#it’s been four years but I still have not recovered

[jjsfavgirl]

˚ʚ [J. m • holidays]ɞ˚

Summary: you and jj are dating, but one thing you keep secret from the pogues is apart of your sex life, is that you dress up for each other during special holidays.

Warnings: dressing up during sex?, p in v, probs no protection cuz jj goes raw.

୨୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨୧

It all started when JJ was messaging you about how bad his shift was at the mechanic shop, he was messaging you about how bad he just needed to fuck the stress out on you.

Since it was Christmas time, you wore your red panties set, paired with a red bar and a fluffy red skirt with a white trim and a black belt with a gold buckle. You sprinkled the bed with rose petals and sat waiting for him.

JJ slammed the front door shut, shrugging out of his coat, which he threw onto the floor as he walked into the bedroom. His steps stopped as his jaw dropped when he saw you lying on the bed. “Holy-” He trailed off, eyes widening at the sight of you in the skimpy outfit. A smirk began to spread across his face. “Looks like Christmas came early this year.”

You giggled, smiling widely at the man you loved, and the man you who was about to fuck the shit out of you.

JJ's eyes roamed over you, taking in the view. He couldn't help but smile, a low whistle leaving his lips. “You look...” He paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even have words.” He walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, resting a hand on your thigh, his touch possessive. “And all for me?”

“All for you jay” you purred, standing between his legs, before continuing with a flirty and teasing tone, “Have you been good or bad this year?”

JJ chuckled, running his hand up your thigh, closer to the short skirt. “Depends on what you'd call good or bad, darlin'.”He leaned in closer, the scent of his aftershave almost intoxicating. “I've been known to toe the line a few times.”

With a heart-felt giggle, music to JJ’s ears, you grabbed him by his work shirt collar before turning him around and pushing him into the bed so you can crawl on top of him and get started.

JJ let out a surprised grunt as you flip him onto his back, his body bouncing slightly on the bed. A grin forms on his face as he looks up at you, eyes darkened with desire. “Mmm, you play dirty, don't ya?”

Afterwards, the bed sheets were messed up and creased, liquids on practically every inch of the grey fabric, your fluffy red skirt hiked up as you and JJ panted together in rhythm.

JJ's chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding wildly as he lay there, utterly spent. The sheets were tangled, rose petals scattered on the bed. His hand reached over, lazily tracing the exposed skin of your thigh. “That,” he panted. “Was...something else, darlin'.”

You giggled and immediately teased, fixing your messy hair, “ No round four, then?”

JJ chuckled at your suggestion but shook his head. “As much as I'd love to, I think I need a minute to recover here,” he said, grinning. “You're gonna be the death of me, y'know that?”

JJ propped himself up on his elbow, lazily watching you. The aftermath of their encounter was still clear in the mess they had made, the air filled with the scent of sweat and desire.

Despite his earlier exhaustion, JJ couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. His gaze wandered over your flushed body, taking in every curve and contour. His hand, still resting on your thigh, gave a soft squeeze as he spoke. “You're stunning, you know that? Absolutely stunning.”

As JJ spoke, his thumb gently began to rub circles on your thigh. His tone was soft and sincere. “Sometimes I still can't believe you're mine. That I get to be the one who gets to touch you, to kiss you, to make you feel good. It's like I won the damn lottery or something.”

You and JJ made this a tradition, every holiday you dressed up for each other and made love.

The weeks seemed to fly by, and each holiday season, JJ and you continued your tradition of dressing up for one another. Every Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, and even Valentine's Day, the two of you would surprises one another with sexy outfits, eager to see each other's reactions. Even as time went on and the world around them changed, the tradition stayed the same.

“You’re a fucking leaporcaun?” You spoke in disbelief, unbuckling your jacket as you looked over your boyfriend, who was wearing a cheap ginger wig, green hat and stuck on beard. He paired it with some green bottoms, a brown belt and a satchel full of fake gold coins.

His chest glistened in the sun coming from his bedroom window, he was so sexy.

JJ stood in the hallway, dressed in a ridiculously stereotypical leprechaun outfit. Green top hat, green tights, suspenders, the whole shebang. He struck a pose, his face adorned with a wide grin. “Yep, I'm a feckin' leprechaun, darlin'!” He spoke in a really terrible Irish accent as you giggled at him.

You laughed loudly, holding your stomach, “I don’t want to fuck a leprechaun!”.

JJ feigned offense, a hand dramatically pressed against his chest. “Ah now, don't be like that, lass. Don't you know us leprechauns are lucky to the touch?” He took a step closer, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“Lass?” You laughed again, raising a brow as JJ walked closer, “Plus, your accent is horrible.” You added with a smirk.

JJ laughed, throwing his head back. “Come on now, I'm doing the best I can here. Can't all of us have a perfect Irish accent like you.” He winked, before breaking into an intentionally bad Irish jig. “Let's see how lucky you are today, lassie!” He chuckled in his Irish accent as he yelled and threw you over his shoulder while you squealed and mirrored his laughter.

