, moving to unlace his boots as gently as you could, but even that caused him to tense. Delicately, you began to cut his trousers from the bottom and within three snips could you see a sicky swelling letting you know that this was bad....very bad. He'd well shattered his knee and likely broke his fibula and tibia too, his entire leg was a disaster. You had no idea how he'd remained so calm despite it all and you were worried that this might be too complex for you to mend.

You mixed him a strong healing and numbing potion and he took it from you wordlessly, gruffly. Gone was his bashful smile from this morning, the twinkle in his eye, it was like he wanted nothing to do with you, downing the potion in one go, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Mattheo, I can't imagine how painful this must be, but I'll fix it, I-I promise" you said.

His eyes shifted darkly to you for only a moment, anger and distain clear in his gaze before he looked away again, never saying a word.

You applied just about everything you'd ever learned about mending bones, tendons, muscles and sinew and within moments of taking the potion, Mattheo had fallen into a deep sleep, allowing you to work without fear of hurting him further. It took the better part of two hours, by which time the rest of the infirmary had settled and Madam Pomfrey came to check on you. She was difficult to please, but she scrutinized your work with a sharp eye before complimenting you thoroughly, you had done it.

You were depleted, exhausted, both physically and emotionally but you didn't stop as you wiped the caked mud from Mattheo's cheeks and gingerly cut away the rest of his wet clothing, fearful he'd catch a chill, thinking you deserved some sort of medal for your level of professionalism as your fingers traced his strong muscles, veined arms and faded scars. You pulled a blanket over him, charmed to stay warm before you finally slumped into a chair at his side.

Your entire body was tense, and your muscles were sore. You let yourself catch your breath as your emotions finally caught up with you and you bit your lip to keep from crying at how foolish you felt.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the curtain. "You're free to go" she said quietly.

You glanced back at Mattheo before turning to her. "I think I'll stay...just in case" you whispered.

She pursed her lips knowingly before nodding curtly and walking back to her station at the far end of the room.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually you fell into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of falling into deep darkness with nothing and no one to catch you.

Mattheo came to in a haze, enveloped in a soft warmth that brought a smile to his lips; for some reason, it reminded him of you, and it smelled like you, like warm vanilla and amber spice. As if in a dream, a memory came rushing back to him, of another time he was engulfed by you, of feeling your gentle touch on his lips in a way that made them tingle even now.

"How'sthis" he said. "I promise if I'm ever this'fucked again, and you haveta take care o'me, I'll take you ona date?" Your eyes shot to his, shining against the moonlight streaming into your bedroom and he clocked the twitch of your lip, the rose of your cheeks, Gods how he loved to make you blush. "Yeah?" you said jokingly. "Yeah" he said, feeling confident. You refocused your attention on his lip, your touch soaking through him like sunlight. "Well, for your sake, I hope that doesn't happen, you're a mess" you chided. Then, quietly, "But for mine, I look forward to it."

His heart soared and he reached for you only to come back with empty hands. He continued to grasp for you until his eyes fluttered open and he realized where he was. The memory of the game came rushing back to him, the flash of thunder and lighting, the fear of seeing his best mate falling off his broom as he raced to grab him, and then the crunch and splitting pain of his knee shattering, the scream he'd let out that was drowned by the storm.

His stomach roiled as he relived the way his friends had dragged him back to the castle, how every bump of his foot felt like torture. He tensed now, waiting for the pain, nearly nauseating himself with the memories, but he felt...nothing. A dull ached radiated from his knee and it felt stiff, but the sharpness was gone, replaced with a pulsing warmth.

His eyes blinked in the low candlelight, coming to rest on you, curled uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed, and he realized he should have known, should have recognized that you were the constant peace on the other side of his pain.

You were asleep, but your face was scrunched in discomfort, in concern and he clocked the smudge of your eye makeup, the loose strands of your hair falling on your face, and the fact that you were wearing the same clothes from earlier this morning, when he'd made you smile. Now, you looked distraught, upset and his stomach clenched as he remembered the way he'd spoken to you.

He had been in so much pain and pain is weakness he could hear in his head over and over again as he'd tried unsuccessfully to fight it. She's going to think you're weak, pathetic. He didn't want to be weak in front of you, he didn't want you to see him that way. He was proud when you mended his busted knuckles, his split lip, or even his smashed fingers, you didn't need a weak, crying git. But then he remembered the crushed look on your face as he'd yelled at you, and he realized he'd been a git all the same.

"Hey" he said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended, scratchy with sleep.

"Hey" he tried again.

You woke, startled. "Are you alright?" you asked, bolting upright in your chair, setting a hand on his arm. "Here, let me check your—"

"—I'm fine" he said, laughing. "More than, actually."

"Oh" you said, settling back down. "Good."

A moment of tepid silence passed between you.

"Look, m'sorry about earlier" he said, his sleep ridden voice coaxing your eyes to meet his as he opened his hand on the bed beside him, stretching it out for yours.

You hesitated, pursing your lips, and he could tell you were hurt.

"Can you keep a secret?" he tried.

You nodded.

"That fucking hurt, a lot" he exhaled as he let his vulnerability show.

"That's not really a secret. You shattered your knee, fibula and tibia, Mattheo, and you also have three bruised ribs and two more broken fingers" you said, pointing to his other hand.

"Well, would you look at that" he said smartly, twiddling his fingers back and forth.

"Draco cried harder over a hairline fracture, you'd have thought he was dying" you laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes.

Mattheo let out an earnest laugh at that before he grabbed his side.

"Do not tell him I said that—"

"—I am absolutely telling him you said that!" he said cockily as you both laughed until you fell into silence again.

He opened his palm again and you moved closer, setting your hand in his, which he enveloped in his warm grasp, gently rubbing a thumb over your fingers.

"I didn't want you to think I'm weak" he said finally, the truth settling over both of you like a blanket.

"Pain isn't weakness, Mattheo" you said simply, and the fact that in one instant you had understood exactly what he had meant had his dark chocolate eyes locked on yours.

"And anyway" you continued, "you don't have a weak bone in your body, your pain tolerance must be through the roof."

He didn't have the heart to tell you he hurt just like everyone else, he'd just had more practice with it, so he shrugged.

"Well all things considered, I feel great... thank you" he said, twirling your fingers together before tugging them gently, pulling you to sit on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between you. "I do have a couple of complaints though."

Your eyebrow quirked, suddenly serious.

"You got me nearly naked here before I could take you on that date I promised, hardly seems fair" he smirked.

You blushed, opening your mouth to defend yourself. So he did remember after all you thought.

"I'm kidding" he said lightly. "But start thinking about where I can take you. A promise is a promise."

You couldn't hide the smile on your face even as you tried, glancing into your lap, your cheeks Mattheo's favorite shade of blushed red.

"And what else?" you asked, trying to deflect.

"You missed something. I think I fucked my lip up, real bad" he said.

Your eyes twinkled as they looked at him, glancing briefly at his perfect lips, free from any mark or mar.

"I don't know, I don't see anything" you said, jokingly, taking his face in your hand, pretending to examine him.

"C'mon, c'mere you've got to get closer" he teased, pulling you into him, so your noses were nearly touching, your heart pounding in your chest.

He paused, relishing the moment, letting his fingers trace a line from your cheek to your jaw, letting your lips hover a breath away from his before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you.

He kissed you tentatively, softly, with a tenderness that made every inch of you feel like melted honey but it was only a breath before his restraint broke, intoxicated by you and every moment he'd daydreamed about the way you'd feel against him, the way you'd taste as he cupped both sides of your face and pulled you further into him. You grasped for purchase as the blanket between you slipped revealing his bare chest and you wound your arms around his bare shoulders, tangling your fingers into his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from deep within him. You nibbled his lip playfully before you pulled back, and he grasped you harder, fighting the distance.

"How's that?" you asked, breathlessly.

"Still unbearably painful, gorgeous, keep trying" he smiled against your lips before kissing you again.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @pizzaapeteer @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @rositxespinosa @longpondlibrary @littlebookbengal @lovetaylorrussellgrr

[pedriache]

hiii

could u write an academic enemies to lovers for kenan yildiz pleaseeee

Do I wanna know? 𖦹 Kenan Yildiz !

summary. You’d known Kenan since you were kids, you’d despised him since you were kids, and even know in college, you—oh. Maybe you didn’t?

word count. 545+

disclaimers. banter / slight enemies to lovers due to rivlary

bea speaks! didn’t even realize i’ve had this in my drafts since september i am so so sorry??? and this is kind of open ending but wtv i need it out of my drafts asap

You’d thought leaving your hometown for university would mean freedom—freedom from him. Kenan Yizdiz. But, as if the universe found pleasure in your misery, Kenan had shown up at orientation day with the same annoyingly perfect smile, acting as though he wasn’t the bane of your very existence.

You’d known Kenan for as long as you could remember, but not in the way that was heartwarming. No, he’d been your rival since grade school. Always somehow always beating you in everything. The spelling bee’s and honor rolls. Everything.

So, seeing him on orientation day was… well, infuriating.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he had drawled, leaning casually against the registration table as you signed in. “Still chasing my shadow?”

“More like trying to escape it,” you’d snapped, not even sparing him another glance. “Guess I failed that too.”

Now, three years later, Kenan is still somehow everywhere. In your classes. In the library. Everywhere. He’s still the same old Kenan—competitive, cocky, and stupidly good at everything he does.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the way his smug grin grows wider every time he beats you (which is annoyingly often.)

The final straw comes when you were both nominated for the same prestigious academic award for your class. Today, you’d caught him the library with dozens of books spread around his study table.

“You’re really trying to win this, huh?” You ask, slamming your book into the table across from him.