JJ's strong arms scooped you up off the ground, effortlessly tossing you over his shoulder. His laughter filled the air as he carried you into the bedroom. “I'm taking you to me pot o' gold!”

Afterwards JJ sprawled out on the bed, panting heavily, his chest rising and falling. His leprechaun outfit was disheveled, the green tights tangled around one of his legs, the top hat sitting comically askew on his head. The money sack was strewn to the side, emptied of its ‘gold coins.’ He looked over at you, his eyes sparkling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

You fixed his hat and smiled, “sexiest leprechaun.”

[fluemsiie]

our family [ j. ackles ]

synopsis. you need jensen to come back home. notes. 1.3k words, breastfeeding, depression, mentions of ppd, not proof read, happy birthday jensen <3 — comments & rbs appreciated.

jensen’s been filming for a while, and by a while, you mean for freakin’ months. he can’t catch a break and so you did what any sane person does— you moved to vancouver all the way from texas just to be close to him. it took a lot of planning, and way too much money, but you weren’t letting your husband stay at a different country alone anymore, it was taking a toll on both your mental health and your relationship.

not to mention your daughter always asking for daddy, where he is, can she go out with him; it’s breaking your heart as much as it is his and so you decided to settle for a smaller apartment near where they were filming.

you’d say it helped your mental health but that would be a lie. ever since you had your daughter you knew something had been seriously wrong. you’re unmotivated to move out of bed, you try to do everything you need to in your room, hardly go out to see anyone but her. anything you need to go do, you have delivered. if the whole ‘not moving’ thing wasn’t hurting you, then the fact that you let your body go a little is fucking breaking you.

you don’t think anything has ever been so wrong in your life, nothing goes the way it should and it seems like you can’t fix it no matter what you do which is disappointing considering you’re a mother now. a mother. you’re supposed to know everything and have all the answers.

and despite moving to be closer to him, leaving behind your own family, something not a lot of people would do, he still spends some nights at jared’s (because gen is still in texas, like you should be).

except there’s also another thing jensen has no idea about; you got diagnosed with depression shortly before you made the move, it’s a big reason why you did the move in the first place. you thought it was past partum but you made sure to actually get diagnosed before telling jen and since you won’t be harming yourself or your baby girl, you decided he didn’t need to know.

he’s been so busy since he decided to start directing too and you’re insanely proud of him, even if you’re having a hard time. but you don’t wanna risk it so here you are, alone in a city you’ve visited only a handful of times with your two year old daughter.

but today’s by far one of your worst days. you tried taking some pills, just pain killers, you aren’t comfortable taking pills for whatever’s wrong with you, you can’t risk hurting any future babies. it isn’t like you don’t believe in them— you’re a nurse, of course you do, but you also know they could hurt you long term, it’s not worth it.

some days it seems like it’s just not worth it. you pick up your phone to call jensen. it takes a few rings but then he responds and you sigh in relief. you honestly thought he wouldn’t pick up, “hey.”

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” it catches you by surprise but when you recover you tell him you and rhyme are great. “i mean you, sweetheart. you sound off.”

you don’t sound that off. definitely not enough for him to pick it up the second you greet him. not that you’re complaining, maybe if he knows what’s wrong he’ll get home faster. jensen’s always helped you in ways he wouldn’t even believe— he’s your life force at times and you’re not sure what you’d do without him, especially now when you need him.

and he’s not neglectful, he took your first four months off from filming and had his sister stay with you for the other two. he’s always put your needs in front of filming but you don’t want to be overbearing.

“when are you getting home? i’m making your favorite.”

“yeah? ‘m not too sure. twelve-thirty, give or take.” which is code for ‘don’t wait up’ so you wake up and find out he never made it home, just crashed on set or at jay’s

“okay.” you can’t bring yourself to ask him to come home even if you don’t doubt he will. jen’s working because he loves his job, sure, but it’s also to provide for you, he wouldn’t want to hurt you over something he’s doing for you in the first place. and you know all that, you just wish you’d always be logical enough to remember it. 

“is that it?” god, this is conflicting. you know you need him right now, you just can’t get the words out. “sweetheart?”

“yeah.” 

It’s a beat before he responds. “i’m coming home at twelve with dinner. don’t cook anything.” he ends the call and you’re smiling. it’s no surprise he figured you needed him, but you couldn’t be happier to have someone that cares enough to come when you call, despite your call being ominous and downright needy.

+

it’s the third time you’ve started frozen because rhyme doesn’t understand that when a movie ends you start a new one, all while breastfeeding her. it’s gotten significantly easier as she nears two years old, she just sits next to you instead of you having to kill your back, and she honestly does it for ten minutes maximum before she gets bored.

and at this point she’s tried everything from lamb to mashed fruit, milk is hardly a full meal to her. but your doctor said it’s best to try and breastfeed her until she hits the 22 month mark. she’s nearing 20 months now.

when she’s done, and else is singing ‘let it go’ with rhyme as her background vocalist, you get up to get started on dinner. jensen said to not make anything which means he’s ordering take out himself but you should probably make sure the counter is clean and that there’s a salad to go with the food.

just as you’re done cleaning the table, the front door opens and your shoulder fall in relief. you didn’t even know you were raising them. you hear his footsteps all the way to the living room, where rhyme runs into her dads arms and lifts her up effortlessly. 

he turns to you, sees you standing in your open kitchen and walks over to kiss your hair softly. “hey, baby girl.” 

rhyme laughs and hugs him tighter. well, the endearment is yours as much as it is hers, you’re both his girls. 

“thanks for coming home, jen.”

“don’t do that, don’t thank me for that. i should’ve known it bothered you— and you should’ve told me earlier.”

“it doesn’t always! just when i need you and then i wake up and i just don’t find you.” days where the depression is just, god, it’s horrible. days when you can’t take rhyme crying because you can’t find the toy she lost or when she’s hungry and you’ve only slept two hours, waiting for his text to confirm he’s safe and at home. 

“baby, i can’t always read your mind, sometimes you gotta help me out.” you nod quickly and he kisses his daughter before putting her down. 

“foor?” food. he nods, placing the bag onto the table. you’ve been teaching her german so she confuses d’s for r’s. you’re not too sure how that came to be but you don’t question it because she’s been saying words in german.

the smell hits you all at once, and your heart practically squeezes itself. jensen drove to your favourite restaurant thirty minutes away. it makes your home country’s food the most authentically and you’ve always loved feeling at home. 

“jensen, seriously?” he smiles and you’re the one who throws yourself into his arms this time, his little girl, not quite understanding, joins in. and you’re not sure how you would’ve gotten through today without him coming back home to his girls.

[curlytheintrovert]

I just still CANNOT get over the last few minutes of Ben Solo in TROS. It’s criminal.

How everything about his character is just shifted. The moment he runs into that first camera shot—sees Rey’s x-wing and takes off—you can feel the change instantly. His body movements are so unfettered and human in comparison to Kylo: his run, his jumps, even his voice is changed. I mean the first and last thing we hear him say is LITTERALLY a humorous: “Ow.” (which still makes me laugh to this day) But by far my favorite is how much he acts like his dad…the swagger, the emotiveness as he fights and the confidence. It’s so god damn heart warming.

I live for that adorable little shrug when he gets his saber from Rey. ITS MORE HAN ENERGY THEN I CAN STAND. But also the little gotta-pace-myself breath he lets out as a knight slashes the saber behind his back wrecks me too. Like he’s almost trying to remember how to fight the way he used to as a Jedi. But seeing Ben fight with such skill and freedom kinda makes me choke up—we know just what it took to get him there. You just feel so happy for him!

But then it all comes crashing down.😭

Before I go any further though…WHY THE HELL DID ADAM DRIVER NOT WIN AN AWARD FOR THIS MOVIE?! I mean, my god this man can act. When Ben pulls himself out of the pit the Emperor threw him into, he doesn’t say one word—his body movements and facial expressions do all the work. The way he falls to the floor in pain, and every step is torture leaves little to the imagination what he’s going through.

But what truly TRULY won’t leave my head is how he reacts to seeing Rey dead in his arms. The way he just inhales this devastating, searing sob…you viscerally understand how much he loves her—and always has. Like you could hear that his world had been taken away. It also destroys me how Ben physically cannot handle the sight of her lifeless eyes. The way he rocks back and forth hysterically trying his best not to break down makes me cry every time. I’m sorry but that is PEAK romance for me, even more then their kiss. It simultaneously confirmed for me that they were taking the romance angle with this couple.

Then the way Ben looks at Rey when she’s revived is so emotional, you can hear his inner monologue from his eyes alone. Is this real? Did you really come back me? But I don’t know if you feel the same way I do. And when he does get confirmation and Rey says his name and kisses him you see just how ready he is—he pulls her tight to him so fast. Then they had to give us THE BEST SMILE OF ALL TIME IN STAR WARS, followed by the most heart warming little laugh, like he’s so happy—he’s finally accepted and loved by someone…aaaand then they take him away from us a second later. It’s something I will never forgive, dang it! You can’t make a character go through so much, redeem himself, be the coolest character possible, then destroy him. It’s just not right. All this talk and theories of the new movies is opening this wound wide open for me! Ben Solo and Adam Driver deserved so much more than this!

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[gu6chan]

remembered the lost yousei teikoku album from 1996 and am currently in the process of losing my mind

[hussyknee]

Never want to read another gay historical romance set in a world war because Ninety One Whiskey left me in absolute shambles and I don't know whether I'm afraid the experience won't ever be replicated or that it will.