Kenan’s gaze flickers up to you, unimpressed. “What gave it away, genius? The mountain of research around me or the fact that I’m not out partying like a dog like you act like I do?”

Okay, attitude.

“Hard work doesn’t make you special, Yildiz,” you shoot back. “It simply makes you tolerable.”

“Funny.” He counters quickly, leaning back into his chair. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

The two of you lock eyes, and for a moment something shifts. You were so used to the banter, the constant push and pull, that it takes you by surprise when his smug smirk.. softens?

“Why do you even hate me so much?” He asks, voice dropping into a quieter tone, breaking the silent tension. “You’ve been acting like this since we were kids. Like I stole your puppy or something.”

Your posture straightens and you shift on your feet uncomfortably. “Well, Frank did run to you before me that once.” You scoff at the memory of your childhood dog and Kenan, “and, I don’t hate you, Kenan. I just don’t like losing to you. That’s all.”

The brunettes lips twitch into a grin, “Is that so? Because I don’t mind losing to you.”

That.. well, it shut you up. Your eyes lock on his, stunned, while he gathers his books. As he walks past, he leans down just enough to whisper in your ear, his hot breath painting your cheeks a crimson red.

“Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to beat me—to dislike me, you’d realize we could make a really good team.”

Then he leaves.

Leaving you standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened. And when did your agitating rival become someone who made your heart stutter.

Better yet, did you want to know?

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @ar4ujos @be11ingham @spidybaby @st4rgirl-ellie @piastri-fvx

[sickeddyville]

I love you, Im sorry

Pair: zayne x reader

Prompt: you leave to protect him from Astra's curse

Note: this is the part 2 for the 'Guilt' fic, and yes it's still angst 😊. full on angst with a kiss at the end. The title was 100% inspired by gracie abrams i love her sm😞😞

Warning: not a happy ending (again) bcs being a zayne main means eating angst 24/7

Part 1 | Part 3

The plan is simple. Get away from him as far as possible.

As the taxi pulls up to the train station, your heart races. You have to do this, for his sake.

You walk towards the doors of the platform when, out of nowhere, you hear a voice.

"You think I didn’t know what you were planning?"

You freeze.

Zayne stands a few feet away, his eyes stern with a mix of hurt and disbelief. There’s an edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before.

Your breath catches in your throat as you turn to face him, unable to form words. You can only stare, heart pounding, as he steps closer. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

"I thought I made it clear," he continues, his voice low but trembling with emotion. "You can’t just leave without telling me. Not again."

There’s pain in his voice, raw and real. "You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out. You try to speak, but your throat feels tight. The guilt gnaws at you as you realize just how deep this is cutting him.

"Im doing this for you" you finally manage to whisper, but even then, it feels like the words aren’t enough. "If I stayed away, you will no longer suffer. From me." The words feel wrong, but they spill out anyway.

Zayne steps closer, his face inches from yours now, but you still can't find the strength to say anything. His hands reach for yours, and despite your inability to speak, he gently clasps them, his grip firm yet comforting.

"I don’t care about the curse, All I care about is you." His voice softens, but there's no mistaking the emotion underneath.

"How could you not care about the curse?" you ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

You try to back away from him, but his grip only tightens, pulling you closer. "I can’t just stand there knowing how this will end," you add, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I can’t. If I stay—if I stay, the curse will keep following you. It will never stop."

Zayne’s expression falters for only a moment, but the determination in his eyes doesn’t waver. "Y/N, I don’t care about the curse," he repeats, his voice steady but the emotion evident in his gaze. "Listen. What I care about is you. I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not like this."

"You can't just say that, Zayne..." The words leave your mouth in a strangled whisper, full of desperation, and Zayne’s grip tightens on you as if he can keep you from slipping away. His arms pull you in, and suddenly, everything you had been holding back—everything you had been running from—comes rushing forward.

Tears flood your eyes, hot and overwhelming. You can't hold it back anymore. Your sobs are muffled in his chest.

Zayne doesn’t speak, but his hand runs gently through your hair, his touch grounding and soothing. "You’re not hurting me, Y/N," he says softly, though the strain in his voice betrays the emotion he is fighting to keep in check. "I’d never want you to think that. You’re everything to me. And I’ll fight through this, no matter what it takes."

"There is no fighting it, Zayne..." Your voice is barely audible, the words slipping out of you to make him understand the impossibility of what he is trying to do.

"No." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I won’t accept that. I won’t accept losing you, Y/N. I don’t care what happens— We’ll find another way, together."

"We can’t..." The words caught in your throat, heavy with finality, but Zayne was still holding you close, his face inches from yours. He wouldn’t let go, his determination unwavering as he searched your eyes for any sign of hope. But you knew the truth. No matter how much you loved him, no matter how desperately you wished for a different ending, this was the only path that could be walked.

"Y/N..." he whispers, his voice shaking just slightly. "I don't want to lose you. I’m not going anywhere. Please."

"I care for you so much... this is why I’m doing this, Zayne," you say, your voice cracking. You pull back slightly, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. "Please understand."

Zayne is silent for a moment, his hands still resting on your arms. His grip tightens, but there is no anger, only something softer, more broken. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again.

"How can I understand if you’re pushing me away? It’s killing me." His words sting, but there is no malice in them—just raw emotion, as if the weight of your distance is slowly suffocating him.

"You don’t—understand..." The words catch in your throat, heavy with emotion, and you can barely form the sentence. You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hands trembling as you wipe your eyes.

"I understand you think you’re protecting me," Zayne says gently, his voice low but steady. "But I choose you, no matter what the future holds. I care about you. Don’t shut me out like this."

You shake your head, your chest tightening as if the air has suddenly grown thicker. "You don’t get it, Zayne..."

"No, you don't get it" Zayne says softly, his hand lifting to gently cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him. "You’re my choice. You always have been. Always will be."

“Final boarding call for train 731 to Solivara City. All passengers please proceed to Platform 12 immediately.”

It was the last call. You had no more time to argue, no more time to pretend you could change fate.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut against the tears that had been threatening to fall. "I have to go, Zayne." Your voice wavering while forcing a smile.

Zayne stiffened, his hand gripping your arm as he pulled you closer, his voice hoarse with the emotion he was struggling to hold back. "Y/N. Don’t do this. Please..."

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let him follow you into this mess, couldn’t bear the thought of him carrying that burden again.

"I love you, Zayne," you choked out, and before he could respond, you gently pulled away, turning towards the platform.

He stood there, frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief, his heart breaking in silence as you walked away.

The final call to board echoed in the air, but the weight in your chest grew unbearable with every step you took.

But then, just as you reached the entrance to the platform, a hand shot out, grabbing your arm gently but firmly. You froze, your heart pounding as you slowly turned to face him. Zayne was standing there, breathing heavily, his expression desperate.

"Y/N..." His voice cracked. The words he tried to say were lost in a tide of emotions, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the sound of your hearts beating in sync, yet miles apart. You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the depth of the pain you were trying to avoid, reflected in his gaze.

But this—this wasn't just about him. It was about you, about the curse that had haunted your lives, about everything you were trying to protect him from. You blinked away tears that threatened to spill over, your heart torn between the overwhelming need to be with him and the crushing guilt that had held you captive for so long.

"Please..." Zayne whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please don’t leave me."

The final call for boarding rang out again, but you couldn’t make yourself move. Everything in you screamed to stay, to let him pull you back into his arms, to forget about the curse, about everything you were running from.

But then you remembered—if you stayed, it would be the same story as before. He would suffer again, and you couldn’t bear to watch him sacrifice everything, again.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry, Zayne."

Zayne's face crumpled, his hands trembling as he reached for you, his grip desperate. "Y/N..."

Without a word, you grabbed his face in your hands, pulling him down as you kissed him, fiercely, desperately— You poured all your love, all your regrets, and all your pain into that kiss.

But your heart was made up, and you pulled away, forcing your legs to move, your footsteps the hardest you had ever taken.

As you entered the train, you could still feel his presence. You could still feel his eyes on you. All you could do was shut your eyes, and ignore the ache building up inside your chest.

[glitter-covered-bodybag]

I don't think we talk about how awful the Dubai penthouse really is. I mean look at the dining room.

HUGE table that encourages distance (especially as there's only 2 of them living here). When it's only Louis with his little bowls of blood he's gonna sit there alone with the heaps of space available at this table and no one else sat at it and be reminded that he really is alone. The bland walls with only a painting or two. The crisp and cleaners of everything. No warmth.

Then there's Louis's (supposedly) relaxation room with Armand's magnolia tree and Armand's library. A library that book-obsessed Louis cannot access. He's wholly dependent on Armand to retrieve things from it. "Please daddy Armand, may I have a book?" 😒 We literally see this when Louis asks to see the removed pages. Those belonged to Claudia, Louis's companion/sister/daughter. Why should that be something he has to ask for? Bare, grey walls like concrete. Like a prison. White stones in the zen garden the same as those Louis was buried in.

Then the bedroom. LOOK AT THIS BED. ITS MADE OF ROCKS. You CANNOT convince me this is comfortable to sleep in. The width of it meaning Louis and Armand can sleep entirely separately. The coffins, padded as they were look so much more comfortable and we know Louis likes laying in his coffin more than a bed from when he was recovering from the full body burns and asked to be put in his coffin even though the room was sun-proof and he would have been safe on the bed. Then the bars surrounding the bedroom. He's sleeping in a cell. (I've seen other people point out the similarity between the bars over the arches and the turning of Louis which is a detail I LOVE for reasons unrelated to this post. Here's a visual)

Everything is controlled through Armand's iPad. Armand controls the lighting. Armand controls the window shades. It just shows this unequal dynamic between Louis and Armand. "Armand protects my happiness"?? No, Armand is the one with the power here. You're his pet. You're his ward. Armand is an owner, a parent, almost a jailer (I'm not saying Louis can't leave or Armand is Evil, at all, just that the power dynamic is heavily tipped towards Armand as he tries to prevent a repeat of San Francisco. I wholeheartedly think he's just so overprotective that it tips into unhealthy territory). Louis doesn't do anything for himself. This is not how romantic relationships work. This is the first clue that their relationship is not what it seems, the first sign that Armand is trying to keep control of the narrative.