[gregmarriage]

really just feels like the last four years of my life have been in pretty permanent stagnation, everything’s temporary and transitional, and i’ve been trying to fix it, but every time i do, something happens to make it worse

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[ego94]

i dont miss my days on ed tumblr but i miss having a cult following

[fantasticalleigh]

Yeah I’m bitter the Bloodline is taking the Main Event and not the hottest feud of the year. Drew and Punk have consistently delivered every week and the past few PLEs and yet the Bloodline with the NeverEnding story gets the Main Event slot. BFFR and gtfo.

[crankygryphon]

Nn

[bi-writes]

ok wait pause i have a question. first date, but like, real, you are my girlfriend date ? or like how'd they define their relationship (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

he's...fun.

it's just sex. mind-blowing, back-numbing, pussy-destroying sex. this man is pushing 40, and you swear you've never felt so out of breath. you convince yourself it's the military thing--he's used to pushing himself, exerting energy, testing the limits of his stamina. but holy shit, you'd think after round four, this man would take a quick nap or something, but no.

he's still balls-deep, hitting it from the back since you can't even keep yourself upright any longer. your skirt lays haphazardly thrown onto the floor, and oh--there's your panties, too, ripped to lacy shreds.

holy shit, this man is more than ten years older than you, and you've never been so out of your fucking mind--

"tha' the spot, love?" his voice is so condescending. he knows he's got you brainless. there's drool staining your lips, and you paw at the sheets for a better grip, but it's useless.

"y-yes, captain."

the low groan that leaves him makes you smile. he might have the upper hand, but if you really wanted to, you could make him come right now, too fast, too much.

you're in bliss. everything is bliss. you're still recovering from what must be the fifth or sixth orgasm--not as good as the second or third one, but still enough to make you cry fat, pleasured tears. you're shaking, in a good way, sinking to your stomach on the bed and pressing your face into his pillow.

"hmm..." your voice is soft and gooey, and when you take a deep breath, you get a long whiff of him. he smells good. clean. earthy. you tasted cigar smoke in his mouth earlier, and you can smell it here, too. just as you relax, you feel the weight of him on your back, and then his lips. he's kissing along your shoulder to your neck and then up your jaw. you tilt your head to give him room, your eyes shutting as his beard scruffs against your skin and his mouth laps at your chin. "i gotta go, john."

you giggle when he lays his entire body on top of yours, trapping you there. you reach up and grip the back of his neck, whining as he flattens his tongue against your jaw and swirls it there.

"john...i gotta go."

"why?"

"mmm..." you thumb at the hair along his scalp, shaking your head. "don't do this, john."

"not doing anythin'."

"we don't sleep over, john."

"what, is tha' some kind of rule? sounds mad."

you turn over a little, looking up at him. you cup his beard in both hands, giving him a chaste kiss.

"don't ruin it, john," you say softly. "this is supposed to be fun."

he tilts his head to the side. he looks so funny without a hat. you've seen him in a beanie, a boonie hat, a cap, you love them all on him. he looks nice like this, too, though--ass naked with his dog tags dangling against his sweaty pecs.

john's eyes twitch a little at your indifference. he settles on his side, leaning over you, and just as you move to get up, he reaches and grips at your face with a big paw of a hand. you clutch at his forearm, big and solid, and your lips pucker as he pulls you closer to him.

"y'r a bad liar, love," he mutters, shaking his head. "fear doesn't suit you."

"i'm not fucking scared."

"who was it?"

you glare up at him, struggling a bit under him. it's a stupid thing to think that you could get away from him. john is not moveable. he's a big fucking tree trunk of a man, with roots that burrow, and you are truly naïve if you think he'll let you up without an answer.

"shut the fuck up, john," you spit at him, but all he does is raise a brow. he's immune to your bite. he's not phased by your sour attempt at insulting him. in fact, it's what drew him to your bed in the first place--certified brat-tamer, captain john price. "you think you're so fucking smart. think you know everything, just because you've got a few years on me, well let me tell you, john--not everything is a fucking lesson learned. you're a military muppet with a decent cock, and that's all you'll ever be to me."

"tha' right?"

"you'll never put me first. you've got one woman, and that's the job, and that's fucking fine, john, but don't make this something it's not. you're lonely, and old, and your failed relationships don't make you wiser, they make you delusional for thinking that doing this again could ever--"

your breath falters when he kisses you. he squeezes your jaw a little harder, forcing your mouth to open, and you moan, squeezing your thighs together when he licks into your mouth and holds you there for him to play with.

"i do have other obligations. my men, the job..." he brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he presses his forehead to yours when he sees the tremble of your bottom lip and the wet look in your eyes. "but i don't do casual, sweetheart. it's all or nothing f'me."

your hand grips his wrist, squeezing tight, and you blink up at him. he's so close. he's right here. blue eyes, greying beard, a sad expression. he's not afraid of dying alone, but he is afraid of wasting time.

"please don't do this to me, john." your voice cracks, and he shrugs. he's sorry, but he's not sorry enough. not enough to let you go--and you're not strong enough to tell him no. it has to be him, but it won't be.

"it's alright," john whispers, but he knows it won't be. he's known you not but a few weeks, but he's made up his mind. he doesn't understand casual. even from the moment he saw you in that bar, it wasn't fleeting, it was definitive. it would be his. you would be his.

even if you were actually someone else's. even if you were bound to someone else. even if you weren't alone, it was already decided.

john's teeth are stuck here, right here, in the hollow of your throat. his fingers are twisted between the chords of your heart and in the spaces between your ribs. if he lets go, he'll break you apart.

so he's never going to let go.

[myladysapphire]

A doe, A deer - A female deer

being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.

Azriel x Archeron!OC

CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, depecitons of illness and hearing loss, depictions of violence (animal hunting), depictions of poverty, canon character deaths, vomiting, panic attacks. not beta read!

word count: 4,259

authors note: so i have severe writers block when it comes to the whole ASOIAF universe but i reread acotar recently and suddenly got motivation to write

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

Daphne Archeron had never known the luxury of money, like her sisters had. And though Feyre would say that her experience was brief, she still spent the majority of her childhood in riches, where daphne had spent it in rags.

Though the age gap was small between as four sisters, no more than three years between them each, it seemed the three years between her birth and Feyre changed a lot for the Archeron family. And by the time Daphne was five, the constantly dwindling funds had finally run out. The home she had always known to be empty, with less and less furniture as the days went by became repossessed a small hovel became there home.

A home which quickly became filled with illness and daphne and her mother caught typhus.

And illness which killed her mother and changed Daphne’s life.

It was odd how she could scarcely remember a time before her illness, and yet she fondly looked back on the few memories she had.

She knew her siblings had a difficult relationship with their mother, and yet her mother seemed to care deeply for her youngest child.

Peprahs it was because she was the spiting image of her mother, according to Nesta at least. Or that she was the calmest child, she never cried or threw tantrums. Or perhaps it was that she was content following her mother around and doing as she said, something she seemed to do now to each of her sisters instead.

She remembered in blurry memories when her and her mother got sick. How in the small hovel, on there one bed, the mother and daughter suffered side by side, with no money for a healer and simply having to rely on the efforts of three children and a man who mourned his wife and daughter before they had even passed. \

She had been beside her self when her mother passed, and though she hadn’t died, she herself had never truly recovered.

Her hearing was damaged, and though she could hear, she had to focus and spent most of her time reading lips more than actually listening.

Her body was sickly, and quick to catch any illness going around the village.

And to her sisters, that meant forever treating her like a child.

Things only got worse for her after debt collectors came two years into there life of poverty.

She remembered how her sisters had stood there and watched as there fathers legs was shattered and he was beaten. And she a girl of eight was the one to spring into action, grabbing a knife and throwing into the head of the man beating her father.

She remembered the gasps, the shocked looks of her sisters, and the even more shocked look of the men as they took her in, there faces going from smirks as they took in a small child defending her father, to a look of horror as another knife sliced through the air.

The men had run out shortly after and Daphne was left to scream and cry in horror at what she had done, as she watch the mans body dropped to the floor and the others fled, fearing the small child, who had started to fear herself.

After that day, Daphne refused to speak. A stray word her or there, a perhaps a gasp or hum. But nothing more.  

As time passed Daphne began to see herself only has a burden, often being forgotten unless she was incredibly ill or her sisters needed her to end a dispute.

She knew her family struggled more so that they should, how Feyre had been forced to hunt to feed and provide for the family, with her kills and selling their fathers wood carvings. She saw as her sisters hounded Feyre for money over helping her out or getting jobs to provide for the family. All whilst Feyre was forced to spend any money on medicines for her.

She saw the pitying eyes her sisters sent her, pity struggling to hide the contempt they all felt.

And though she had tried to help, by hunting with Feyre, even though it was quickly forbidden after Nesta found out. She would get a job, but who would hire a sickly, mute girl with no education or skills?

She was frustrated, unable to help and yet the biggest burden. Ruled by her sisters and treated like a child.

She had never been rebellious, never had the want to be and yet today, she found her self in the forest, with the will to make up for being the burden that she was, hoping to do so by finding dinner for her family.

And though she had only been a handful of time with Feyre before Nesta forbade her from taking you, and had little skill with an bow and arrow, her only skill was that of the throwing single dagger and several kitchen knives her family possessed.

She found herself sat in a tree, a dagger in hand as well and the kitchen knives strapped to a tunic she had stolen from Feyre.

She had looked and searched for close to an hour before she saw a deer, and found herself sat in a tree, as she watched the deer slowly approach with unsure movements. It reminded her of herself almost. With its doe eyes and reddish fur. It was young, clearly lost as it looked around for something or someone.

Her dagger trembled in her hand.

She willed it to move but to no avail.

The more she looked at the doe the more she saw herself.

With there shared amber eyes and brown hair, the does faced seemed to merge into her own. A face she shared with her mother. A face that haunted her every time she fell asleep in the very bed her mother died in whilst holding her.

But the doe was like any other doe she supposed. Yet it seemed like a complete mirror of herself.