There is not one thing that shows me that Louis enjoys his space. Nothing to show it's lived in. It's cold and plain and boring. Compare to Daniel's apartment, a man who has had a long successful career and also lives alone.

Warm. A little messy. Lived in. An apartment of Daniel's size is hardly cheap either. But you can feel that Daniel's space is Daniel's space. The Dubai penthouse has no identity. I know this is just a modern, high-value aesthetic but there are so many other 'rich person' aesthetics that could be adopted that would be comfortable. Even keeping the clean lines. Look at these...

Still clean, still modern but warm. Everything about the penthouse is depressing to me.

[burningembers91]

Performance of a Lifetime - Choi Su-Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Not Who I Want to Be

The Beauty of Vulnerability

Fuscia Pink Kisses

Synopsis: On the night of a huge performance, a figure from Choi Su-Bong’s past returns, threatening to unravel everything he’d fought so hard to achieve.

A/N: oh man, I am putting our boy through hell. But I swear, it’ll all end happily for him and the Reader.

The sun was streaming through the windows of the apartment, bathing the cream walls in a golden hue. The floor to ceilings windows offered a panoramic view of the city, with views of the River Han clearly visible from the master bedroom and living room. Choi Su-Bong turned you, his stomach tied in nervous knots.

“What do you think?” He asked, taking your hand in his as he tried to gauge your reaction. “Do you like it?” He’d spent weeks trying to find the perfect place, an apartment where he could start afresh. It was so important that you liked the place as much as he did; he wanted this to be your home too, a sanctuary for the both of you.

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled, admiring way the sun glistened on the gently flowing river. You were so high up, the people on the ground looked like ants, scurrying along the pavement as they headed about their day. The apartment was huge, complete with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a home cinema and a large kitchen. “It’s quite big, isn’t it?” You mused, wondering why he’d chosen such a huge place for just him.

“I thought maybe you could use one of the rooms,” Su-Bong smiled. “Maybe as a yoga room, or a library; whatever you want. I want this to be your home too.”

It had been 3 months since he’d told you his real name, 3 months since he bared his soul to you in a way he never had before. Life was starting to look up, and he desperately wanted to begin this new chapter with you.

“Do you mean that? Really?”

You took another look around, viewing the apartment again with different eyes. This would be your home too, the living room alone bigger than your current apartment. There was space for you to grow together, and Su-Bong had purposely picked out a place with multiple bedrooms. He hoped one day the apartment would be home to the family you made, tiny little feet pattering along the hardwood floors, maybe a pet dog who curled up on the sofa between you in the evenings.

“What do you say, Senorita?” He whispered, snaking his arms around your waist as he pulled you into his body, both of you watching the world go by down below you.

“Yes,” you smiled, reaching your hand up to touch the faded pink tips of his hair. “I’d like that very much.”

The papers were signed, and later that day you recieved the keys to your new place. Su-Bong wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this luck, but life had taken such a huge turn since meeting you. He’d been signed to a new label, one who appreciated his new style of music. They took him seriously, really listening to his ideas and questions. He was slowly gaining a new legion of fans, ones who appreciated the softer, more mature genre of music he now made. You stood by him every step of the way, your unwavering belief in him still taking him by surprise. He’d started therapy, hoping to get to the underlying causes of his drug and alcohol issues. Some days were still tough, but he had so much to live for now; he’d be a fool to throw it away.

Su-Bong had been invited to attend an awards ceremony that night, to perform for a live crowd of 20,000, plus the audience watching from home. It would be his first concert performing sober, and as he got dressed, he struggled to zip up his jeans, his hands shaking.

“You look handsome,” you smiled, watching him from your position in the doorway. You could see he was struggling, could see that tonight was more than just a performance for him. It was the official launch of his rebrand, the first time he would be signing, not as Thanos, but as Choi Su-Bong, the man you’d fallen in love with. “Let me help you.” You helped him with his shirt, fixing his hair for him as he smiled down at you. His hands still shook, but you kept him anchored. He didn’t know what he’d do without you. You looked beautiful in that same pink dress you’d worn on your birthday, the one that brought him to his knees every time you put it on.

The venue was already swarming by the time you arrived. Cameras flashed, people screamed his name, and you held tightly onto his hand as your battled you way through the throng of paparazzi and fans. Su-Bong’s mouth was impossibly dry, his ears ringing with the screams, his eyes blinded by the flashes from the cameras. How the hell had he managed to do this before? He’d never been fazed by crowds, had relished in the chaos that came with them. The drugs had been his crutch, elevating him to a place where he didn’t feel fear and anxiety. But tonight, tonight he was terrified, the bile rising in his throat as he was shown to his dressing room. You didn’t let go of his hand as you walked, sensing his discomfort.

He wasn’t the only performer there tonight, and backstage was just as chaotic as outside. He recognised a lot of the other guests; he’d gotten high with a quite a few of them. Through the crowd, he spotted another familiar face. Someone who had clung to him for 3 years straight, always pushing a camera in his face to get a selfie to upload, always hanging around in the hopes of finding drugs and fame. Su-Bong realised with a mixture of guilt and shame that he’d never learned that man’s name, had never bothered to find out anything about him. He was clinging to another rapper now, some other poor soul whose life was dictated by a false persona. He felt the panic begin to rise, felt a tightening in his chest. Oh god, was he having a heart attack? Were all his years of substance abuse finally catching up to him? He gripped your hand tighter, clutching his chest with his free hand. You were less than 10 feet from his dressing room, he just had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

You knew something was wrong, had instantly seen the colour drain from his face. He was sweating, his skin looking almost wax-like.

“Su-Bong? What is it? What’s wrong?” You sat him down in a chair, grabbing a bottle of water and urging him to take a sip.

The room was spinning, the panic rising inside of him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything properly.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” you spoke softly. “I need you to take a sip of water and then I need you to focus on my face. Can you do that?”

Su-Bong forced himself to take a drink, to focus on your eyes, so filled with concerned.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you instructed, “and then let’s find ten things in this room that you can see.”

He forced himself to play along with what was clearly a distraction technique. He picked out a chair, a sofa, a pack of cookies among other things. He felt his heart rate slowly decrease, felt the rising sense of panic gradually ebb away. He’d never had a panic attack, had never felt so helpless and terrified in his life. It was like a really bad trip, a waking nightmare.

“Will you be ok?” you asked, as the two of you sat on the sofa, Su-Bong’s head on your chest. “If you don’t want to do this, we can go home.”

He almost said yes, almost retreated back to the safety of home, away from the cameras and the screaming fans. But he couldn’t do that. If he ran away, he’d be letting so many people down; he’d be letting himself down.

“No, I’m ok,” he assured you. “It was just, a lot of these people are from my past and it just got on top of me. I’m good though, I promise.”

He wasn’t sure how he made it out onto that stage, but somehow he did. He could see the bright pink of your dress in his peripheral vision as he sang, could see you standing backstage, mouthing along to words you knew just as well as he did. Everyone in the crowd was screaming his name, singing along to the words with you. He didn’t know why he’d been so scared, this was the greatest performance of his life.

He spun you around backstage after his set was done, smothering you in kisses as he held you close.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered to you. He’d been invited to the after party, but for once, Su-Bong wasn’t interested in partying. He wanted to unpack his furniture in his new place with you, wanted to climb into bed and hold you close. You were laughing as you made your way back to the dressing room, still on cloud 9 from the performance.

He stopped just short of the room, spying a figure standing outside the door. He hadn’t seen the man standing before him for almost 10 years, not since the night he left. He was older now, his face sagging and eyes jaundiced from years of alcohol abuse. The man in front of him, who had pushed young Su-Bong into a life of substance abuse in a desperate attempt to numb his pain, smiled at him as he approached.

“Son,” his dad smiled, holding out his arms to him. You stopped short, looking up at Su-Bong, your eyes wide.

“Dad,” was all he could say, his voice strangled and hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you son,” his dad said, head hanging in shame, although he wasn’t sure this man had ever felt shame in his life. “I need your help.”

[lady-lostmind]

Oh, fuck.

Written for @steddiebingo Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Heat/Rut and Main Card Prompt: Oh. Oh.

Rating: E | WC: 1179 | CW: A/B/O, Steve and Eddie are completely lucid when they consent in this regardless of Steve going into heat.

Thank you @oh-stars for betaing!!

“Oh, no. No–no. Not now–” Steve groans in the back of Eddie’s van, hunched over and clutching at his stomach. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide as he flicks between Steve’s pained face and the road he’s whipping down. “What? What’s wrong? That doesn’t sound good! What–” Eddie’s mouth drops open with a whimper as he’s slapped in the face with the most delicious, sweet scent he’s ever smelled. 

Steve looks up and locks eyes with him, clearly mortified and scared. “I’m sorry, Eds. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Eddie looks back at him, confused. He shakes his head. “Steve, what–” And then it hits him. Really hits him. “Oh. Oh fuck.”  He slams on the breaks, pulling them off on the side of the road and turning to face Steve fully. “Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” But– it is. He knows it is. The tent forming in his pants absolutely knows it is. 

Steve lets out another groan of pain. “It’s early.”

Eddie scrambles to the back of the van and peers out the back window. No sign of anything catastrophic catching up with them yet. But they’re supposed to be the distraction. It was working. Vecna was sending all he has after them and now– 

Eddie turns back to Steve reaching out, hands hovering just above his shoulders. “What do we do?” 

Steve looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Make it stop. Please.” 

Eddie sucks in a deep breath his brain running a loop of ‘fuck–fuck–fuck–fuck.’ He shakes his head. “Steve. I can’t–” 

Steve whines, collapsing forward in pain. “I need you, Eds. Please.” 

Eddie looks out the window again and sees dark red filling the sky behind them. “Shit. We have to get out of here, Steve. I don’t know what to do. What do we do?” 

Steve looks up with him with pain filled, desperate eyes. “Knot me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping open with a gasp and his treacherous dick fucking throbs. Everything he’s wanted for the last year is being offered up on a platter but– “Like this?” He gestures around frantically at the van. The situation. Because, seriously, how the fuck is this supposed to work.

Steve scoots forward and grabs Eddie’s hand tightly, glancing between him and the impending doom steadily coming toward them. “We need to get out of here. And the next step requires us being quiet–” He lets out another pained groan and then huffs out a laugh. “I don’t think I’m very capable of that right now.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “No, we can figure something else out! I’m not going to make you–”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Eds, come on.”

Eddie scoffs. “Come on, what? I’m not going to fuck you just because it’ll shut you up. That’s not how I–” He sighs, shaking his head, trying not to show how much it’s killing him to say no.

Steve tugs on Eddie’s hand, getting him to focus on him. “It’s not how I was hoping it would happen either, but–”

“Wait–wait–wait. You want me to–?” Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand. “Like, in a normal circumstance when your life doesn’t potentially depend on it,  you’d still…want to?”

Steve stares at him like he’s an idiot. “I mean, yeah. I thought we–” Steve drops Eddie’s hand and pulls away. “I’m sorry if I read this wrong. But either way, I mean–” He gestures around, clearly annoyed. “We’re kind of running out of options here.” 

Eddie drops down next to Steve and cups his face, staring into his eyes. “Of course I want you, sweetheart. I just didn’t think you–” Eddie sighs. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right.” He glances over his shoulder. “But I’m still not sure how–” 

Steve cries out, doubling over again. “Fuck! Please, Eds.”

Eddie nods, stroking his thumb over Steve’s jaw. “Okay. Okay.”  He tilts Steve’s head up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “When this is over, I’m going to do this right.But for now–” Eddie reaches down to pop the button on his jeans open. 

Steve sighs with relief as he leans back and does the same, both of them quickly shedding their clothes. As soon as Steve’s pants are off, a wave of his scent hits Eddie and a growl works its way out of his chest. “Fuck, Stevie.” He lunges forward, his fingers dipping into Steve immediately, coming away covered in his slick. 

Steve whines and clutches at Eddie’s shoulders, climbing into his lap and sinking down on his– “OH FUCK. Oh shit. You feel so good.” 

Steve sighs as he settles on Eddie with a soft moan and presses his nose into Eddie’s neck, breathing deeply. Eddie’s hips jut up on their own accord, making them both shudder, pleasure rolling over them in waves. 

Eddie locks eyes with Steve and cups his face. “We have to make this quick. You ready?”

Steve nods, grabbing onto Eddie’s shoulders tightly. Eddie takes a deep breath and flips them over, slamming down into Steve as hard as he can with a low groan before pulling back and setting a quick pace, hurtling them toward the finish line as quickly as possible. He watches as Steve’s eyes go glassy, his body getting more and more relaxed as he lets Eddie take over and take the pain away. Eddie can feel his knot start to pop. Feels it start catching on every thrust until– “FUCK.” He slams in one last time, locking them together as they both fall over, Steve clenching down around him as he whines into Eddie’s neck. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve and leans them back so Steve ends up in his lap again. He glances out the window, his heart beating even faster when he sees the red looming ever closer. “Shit. Okay.” 

Eddie taps the side of Steve’s leg. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” Steve shifts his legs weakly, but manages to lock his ankles behind Eddie’s back. “Good job. You’re doing so good.” He runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, smiling a little when he nuzzles in closer to his neck. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to focus. Trying to focus on the whole outrun certain doom thing instead of being inside Steve still. Which is honestly no easy feat since he’s pretty sure this is exactly how he wants to die anyway and– right. Focus. 

Eddie hikes Steve further up on his hips, getting an arm under him and kind of shuffling them to the front of the van. He pulls them up into the seat, rubbing his hand over Steve’s back when he whimpers from the movement. “Sorry, sorry. I have to get us moving.” 

Steve settles in his lap again with a content sigh, Eddie shakes his head as he tries to figure out how he’s going to drive with Steve on top of him. “Jesus H. Christ. This is insane.” He throws the van in drive and slams his foot on the gas, groaning when it shifts Steve on his lap. 

[illbegottenfaith]

cinnamon girl

after years of keeping your distance from the one boy who probably wants you dead, you have an unexpected encounter with mattheo at hogsmeade (mattheo riddle x muggleborn!reader)

a/n - decided to try something new! I had more of this fic planned but lost interest a little (a theo girlie through and through rip) but I might eventually write it all out so we'll see :))

tropes/warnings - muggleborn!reader, tw smoking, tw alcohol, idk if its fluff or angst tbh hmmm

word count - 1.4k

“Need a light?”

You looked up from where you had been rifling through your pockets, searching for your lighter. You glanced at the voice behind you, nearly dropping your cigarette in the snow.

You were at The Three Broomsticks with your friends who had dragged you for a night out to celebrate the end of your midterms - yours and the rest of the school’s, from the looks of the crowd there. As well-meaning as they were, it hadn’t taken long for the warm, honeyed air of the pub to begin feeling stifling, and you had excused yourself for a bit of fresh air.

If you were completely honest, you couldn’t bear hearing about their plans after graduation for a minute longer. You decided that taking a break outside would be better than brooding over the loneliness stabbing your gut, even if it was dreadfully freezing outside. Still, the cold considerably perked you up as you fumbled for your cigarette pack.

Smoking was a vice you didn’t regularly succumb to, and it was one that your friends disapproved of, but trying times called for trying measures. It had been this way for as long as you could remember - you felt lost and woefully untethered, strung between both worlds as you didn't seem to quite fit either. You couldn't settle on what kind of career you wanted to pursue, magical or muggle, let alone where you wanted to set up your life.

It wasn’t your friends' fault, you decided. They didn’t realise they had the privilege of thinking up a life after Hogwarts. You were just trying your best to not be hunted for sport, especially when the people doing the hunting were the likes of Mattheo Riddle.

You hadn't noticed the pair of brown eyes intently tracking you as you slipped out of the pub's door. He had been staring into the bottom of his third firewhiskey, his friends' guffaws like a pallid echo in his ears, thinking about how this was the last semester he could take refuge in Hogwarts. After that, real life would kick in in ways he could not run from.

That was when you had squeezed past his table - you, the girl that he found oh so curious, who had held his interest for more years than he'd like to admit. There was an endearing simplicity in the way you approached the magical world with your muggle-leaning tendencies which he found dreadfully appealing. And like with everything he truly treasured, he held you at further than arm's length.

His head had snapped up as you muttered an apology, and he had watched you make your way to the door with half a mind to call after you. In his inebriated state of mind, this was enough to be a sign.

It didn't help that you were a jumpy person by nature when the person you had offhandedly been thinking about seemingly materialised out of thin air. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. You broke into a cold sweat as your mind raced. Did he know? Could he tell, just by looking at you, that you were the worst kind of imposter, at least in his eyes?

No, you were being ridiculous. There was no way he'd know you were a muggleborn. You were dressed just like everybody else. It wasn't as though you had mudblood scrawled across your forehead. Besides, even if he did know, he wasn't about to try anything right in front of a pub chock full of witnesses.

Still, his presence made you uneasy.

Nervously, you acquiesced, leaning forward as he flicked the lighter on. As you took your first drag, you distantly noted that something about this felt...off.

"Thanks."

He pulled out a cigarette for himself. "Anytime."

The two of you smoked in silence, watching your twin streams of smoke curl in the frigid air.

"So," Mattheo said after a beat, "big plans tonight?"

You shook your head. "Not really," you replied. "Just...celebrating the end of midterms."

"Ah. Yes," he said, his lips curling into a faint, almost insincere smile. "Your last midterms. Mazel tov." He distractedly scraped at a scuffed patch of ice near the pub's door. "Must feel good to have something worth celebrating."

Even as your heart thudded, you dared to cast a sidelong glance at him. You felt half-inclined to tell him to step back from the ice. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded bitter.

You glanced back at the beckoning warmth and murmuring bustle of the pub. You found yourself wishing you had stayed in that night.

"Yeah," you said, in a voice that sounded hollow even to your own ears. "I guess."

If you were a little less nervous, you might have noticed Mattheo looking at the fragile snowflakes littering your hair. One last semester of taking refuge in watching you carefully pour maple syrup over your pancakes a couple tables over every morning. He took a long drag of his cigarette, firmly shoving down the unwelcome anxiety creeping into his mind. Who knew when he'd see you again? Who knew what kind of state you'd be in if he did see you again?

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Guess you’ve got it all figured out, then. Your plans after Hogwarts, I mean. Places to be, dreams to chase. You strike me as the type.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment. It didn’t feel like a compliment.

"I don't," you were saying before you could stop yourself.

Mattheo quirked an eyebrow.

"No?"

You swallowed hard. You tapped your cigarette, watching the ash fall into the snow as you avoided his gaze.

"I don't - I haven't made any plans yet. It didn't seem..." you sighed, pushing back a limp lock of hair that was falling into your face. "...prudent."

Mattheo's lips parted imperceptibly, as if he had stumbled across some revelation.

"Prudent," he echoed with a softer edge to his voice.

You nodded, fidgeting with your jacket zipper.