Her hand shook as she tried to force herself to throw the dagger.

The deer looked up, eyeing her curiously. No fear in its eyes, as it eyed her and her hand lowered.

And a sigh of defeat left her mouth.

Perhaps a rabbit would be easier or at least be less likely to look like her.

The deer lowered its head, all sense of curiosity lost on it as it began to sniff for food in a bush.

She watched the deer, taking some comfort in how calm it seemed to be, though that calm lasted only moments as a wolf, a wolf far too large, and eyes to human pounced upon the deer tearing at its neck out.

The dagger in her hand suddenly spring from her hand landing clear in the wolf’s neck.

Blood trickling down its neck, the wolf made no effort to move or continue its feats on the deer.

It simply looked at her, and she could have sworn a look of relief flooded its features.

She jumped down from the tree, her ankle rolling as she did so.

But her mind was to occupied in reaching for one of her knifes and landed a killing blow directly into the wolf’s heart, and then another into the deer’s.

Tears feel from her eyes as she looked over the deer and wolf, realisation at what she ha done, and how it felt far to easy despite her earlier trepidation.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch she knew belonged to Feyre.

“Daphne” she mumbled, “are you okay?”

She simply nodded, as she always did, and reached to pull the daggers from the animals’ chests.

“did you do this?” Feyre asked, taking in the giant wolf.

Daphne nodded before pointing to the tree and twisting the dagger in her hand, answering the unsaid question of how.  

Concern flooded Feyre’s features as she assessed the state of her youngest sister, and the tears that filled her eyes, despite the clear effort the rest of her face was making to remain calm.

“Why were you out here?” Feyre continued to question; despite knowing she wouldn’t get a response.

Daphne looked down shame flooding her. Thoughts of not being good enough, of always being in the wrong even when she was trying to help. For somehow messing up what would be an otherwise successful hunt.

Tears dropped from her eyes once more. She hadn’t moved since Feyre approached her. Still sat in the same position as before as Feyre continued to ask questions.

She watched as Feyre bound the doe’s legs and skinned the wolf.

She watched as Feyre handed her the fur and threw the doe over her own shoulders. And watched as Feyre sent her a glance with every cough falling from Daphne’s mouth, seeing her concerned glances and small shakes of her head.

Her breaths were heavy, the cold air affecting her already weak lungs, and her steps were slow as they finally approached there home.

Their small little hovel with two rooms for the five of them, was always crowded and despite the two singular windows the entire house had there was always a chilled draft.

The chill of the outside was not much colder than that of inside the hovel.

A lack of fire beings it’s cause, and single log left inside the fire place despite freye asking nesta too cut more wood.

She was greeted quickly by Elain wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

Elaine and her were the closest of the sisters, with the same interests and similar personalities the two rarely argued. Though for daphne, arguments usual consisted of her being lectured and daphne storming out in response.

The sisters argued as they lectured feyre on the wolf and Daphne’s involvement in the hunt.

Elain sat rubbing Daphne’s shoulders gently to warm her up, and handing her a hot mug of tea to soothe her throat.

The sisters always seemed to argue, whether it be about money or food or any little thing. But what they argued most was daphne.

Shocking seeing as both Nesta and Feyre seemed to only tolerate her and ignored her unless she was extremely sick.

Elain too, despite being the closest of the sisters, found herself ignoring daphne more so than late, and spent more and more time with Nesta.

It was a funny thing really, seeing as they always fretted over her, treating her little more than a child.

But everything she did caused an argument. Such as going hunting with Feyre, getting more sick form hunting with feyre, from Elain allowing her to help her garden, or Nesta asking her to sew her some new clothes form the scraps of the old worn-out ones.

Everything one of them did for her, caused an argument with another.

Daphne was their sickly younger sister. That’s all she was and even when she tried to help it caused an argument.

Words were always said in front of her and rarely to her. 

She couldn’t help but think that if she could talk, something she begged daily to be able to, that they wouldn’t ignore her so much.

But they seemed to treat her mutism as self imposed, as if it didn’t pain daphne that she physically couldn’t. that the idea of speaking scared her and the few words she could ralrey speak pained her so and caused her to to be physically sick.

She hated not being able to communicate but her sisters seemed to think it was entirely her fault that she didn’t.

Elain at least put up with it, finding her a good ear for listening to her endless rants. Or a helpful hand when cooking and gardening.

But they still didn’t ask her questions unless it was in the form of an interrogation. Such as Feyre in the woods.

She had given up years ago when she realised no matter how hard her eyes portrayed her feelings, her sisters where happy to talk and laugh and argue without so much as sparing her a glance.

They hadn’t even bothered to teach her to read. They knew she couldn’t. she hadn’t even started her schooling when they lost their fortune, and yet it never occurred to them that teaching her to read could solve the communication issue.