"Well," you said eventually, shifting your feet. "this was nice." You put out what was left of your cigarette. "Thanks for the light."

You started to walk back inside.

"Wait."

You paused, turning back. There was an urgency laced in his voice that gave you pause, that made you stay for reasons beyond your comprehension. His face was pale and almost sickly-looking, awash with moonlight. He'd clearly drunk more than he should have, if his mildly unsteady swaying was any indication.

"I wasn't done talking to you," he said clumsily, as if to make up for the momentary vulnerability.

"Bold words coming from someone who stole my lighter."

Only as the words were leaving your mouth did it occur to you that perhaps it would not be wise to accuse Mattheo of petty theft. But you couldn't help it - you had realised his lighter was yours sometime during your conversation, something you were prepared to take to the grave if he hadn't stopped you. Yes, it was just a stupid, sticky, barely working lighter, but it was yours. It was certainly nothing worth antagonising a Riddle over, but here you were.

But before the regret could swoop in, something else did - or rather, someone else. He took half a step towards you, throwing his face into the shadows.

"You noticed?" he asked, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

You ignored the stuttering of your pulse. "Obviously."

His lips twitched like your answer secretly delighted him. You didn't feel so scared of him anymore.

Under the dark of the awning, away from the streetlights lined along the pavement, Mattheo bent down and kissed your chapped, half-bitten-to-death lips. That was when you learnt Mattheo Riddle could be unassumingly gentle.

"Good night," he murmured as he pulled away.

He stepped back, taking with him his warmth, leaving the chilly air to nip at your nose. Unthinkingly, you raised a hand to your lips, as if in disbelief. He tasted of cinnamon, of a warmth resilient enough to thaw your frozen bones.

As he disappeared back inside the cosy pub, you felt a familiar weight in your pocket, one that you had been so desperately looking for.

You hadn't even thought to push him away.

[thatonetargaryen]

The Wolf and the Dragon

Masterlist

Part 7: An exception

cw; explicit language, mentions of extreme exhaustion, not proofread

……

Valaena stood stiffly in line with the many other women in training. Sweat collected on her brow as she waited in anticipation. All the women were staring straight forward—seemingly looking at nothing. Despite this, every time she looked away, she felt someone’s gaze burning into her.

She was short and lanky compared to the other soldiers. Her pale skin stood out like a sore thumb—a sign of her Targaryen roots. Her hair was done in a loose, hurried bun. And her tightly blinded breast were begging to be freed.

After was seemed like hours, the sound of footsteps echoed through the yard. The sound of silence was now even louder, and all the soldiers instinctively straightened—including Valaena.

When the princess caught sight of the woman, she didn’t know whether to be frightened or impressed.

She had heavily scarred, tanned brown skin. Her peppered hair was braided back into a tight bun that made Valaena wince as she gazed at it. Her lips were pressed in a firm line as her cold, grey eyes fell on each and every one of the soldiers. Her bindings wrapped tightly around her large chest and her muscles were probably the result of years of war and training. In her loose fitting pants—she could tell her legs were more toned than any man she’d ever seen.

She studied the women with a fierce gaze—yet passed them by without a word. She stopped when she met Valaena’s eye. The princess looked at her feet.

“It’s official— the General has really gone fuckin’ mad.”, her heavy Noxian accent weighed in every word she spoke.

“First, she thrust in a recruit—a fuckin’ Targaryen— when we are practically in the middle of training season. And she didn’t think to tell me until the night before. She’s practically asking for a spy to infiltrate the camp.”

The princess stayed silent, not being sure whether the woman was talking to her or herself. It seemed like both.

“She still has yet to tell me why you’re here…”

Before Valaena took a shaky breath to answer, she felt a finger press hard into her chest. The breath was nearly knocked out of her as she the woman got so close to her their noses were practically touching. She could feel her hot breath in her lashes.

“No matter. Before I teach you a damned thing—get one thing clear. Back at your little home, you’re a princess. Royalty. Here, you mean as much as the other peasants in Noxus. —if that. You have no titles, no rankings, not a damn dime to your name. When you leave, that might change. I doubt you’ll last long. But as long as you are under my command, in my camp, you are below me.”

Valaena fists tightened as she darted her gaze to the ground. Her words circulated in her mind, and the reality of the situation was finally coming to her. The woman took her finger and tapped the side of her head roughly.

“Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes…”, Valaena trailed off, not knowing what to address her as.

The woman finally backed away, and spoke so everyone could clearly hear her. “You all already know this—but let me reiterate for the newbie. You are to address me as Sergeant Gold. Not Sergeant, not Gold—but Sergeant Gold. Any disrespect will not be tolerated and punished accordingly. The correct formation when your presence is requested is arms straight, fist closed, and feet together. Everything else you need to know will come to you naturally.”

She continued to speak, “We are four weeks into training—you’ll need some catching up to do. Hopefully one of our comrades can help you, ‘cause I ain’t slowing down. Since I wasted the ten minutes you should’ve had to do your morning drill, you’ll spend extra time with me during the evening. Thanks to your new friend…”

Groans were heard at the news of having to stay back extra time, and Valaena couldn’t feel anymore embarrassed.

“Well, ladies..why don’t we get started?”

…..

Veleana’s arms shook as she attempted to push herself off the ground. She didn’t remember how many push-ups she’d done—nor did she want to know.

Sergeant Gold went on and on about how you were ‘flimsy’ and ‘needed to gain muscles’. And the only way to do that was to do an extensive amount of exercise. The princess could feel her core burning as sweat dribbled down her chin.

It had been hours since she had a cup of water or a crumb of food. Her stomach being empty almost overshadowed the pain she was feeling.

She pushed her body back down, and up again. Her eyes darted to some of the other soldiers, who were doing exercises entirely different from hers. Obstacle courses, bare-handed spars, staff training.

“Eyes on me, soldier.”

Valaena looked back towards the Sergeant. She seems amused as she watched her struggle to pull herself back up. Her smile sends shivers down Valaena’s spine.

“Up, soldier.”

A wave of relief crashed over her—but she suppressed her sigh and resumed the expected stance.

The woman turned to the other soldiers as her voice echoed throughout the yard. “Gather ‘round, ladies. Time for the real training to begin.”

……

Valaena held two empty wooden buckets as she stood last in line. The ladies were currently filling up buckets of water. Whatever for, she didn’t know.

When it was finally her turn, she filled her two buckets. She struggled to lift them as her arms shook from the strain.

A staff was thrown as her feet. She stared at it with confusion, and looked to see the rest of the ladies were just as confused as her.

They all looked towards the General, “This is one of my favorite exercises we have here. You will place the two bucket handles on the staff, and lie the staff on your shoulders. It would do you good to remember—the water you are left with is all you are allowed to drink for tonight. Unless you want to drink your bath water, I suggest you not to waste a drop.”

The General proceeded to demonstrate what it should look like. She put each bucket on each end of the wooden staff, and placed it behind her head and on her shoulders. Despite how rough she was—not a drop spilled. She looked towards the mountains above. “We will carry these up this mountain. Then, and only then, will I allow you to drink your water. That is—if you have any. Prepare your staffs.”

The woman heeded her command as they put the bucket on the staff and on their shoulders. However, it was clear that Valaena was struggling as she tried to get the staff on her shoulders. When she finally did, she swayed side to side from the uneven amount.

The General laughed at the sight, “Stand straight, soldier.”

The command went in one ear and out the other. She continued to sway from side to side, thankfully, the General decided to ultimately ignore as she began to job up the mountain.

“Keep up, ladies!”

……

Valaena’s vision blurred as she struggled to keep up with the ladies. Her arms weakened, and her arms shook as she struggled to hold the buckets—which now held little water. She had spilled most of it.

The radiant sunlight beating down on her skin didn’t help. She was dehydration, tired, hungry, and now being cooked alive in broad daylight. She could no longer see her fellow soldiers as her legs shook.

Her vision dimmed as she finally collapsed. She fell to the hot ground beneath her as rocks embedded themselves into her skin. Her body had given out completely.

The General looked behind her as she counted her soldiers—who were all keeping up nicely. However, her movements halted as she noticed there was one missing. She huffed as she realized she saw no head of white hair amongst the crowd.

“Iqra!”, she called out. The woman’s head swiveled as she turned to the Sergeant. “Yes, Sergeant Gold?”

She motioned her head behind her, “Retrieve your comrade.”

Iqra turned on her heel as she descended down the mountain. She stopped when she found Valaena at her feet—sweat dripping from her body and frizzy white hair covering the ground around her. Even in this state, she was beautiful.

“Get up, Valaena. We’re not even halfway up yet.”, she said as she touched her with the tip of her foot.

Valaena stayed still on the ground. She groaned as her muscles and skin ached.

Iqra sighed and set her water and staff down. She picked up Valaena by one of her forearms with ease. She turned behind her, picked up the buckets, and placed the staff over both of their shoulders. She chuckled as she looked over her reddened, tired face. “Rough first day, huh?”

Valaena didn’t share her amusement. She simply nodded tiredly. Iqra smiled, “You’ll get used to it. Come on, I’ll share my water with you once we get to the top. We’ll be there before you know it.”

The princess couldn’t help but give the girl a small smile. She didn’t know how to thank her for this—but she promised herself she would.

……

“The girl is weak.”, Sergeant Gold complained as she nursed a pint of ale. She sat before Ambessa, a woman she had grown to admire—and fear—despite her being years younger than herself.

Ambessa chuckled, “She’s only been with you for a week. She’s not going to be up to your standards in that amount of time.”

Sergeant Gold gave her an unconvincing look, “Why did you even bother to put her in camp? She’s a flimsy little princess who spent her whole life having a countless amount of people wiping her arse. She could be a spy for all I know—ready to give up information to her incestuous family the moment she leaves camp.”