She had thought that perhaps if she proved herself, her potential that they would bother. Though deep down she knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

But known the less she went into the woods, to prove herself, to show she wasn’t just sick, that she had willpower, ability. But not only to prove herself but to also thank them. she felt bad for all the money spent on you, all the times she had been bed bound, unable to help at all and leaving them to sleep on the floor as moving her was to risky.

But it all failed.

All it caused was arguing and Feyre sending you a worrying glance as she looked over the wolf. And the fear of it being fae and what they might mean for there family.

Days passed, and daphne grew sick again. With her lungs constricted, her head feverish and limb aching. She had been in and out of consciousness for days now. The days passed in a blur, the only moments she truly came to were when medicine was forced down her throat or a new towel was pressed to her head.

She was sure she would have stayed in the bed for weeks had the front door not been slammed open and a roar sounded through the hovel.

Weakly she walked out of the shared bedroom and came face to face with some sort of fae beast growling words at her sisters, her sisters spoke to quietly for her to hear but before she knew it feyre was leaving with the beast and her screams for her to stay refusing to leave her mouth. She was powerless to stop it, to weak to even move from the door frame let alone stop her sister form being kidnapped by the fae beast. And even if she could it seemed that as the door closed a haze a magic was sent out and the sudden scene of a so-called aunt Ripley sending for Feyre to help her in her sickness appeared in her brain. Had she not fainted after it happened, she was sure she would have believed it, but dreams of a growling beats taking Feyre away haunted her dreams.

As the months passed , Elain and their father seemed content to believe the glamour the fae had cast and the seeming coincidence of regaining there fortune, neither Daphne or Nesta believed it.

She hated this new life, the life without Feyre. And the seemingly picture-perfect front her family created.

Her life became filled with tutors and healers and the balls filled with preening men all ever for a quite wife they never have to speak to.

Her life seemed duller than it did, and even more lonely.

Her sisters now ignored her completely, her father was no to busy for he. With Her sisters spending more time doing their own thing, with Nesta always alone and refusing to speak to anyone. Elain found herself engaged to a future lord, a man you had grown to hate despite only meeting him three times.

And daphne found herself quiet the scholar, egar to learn, and found herself drawn more and more to the history of Pythian, of the war and the fae courts.

A year passed since Feyre was taken and though she had returned for a week before swiftly leaving again, it felt like everything had changed since she left.

she felt as if she was on the side lines looking in on her family.

Even more so after their father had left to go to the continent.

Elain had grown distant, only wishing to spend time with her when it came to her garden.

And Nesta had secluded herself in her room, refusing company from all.

Daphne was forced to chaperone her sister and watch her life become what elain always wished.

Perhaps it was selfish to wish for attention, or at least the same level as she received in the past.

But now it seemed the better she got the less attention she received. She now got the level of freedom she had long desired and yet it seemed a waste without her sisters there to experience it with her.

But at least she now had the opportunity to have friends. Or at least friends in the form of Leon, one of the footmen in her family’s employ.

He had been kind since the moment she meet him, egar to spend time with her.  

And though at first it was simply kind smiles facial expressions to communicate, he slowly taught her sign language. Having grown up with a sister who was hearing impaired, it allowed him the chance to talk to her. And for the first time she felt heard.

He was a small comfort in her dull life.

Suddenly it was march, time passed in the blink of an eye.

Something had shifted in the last few months; the estate grew quieter, and the trees seemed to murmur.

The sky felt greyer and snow colder.

The wall felt thin, with more cracks than ever, fog creeped from it and a sense of danger, ‘more so than before was emoting from it.

She had started to take walks near the wall daily. A sense of need to be close to Feyre overcame her. She wasn’t sure why, she never saw anyone near the wall.

That was until she stumbled into him.

Possibly the most handsome person you had ever seen. His eyes caught yours and they seemed to enchant her, the striking hazel colour distracting you from the obvious giant bat like wings sprouting from his back. But she didn’t mind, his eyes were beautiful…he was beautiful perhaps the most beautiful creature ever.

And his hands were on her waist.

Holding her after she stumble into him.

her waist.

“Are you okay?” he spoke softly, his yes tracing over her. He seemed to look at her with a sense of family. Though she was sure she had never once seen him before.

she nodded her head, her eyes looking down to were he still held her waste.

“your Daphne right?” he asked carefully.

Daphne looked up startled, shocked that he knew her name, and started racking her mind for memories of his face.

“i-“ the words, sounding more like a gasp left her mouth, as she willed yourself to speak.

And she might of mustered up a few words had Feyre not suddenly appeared.

“Daphne?” she breathed. Looking her up and down, “what are you doing this close to the wall?”

The males hands left her waist as he moved aside and allowed Feyre to hug her.

she hugged her back, but her face was perplexed as she took her in. she was different.

She seemed to glow, and her skin was soft and clear. Far more so than ever before and her ears… they were pointed.

She was fae.

Confusion adorned her face and a worried smile filled hers.

“don’t be scared” she seemed to beg.

she shook your head, moving to hug her once more.

she tired to talk, to ask her if she was okay, to ask her what had happened but the her mouth filled with bile, and the words seemed to leave her mind the more she tried to speak.