Ambessa shook her head, and her deep red locks moved with her. To be honest—she didn’t have a real answer to why she assigned you to training. You’d asked for it, and despite the risks, she gave you the position. It was something about the fire in your eyes are you looked at her, how it refused to dim despite who she was—and who you were to her. It was a feeling that intrigued her, yet scared her all the same. It was why she sent you off to work under her, knowing you had potential.

But Ambessa didn’t say that. In fact, she didn’t say anything as she turned away and walked out of the room.

……

Next chapter is a time skip~

I love young Ambessa 🎀

[queenjunothegreat]

Tumblr fix your shit or I swear to god I'm gonna lose it (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

ANYWAYS!!!!! Here is the link to the long-awaited Hallmark fic! I have been informed that chapter one is sad but I PINKY PROMISE things get better ASAP. Anywho, on with the important shit.

May I present Where the Love Light Gleams Chapter One: When You Pine for the Sunshine of a Friendly Gaze

Jason squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, fine. We’ll handle it. How do you want to do this? Trying to do everything over the phone is going to be a bigger pain than either of us are willing to deal with.” Thalia went quiet for a moment before she very hesitantly said, “What if we… went back?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up, even if he knew Thalia couldn’t see it. “You mean back to California?” “Sure. I mean, I don’t see why not.” Jason sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, Thalia, I don’t think you know what you’re signing yourself up for. Wills and estates are a nightmare to deal with and– “We could spend Christmas together.” Jason’s teeth clicked shut at her interruption. Silence hung heavy between them before he broke it. “I don’t like Christmas.” *-*-* After the sudden death of his mother, Jason agrees to travel across the country to spend Christmas with his estranged sister who hates the holiday as much as he does. Things manage to go worse than he could have ever imagined when he finds himself stranded in Oklahoma in the middle of the night, but maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Jason Grace was having a bad day. He’d woken up with a feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain as anything other than mounting dread for the fast-approaching holidays and a desperate desire to do anything other than walk into the office. Things hadn’t gone much better from there, first with him pouring hot coffee all over his hand instead of in his cup and then nearly missing his train and stepping in a mysterious puddle just inside the subway station. Then, of course, he’d had to smile and grimace through all of his coworkers gushing about their Thanksgiving plans for the next day before they noticed him and awkwardly cleared their throats, asking him if he was planning on spending the day with his father. He hadn’t managed to get much of anything done all day, despite the looming deadlines, but he figured he was still more productive than everyone else in his department. But somehow, all of that still didn’t manage to be the shittiest thing that happened to him that day. No, that illustrious title went to a phone call.

Jason sucked his teeth and gripped his phone a little tighter. “So, she’s really dead?”

Thalia clucked her tongue a couple times like she always did when she was uncomfortable. “Yep. Doctor called and let me know this morning.”

Jason heaved a deep, heavy sigh and buried his face in his free hand. “Alright. I’ll call up Octavian. He deals with estates, and he owes me a favor so–”

“No,” Thalia cut him off sharply. “We can handle it. I don’t want lawyers getting involved. I don’t like lawyers.”

Jason took in a quick huff of air through his nose to calm his temper. “I’m a lawyer,” he reminded her in a slightly clipped tone. Had it been a few years earlier, Thalia would have blustered about how obviously he didn’t count, but now she just remained silent. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, fine. We’ll handle it. How do you want to do this? Trying to do everything over the phone is going to be a bigger pain than either of us are willing to deal with.”

 Thalia went quiet for a moment before she very hesitantly said, “What if we… went back?”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, even if he knew Thalia couldn’t see it. “You mean back to California?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t see why not.”

Jason didn’t bother to tell her exactly why he was so surprised. She didn’t need to know how she’d left a twelve-year-old boy devastated when she’d shouted at their mother that there was nothing in California worth staying for and stormed out the front door for the very last time. It had been fifteen years since that day, but considering he hadn’t been in the same state as his sister in four years, he didn’t really think much had changed. 

Jason sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, Thalia, I don’t think you know what you’re signing yourself up for. Wills and estates are a nightmare to deal with and–

“We could spend Christmas together.”

Jason’s teeth clicked shut at her interruption. Silence hung heavy between them before he broke it. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“That’s because it sucks,” Thalia scoffed. “I can count on one hand the number of not-shitty ones I’ve had, and I don’t remember when the last one was. I think maybe it was the year I turned twenty and we were in Milwaukee for a show.”

Jason remembered his last good Christmas. He was eleven years old and his big sister had given a pair of Superman pajamas that he wore until his mom threw them out years later because she was sick of looking at them in their ratty state. He didn’t tell her that either. “Then why the hell would we do that?”

“I dunno. It’s December,” Thalia said, and Jason could almost see the casual lazy shrug that accompanied the suggestion. “Families celebrate Christmas together.”

“Are we a family?”

The words were out of Jason’s mouth before he could bite his tongue, and he grimaced. “Sorry, I– That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not wrong,” Thalia said quietly. “I don’t know if we even are a family any more, Jason. But we are family, so… maybe we can be a family again?”

Jason frowned down at his desk, brows furrowed deeply. “I– I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t even know if I can get the time off at this short notice.”

“You’re the managing partner’s son,” she pointed out derisively. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve met the guy,” Jason pointed out. “Look, I said I’ll think about it, and that’s the best I can promise you right now. I can’t just drop everything and move across the country for a month. I have a real job.” The last bit was an unnecessary dig, but it felt pretty good, so he didn’t take it back.

Surprisingly, Thalia didn’t rise to the bait. She just sighed, and Jason couldn’t help but notice that she sounded tired. “Okay,” she said eventually. “Okay, just… Just think about it. Let me know one way or another. We’ll figure something out if we can’t do this.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back soon,” Jason promised, his tone equally gentle. 

She hummed softly. “Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I hope you know that.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, unwilling to admit just how much those three words made him want to burst into tears. “Yeah, no, I– I know, Lia. I love you, too.”

“Okay, I’ll, um,” Thalia cut herself off by awkwardly clearing her throat. “I’ll let you get back to your big important lawyer job. Talk to you later. Bye, Jason.”

“Bye, Thalia.”

The line went dead and Jason slumped over on his desk burrowing down into his arms. His mom was dead. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and his mom was dead. He wondered how normal people would feel about that. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be at least a little upset, not feel like an invisible noose had fallen from his neck. It had been months since he’d last talked to her over the phone. It had been years since he’d seen her in person. He remembered trying to surprise her for Mother’s Day the year he’d graduated from law school. He’d shown up on her front door with flowers and a pearl necklace just like the ones in movies she’d always yearned for when he was growing up. She’d answered the door with a scowl on her face, smelling of cigarette smoke and soured whiskey and demanded to know what he wanted from her. Things hadn’t gone much better from there, even when he’d presented his offerings. After that, Jason had moved to New York and never made an effort to go visit her since. Not that she’d exactly made the effort to extend an invitation, either.

He wondered if his father knew she was dead. If he knew, did he care? Doubtful. Thalia had always been more like their father than she wanted to admit. He cut ties and walked out on anyone and anything he deemed less than deserving of his time and attention, just like she did. Which left Jason to be like their mom. Left behind, bitter and hurt and waiting for someone who’d never bother to come back.

He shook his head and stood from his desk. He had briefs that he still needed to write, but he knew he wasn’t going to get any more work done today. He sent a quick message to his department head that he was feeling ill, so he wanted to know if he could head home early. She responded with nothing more than a thumbs up emoji, so he packed his things without a second thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the necessary off time built up to skip out a few hours early. Truth be told, he hadn’t taken a vacation in the four years that he’d been working there, so between that and the two week bereavement leave he was due, he could easily arrange to go to California for a month. He just… didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go back to that awful house. He didn’t want to share awkward meals with Thalia while they discussed divvying up their dead mother’s estate. He didn’t want to sit in front of a half-assed fake tree and exchange gifts with Thalia that neither of them gave a shit about. 

But he’d have to do something. His mother was dead, and he’d need to do something. But that would just have to wait. That would have to wait until Jason ate enough Chinese food to make himself sick, drank an entire bottle of sauvignon blanc, tortured himself with a marathon of his mother’s favorite movies, and had a good, long crying session. My mother is dead, Jason thought to himself once again as he stepped outside into the cold afternoon. 

He marveled at how little that mattered.

*-*-*

Jason was sitting in front of his TV, eating reheated leftovers from the office Thanksgiving party two days earlier as brightly colored floats and balloons rolled across the screen. He hadn’t actually woken up early enough to watch it live, but through the marvels of the modern age, he’d found a channel streaming it all day long. So, naturally, he’d sat himself down to partake in this national tradition that was older than his grandfather. 

He hated the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

But, well, he didn’t exactly have any other plans, and this made him feel a little less like a lonely, half-orphaned sad sack. He figured most people in his position would be connecting with family on a day like this, his father lived in New York City as well, after all. And if there was one thing that was certain, it was that his father would be having the finest Thanksgiving party imaginable. He had a large family, a whole Rolodex of important clients, and an image to maintain, after all. Right about now, his penthouse apartment was probably dressed to the nines with a feast fit for kings weighing down his dining table. His whole family would be there. 

Except Jason. 

The first year Jason had moved to New York and joined his father’s firm, he’d been eager to partake in the festivities. His mom hadn’t really put any kind of effort into holidays after Thalia left home, and he’d been alone for all seven years of college, but this was going to be his big chance. He’d mentioned it to his father after a department meeting, and he’d been told that one of the secretaries would email him the details of the event. The email never came, but Jason had held out hope that maybe it was just a clerical error, and he’d patiently waited for a Christmas invite. Then New Years came and went, and he quit asking. Despite what some people thought, he could take a hint.

Jason shoved another forkful of food into his mouth and grimaced. He hated turkey, and the half-congealed gravy wasn’t helping much. He wondered what his coworkers were doing at that moment. Most of them were probably with their families, though he’d overheard a few of them discussing arrangements for a friendly get-together for those who didn’t have families in town. Jason hadn’t been invited to that, either, because, well, he had family in town, didn’t he? They didn’t need to invite him to Friends-giving.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he was lonely. He didn’t have friends, not really. There were a few people at work who offered him smiles and friendly conversation, and a few people from school who occasionally sent him a message, but nothing else. He didn’t go out, he didn’t take classes. He just came home every day after work and worked until his eyes ached for sleep, went to bed, then woke up and did the same thing the next day. 

As he slouched there in his recliner, dwelling on all the ways his life sucked, the camera panned over to some celebrity he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, standing on the back of a float designed to look like a gingerbread village. She gave the camera a blinding smile while all the various gingerbread people around her waved. Then, the float rolled to a stop and she stepped forward to the microphone. There was the sound of bells and humming before she opened her mouth and began to sing.

I'll be home for Christmas 

You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe 

And presents by the tree

Jason stared at the TV with something that bordered a little closer to offense than he would have liked to admit. His mind skipped down a handful of streets to that glittering penthouse he wasn’t invited to, and his phone was in his hand and pressed to his ear before he really knew what he was doing. It rang a few times before finally picking up. 

“Jason?”

“Hey, Thalia. Yeah, it's me,” he said. He couldn't blame her for being confused. The two of them didn't exactly make a habit of calling one another on holidays. He heard a bunch of background clatter, and his brows knit. “Are you… at a party?”

“No,” Thalia said, a little too quickly. “Well, I mean, not really. Some of the Hunters and I met up at Phoebe's place. That's all.”

“Oh.” Jason sucked his teeth and added another person to his list of people having a better day than him. He dismissed the thought and pressed on. “Hey, were you serious about going out to California?”

“Yes!” Thalia almost shouted the word down the line, then she cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed at her eagerness. “I mean, uh, yeah. I was serious. Do you want to?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged. “Like you said, getting the time off won't actually be all that hard. How soon can you get there? It's gonna take a while for us to get everything taken care of.”

“Um, how about the sixth? We're doing a show out in Denver on the second, and then we're off until after New Years. Does that work?”

Jason ran through the basic plan he'd outlined in his head. If he knew his mom, she likely didn’t have a will or anything drawn up. That could potentially make things messier, but he doubted he or Thalia would be all that interested in disputing any rulings the court made. He shrugged. “Yeah, that should be fine. Hopefully.”

“Yeah. I, um, yeah.” Jason could hear the big beaming smile Thalia wore when she said her next words. “Thanks, Jason. This really– It means a lot, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason said with a gentle smile. “I love you, Lia.”

“I love you, too, Jay. And, um, happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving. See you on the sixth.”

“See you.”

Jason hung up the phone and let out a soft sigh, eyes sparkling. He was going to go home. He was going to see his sister for the first time in years. He was going to celebrate Christmas with his family.

*-*-*

Then he froze, and his face paled in horror. He was going to have to go home. He was going to have to see his sister for the first time in years. He was going to have to celebrate Christmas with his family.

He glowered at the TV and the celebrity lady who was once again smiling and waving at the camera. “This is all your fault.”

Leo Valdez was many, many things. He was a mechanical genius. He was the textbook definition of a plucky orphan. He was an amazing cook. He was the best adopted brother Piper McLean could have ever asked for, and they both knew it. He was smart, he was talented, and above all else, he was incredibly humble.

But at the moment, he was most importantly the only mechanic in Crooked Hollow Bend, Oklahoma, and there wasn’t another one for almost a hundred miles. 

He’d been minding his own business, idly flipping through a car magazine when the shop phone went off, which was odd partially because most everyone in town just waltzed right on in when they wanted their car fixed, but mostly because it was well past half the town’s bedtime. Still, he figured that talking to whoever was on the other end of the line would be more entertaining than his magazine, even if they were just a prank caller or a very confused old lady with a very wrong number.

“Valdez Automotive. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Valdez, it’s me.”

Leo narrowed his eyes, trying to place the voice. “Stoll?”

“Yeah.”

“Connor or Travis?”

“If I say Travis, what will you do?”

“Hang up.”

“Oh, good. Then it’s Connor.”

Leo snorted and rolled his eyes. “Alright then. What do you want?”

“You willing to take a look at a car tonight?”

“Why the hell do you need me to look at a car tonight?” Leo asked, gobsmacked. “Can’t you just wait until tomorrow, dude? It’s, like, ten.”

“It’s not for me. Travis and I were driving home when we saw this dude stuck on the side of the road. He’s fine, but his car’s in rough shape.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. “Who is it?”

“No idea. He said he’s driving from New York to California.”

“Hmm…” Leo glanced over at his empty schedule and shrugged. “Yeah, alright. Tell him to limp it in and I’ll take a look at it. He’ll probably have to wait until tomorrow for it to be fixed, though.”

“Yeah, about that. He’s not limping this thing anywhere. Travis and I are gonna be towing it in with our truck.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Yikes. He’ll definitely have to wait until tomorrow for me to fix it, then. You want me to call Piper? She’s for sure got a room open, but she might have to get it ready.”

It rang a few times before she picked up, her voice thick and gravely with sleep, “You’d better have a damn good reason for calling me at this time of night, I swear to god.”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. We’ll get this guy’s car hitched up and drag it in. See you in thirty.”

”See you.” With that, Connor hung up, and Leo called Piper. 

“Hello to you, too,” Leo scoffed. “And I do have a good reason, thank you very much.”

“Leo, I’ve told you before, finding a chip shaped like a video game character isn’t half as cool as you think it is, and nobody is gonna buy it on Ebay.”

“First of all, fuck you, I could have made bank on that Sonic chip if you hadn’t eaten it,” Leo huffed. “Second of all, I was just calling to let you know that you’re going to be having a guest soon, so you might want to get ready.”

Leo heard Piper shifting around, likely sitting up in bed, finally paying proper attention to him. “What? A guest? Really?”

“Yeah. Connor just called me and said he’s on the way in with some guy from New York whose car broke down. He’ll be stuck in town, and he can’t sleep in his car, so he’s gonna need a place to stay tonight.”

Piper made a soft, sympathetic noise. “Poor guy. I wonder if he was on his way to visit family for Christmas.”

Leo hiked an eyebrow, even if she couldn’t see it, and smirked. “Pipes, it’s, like, the second. I think it might be a little early for Christmas traveling. I know you’re a little freak when it comes to the holidays, but not everyone is.”

“Connor didn’t specifically say he was by himself, but he also didn’t mention anyone.”

Piper blew a very loud, wet-sounding raspberry down the line. “Whatever. I’ll see about getting a room ready. Do you know if he’s traveling alone?”

“Mkay. I’ll get something set up for him. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?”

“Duh. I’m pretty sure you’d skin me if I bailed on you.”

“I for sure would,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “Anyway, gotta go. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Leo hung up the phone and got to his feet, making sure to stretch all of the stiffness out of his arms and legs before he made his way through the kitchen and out to the garage. Running a mechanic’s shop out of his house had its fair share of challenges (expanding the dinky little two-car garage and getting it properly tricked out with everything needed to run a proper garage had been a nightmarish eight months) but it meant he got to just hang out in his livingroom in his pajamas when he wasn’t working, so he figured it was worth the hassle. Besides, he never had more than two cars in the shop at a time, so it’s not like he was exactly pressed for space. He quickly got changed into his coveralls, and started moving stuff out of the way so he could properly work on whatever it was that the Stolls had dragged in.

Not too long after he was done, there was a short honk from outside, and he opened the garage door to see the Stolls sitting in his driveway, a sparkly dark blue Audi tethered to the back of their pickup truck. Leo tipped his head back and groaned, readying himself for a real pain in the ass. 

Leo bounded over and put his arms through the open passenger window of the truck and put on his most winning smile and best customer service voice. “Alright, dude. Let’s see what we– Wait a minute.” He scowled at the truck occupants. “What did you two do with the guy?”

“He’s in his car,” Connor (Probably) reported. “We offered to let him ride up here with us, but he said he’d rather stay back there.”

Leo frowned before he shrugged and went to the other car. The guy inside was sitting in  the front seat, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. Leo couldn’t see his face (or anything but his broad shoulders and fluffy blonde hair) but he’d recognize that defeated slump anywhere, even on a complete stranger. He cleared his throat, and tapped on the window.

Immediately, everything about the mystery man changed. His spine straightened, his shoulders pulled back, and his chin got a confidently charming tilt to it. The whole display reminded Leo of a marionette being jerked to life with the strings of its puppeteer, and he felt a shiver, unrelated to the cold, go racing down his back. The guy quickly got out of his car, straightening his charcoal peacoat as he went, then offered Leo a polite smile and a handshake. “You must be Leo Valdez. The mechanic?”

“Uh, yeah,” Leo said hesitantly, shaking the man’s hand. “That’s me.”

“Jason Grace,” he said, his smile still perfectly poised and uncomfortably approachable. “Sorry about the late call. Thank you so much for taking the time to see me. I can assure you that I will happily compensate you for the inconvenience.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s no problem.” Leo felt like he’d been spun around one too many times. There weren’t a lot of people in town who made the effort to talk with that level of detached professionalism, and even fewer who bothered to do it with Leo. He shook his head and gave Jason a blinding smile. “Alright, dude, let’s see what we’re working with.” Jason blinked at him for a moment and Leo just arched his eyebrows. “Do you maybe wanna try starting it?”

Jason jolted like he’d been hit with a taser before his cheeks went pink. “Right. Yeah. I can do that.” He sat back down in the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button. The car revved to life in an instant, then immediately started making the most awful grinding sound Leo had ever heard. Before he could clap his hands over his ears or make any kind of signal to kill the engine, Jason turned the car back off with a wince. “And that’s what made me decide to pull over.”

“Yeah, I can see why you were stuck,” Leo agreed with a nod. “Alright, I’ll see about getting you unhitched while you get your stuff out of the trunk. I’m not gonna be able to fix this until tomorrow, and you’re gonna need a place to stay for the night.

Without waiting for a reply, Leo started unhitching Jason’s car from the truck. When he was done, he trotted back up to the front to hand over the straps they’d tied up Jason’s car with, which Travis (Probably) tossed in the back seat before looking at Leo eyebrow hiked up near his hairline. “You think you can fix it?”

Connor (Probably) snorted and grinned. “Good luck, man.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed. Then he winced. “It’s definitely not going to be easy, though. Sounds like a transmission issue. I hate transmissions. And Audis. I don’t know who designed them like that, but they need to be shot. Twice. Or more. I’ll tell you when I finish dealing with the transmission.”

“Thanks. Lemme know if you guys find any more lost travelers, yeah?”

“You got it. See you.”

“See you.” Leo waved at the Stolls as they drove away before he turned back to Jason. He was once again in that same miserable slump he’d been in before, this time leaning against the car. Leo bit his lip and gently said, “Hey, man. You alright?”

“Well, I haven’t slept in over thirty-six hours, I’m stranded in an unfamiliar town because my car decided to break down in the middle of nowhere, and my mom’s dead, so I decided to drive across the country to divvy up her estate with my sister who I haven’t seen in years while we both try to pretend that we don’t hate Christmas, but other than that I’m just great,” Jason snapped. Leo sucked his teeth for just a moment before Jason stiffened and turned to Leo with a horrified expression. “I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate.”

Leo gave him a half-hearted smile. “It’s cool, man. It does sound like you need some sleep though.”

“Yes. Please,” Jason agreed, rubbing a hand over his face. “One of the gentlemen from before mentioned something about a hotel?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call the Stolls gentlemen, but they were right about there being a place in town for you to stay,” Leo grinned. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” 

[musicalthought]

im not saying everything in my life is a sign.......but im still taking it as one

[moe-broey]

Close ups on the pocket details!!! I'm SUPER happy w how the top pockets look 😳😳😳

I think the variety of pride pins with the moral panic button/Mr Faggot beadwork just. Really sells it. Shadow the Hedgehog voice Pee Your Pants. If you're going to be a shithead about me I'm going to be really annoying and do a bit about it. Plus the little golden angel pin... ALSO really pulls the whole thing together. "God help you" Right in front of my guardian angel? Really? 😒And how could I not make mention of. The Skull. I love you The Skull. It's a button (not sewn on yet, pinned) that I filled the details in w nail polish. Oh yeah! Besides the bottle cap pins (acrylics sealed with mod podge and a prayer), the biggest addition there is the chain lining the pocket flap! I think it looks SO SLICK

The pansy was gonna go on the queer side, but then I got the boutonniere idea! And I think it looks nice! Kinda adds to the asymmetry of the floral print/plaid blocking. And... of course.... I have... my friends...... 🥺 Biggest additions here are the glow-star pentagram pin, soda tabs and the heart locket!

I don't really have many new additions to the bottom pockets. Not yet! The only thing I did was stitch one side of the handcuff chain, and rearrange the pins holding up the other side. The cuffs/scorpion was just an impulse addition before going to a concert. But I do like it! And it looks even better now! Meanwhile, that other pocket, I actually have no idea what I'll do. Sakura is just there cause she matches really well, esp w the angel pin actually!

[where-dreams-dwell]

Daemon Targaryen's Potential (1/2)

I think I can see what they're trying to do with Daemons character of HOTD but there are such better vessels for self exploration and character development that have been squandered.

Season 1 Daemon is (in hindsight) trying to find himself; he's lashing out and fighting wars, he's trying to force Viserys and the world to give him what he wants, he's trying on being a husband and father while being half a world from the rest of his family, and he's finally basking in marrying the woman he loves and creating a family with her. He's a bit all over the place but we can trace the character growth through his actions and decisions.

But in the Season Finale we finally see the cracks in Daemon as a person, and in his relationship with Rhaenyra. These are areas where no pressure has been placed yet and so they didn't realize that when they were tested they would buckle slightly. Its great and engaging TV, and understandable with Daemon's character progression that these areas had not been explored or challenged until that time. And it adds further worries to Rhaenyra's faction as a ruler and a wife that one of her supposed strongest supporters and source of strength isn't actually as secure as previously thought.

Firstly, Daemons sense of self is challenged when he realizes his brother never viewed him as his heir or a legitimate successor to the Iron Throne. Daemon has stated time and again he doesn't want the throne and the narrative supports that, but its likely a small part of him cherished that for a time he was the heir and his brothers successor. To learn that Viserys never thought of him in that way was devastating, and we know this Daemons physically chokes his wife as he learns it. This is the first distance of violence we have seen towards Rhaenyra personally and towards a wife he cares about (he did kill his first wife Rhea but he made it clear he didn't respect or care for her at all, so in Daemons mind this wouldn't have been a shocking action). This reaction, of violence towards someone he has shown in word and deed that he values and loves, is actually quite out of character and emphasizes how shocked and distraught he is at learning of his brothers 'betrayal' of him.

Secondly his sense of self as a husband is challenged when Rhaenyra is laboring to deliver their daughter Visenya. The narrative implies that this is an unexpected and early birth, so no one is expecting it to end well even putting aside the baby's deformities, but Daemon chooses to prioritize the political and logistical aspects of his role as King-Consort and not the personal one. Even when his wife is crying out for him, when his step-son pleads with him to go to her, he still prioritizes the 'duty' of being a leader and husband of the Queen over that of a husband to a wife. We are shown Daemon as a devoted father to Baela and Rhaena, and as a husband to Leana he prioritized her choice and care over that of medical professionals. This change in behavior when a position of leadership or power was included in the mix is an intriguing development in Daemon's attitude as a father and husband.

And finally his self of self as a leader or ruler of men is challenged when it is made clear that while he is valued for his ideas and input, the final decision will rest with his wife as she is Queen. This is both a change of Daemon personally, as at least since their marriage he and Rhaenyra are shown to either be in agreement on all fronts or to make decisions jointly, and also the same situation he was in when Viserys was king; every decision had to be run through his brother. This is a stark wake up call for Daemon that he will not be able to make decisions independently and unilaterally on his own, and his power once again comes as an extension of someone else. Its likely that even if he knew this academically, it is another thing to be living it and especially at a time of crisis.

Daemon then encounters a crisis of faith in Season 2 Ep 1 in that his view of Rhaenyra is fundamentally challenged, both as a ruler and as a person. Rhaenyra's reaction to her sons death is fundamentally different to how Daemon would react if he were in her position, or so he believes, and he thinks less of her as a result of this. Daemon, as a father, would react more violently to his son being killed and when Rhaenyra doesn't he thinks less of her as a parent; in his view this is the wrong way to grieve the loss of a child. Daemon, as a ruler, would react more vindictively and in a retaliatory fashion against those who had taken his child from him and Rhaenyra isn't doing so; in his view this makes her look weak as a ruler, and undermines her ability to rule and so is again the wrong way to be acting. His faith in her as a Queen is crumbling every time she doesn't do as he would if he were in the chair, especially as he views them as so alike and as 'twin flames'; his frustration grows as he is not allowed to act and the one who is allowed isn't doing what he thinks they should.

This isn't to say that Daemon is right or that Rhaenyra is wrong in this; Daemon thinks the way he would react is just 'the right way' to do so and Rhaeny's is the one who councils him that not only is Rhaenyra's reaction to everything both understandable and acceptable (and that she grieved in the same way herself) but that at the end of the day it doesn't matter if Daemon feels he would act differently; he is not the King and never will be so it is pointless to speculate. Rhaenyra is the Queen and so their role is not to try and make her grieve or act differently but to support her actions in that grief.

Daemons actions with Blood and Cheese are a reaction to all of these criseis, of self and of faith, and is Daemon once again acting selfishly and lashing out; only this time the consequences of his actions will be direct and damaging. In reaction to not being able to act without his wife's oversight, in reaction to him feeling Rhaenyra is not acting violently and decisively enough as a ruler and as a mother, Daemon acts both independently and violently, and it immediately backfires. The Greens fumble the bag a bit with the PR opportunity he gives them but his actions could have cost Rhaenyra allies, support, and even eventually the war itself. His selfish actions hurt and undermine Rhaenyra as a ruler, and their relationships is shown to be weaker and more flawed than either of them had thought it to be.

And in that final scene of confrontation it shows that Daemons own actions have always been his downfall, and that again none of his struggles are new information; Rhaenyra was always going to be Queen, Daemon was always going to act as the support to her rule, and yet everything he is doing is eroding her trust and reliance upon him. Time away for him to realize his flaws and re-commit to the life and position that he knowingly chose will make their partnership strong enough to survive the imminent tragedies looming on the (metaphorical) horizon, and make their love feel doomed enough when The Dance reaches it conclusion. That final arc will not hit hard enough if half of the people watching don't truly believe Daemon supports his wife 100% so now is the time to put in the character work and exorcise those doubts.

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Honestly your tags are so fun to read every time, i'm almost more excited for them than the actual post (but not entirely because your art is SO GOOD!!!! i adore it). If you don't mind me asking, what are you studying?

i am studying psychology because i refuse to see a therapist so ill figure out whats wrong with me myself !!!!!!!

[edgydroned]

what's with the hate for uzi's dad

do i really have to spell it out