She seemed relived at the hug, moving her hand to stroke her hair, “you look well.” She spoke, as she took in her rosy cheeks and more filled out figure.

Daphne nodded. Her attention still fully on Feyre and confusion in her eyes as she tried to figure out what happened to her.

“I know you must be confused, and ill explain once were at the estate but-“ she was cut of by the sudden appearance of two more fae males.

Both with the same wings as the male she had bumped into.

“Daphne… this is Cassian and Rhysand” she said pointing to the two males, before turning “and the male Daphne bumped into, that’s Azriel” she spoke looking at her carefully as the two males introduced themselves and shook her hand.

A small nervous smile toyed on Daphne’s mouth.

she looked to Azriel, taking him in and reaching her hand out to shake his, as the others had done to her.

He seemed shocked at the action, his hands moving slowly to take hers.

As if he was scared to touch her, scared that they would taint her somehow.

They were rough, more so than the others, and covered in scars.

But her eyes didn’t linger, nor did she flinch as she was sure he expected her too. Instead she shook it and smiled. Her cheeks filling with a light blush as he focused her attention on her.

She turned to face her sister, the blush still prominent on her face and her minding releasing at how handsome Azriel, well how all the males seemed but more so him.

And the male she knew as Rhysand seemed to smirk as he looked at her, as if he could read the very thoughts she was thinking in her head.

She hugged slightly at the smirk, a nervous feeling washing over her as she took in the three strangers and the sudden change to Feyres appearance.

She pointed towards the direction of the estate, focusing her gaze on feyre as she did so.

“Should we get going then?” Feyre questioned, seemingly to sense her sisters nerves.

The walk was slow, the faes content to walk at a leisurely pace, though daphne was sure it had something to do with her and the coughs her small body was emitting.

By the time they reached the estate, feyre seemed to have grown nervous, her hand gripping daphne’s and her palm growing sweaty.

Daphne rubbed her hand in comfort though it seemed to do little as Feyre pulled her back hastily the estate came into view.

“Can you clear out the staff?” she questioned “they can’t see us, it will cause to many issues”

She nodded, giving feyre a hug before she departed.

She was grateful Leon was working that day, he took her at her word when she signed his and the others need to leave.

The once lively state was now empty bar the four sisters and three fae males.

She received harsh glares from nesta at their unwelcome guest.

And as words were spoken, and feyre spoke of the need to use the house as a meeting point, the glares grew harsher. As if whatever impending conflict was Daphne’s fault.

Dinner was no better, harsh words and arguments between the sisters sounded. Even more so when Daphne had run to get stools for the two winged males.

She was silent, as always.

But somehow sitting next to Azriel filled her with confidence she hadn’t ever had.

“Can you really fly?” she whispered, her voice rough from years of not being used.

And though her sisters gasped and nesta sent her another glare. Azriel simply smiled and spoke “yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind”

Daphne smiled, her mouth speaking before she could even process that she had talked “that’s very beautiful” she said “ I have always wondered what it would be like to fly” she mused, “is it ever scary?” she spoke making eye contact with Feyre who gave her an encouraging smile, though her eyes were still shocked at your words.

It was probably the most words she had ever said, as even before she stopped talking, she was never a chatty child.  

“sometimes” Azriel said, with Cassian nodding in agreement, as Azriel continued “if you are caught in a storm, if the current drops. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before were out of swaddling”

Daphne nodded, her mouth filling with bile and a stuttered almost gasp left her mouth in the stead of words.

She swallowed roughly, her face flushing as she realised everyone’s attention was on her.

And then it struck her, she had spoken.

In the past it had never been more than one word, and it was always mumbled and nearly in audible, and often followed quickly with vomiting.

She willed herself to not vomit, but as Nesta went to say something, she was sure would be aimed at her sudden ability to speak.

She rose and ran to the bathroom and let it all out.

She cried and cried afterwards, in shock and shame.

It was how it always happened, the shame she felt afterwards, as if she wasn’t allowed to speak, as if speaking would cause something bad to happen. And it was a feeling that followed her for the remainder of her sister visit.

And even after they had all left it didn’t go away.

It seemed to haunt her, even more so after she got sick once more.

But this time it was different.

She had been bed bound for months on end.

Memories were all in a haze and she couldn’t tell night from day.

she hadn’t woken in days and yet the next time she woke, she was being tugged out of a cauldron full of freezing water.

To be added to taglist

taglist @fuckingsimp4azriel

[mayfriend]

UPDATE: Mother of five (one newborn) in Gaza without shelter or food! (Vetted)

At the start of November, I made a post about Samira (@samiraaymaan) and her family in Gaza — Samira has had her baby, a little boy, but all the money raised so far had to go towards getting her a caesarean section.

Now Samira is once again without funds to feed her children or herself -- as of today (22nd December 2024), Samira hasn't eaten in three days, and is too weak to breastfeed her newborn -- and the occupation forces are demanding that the starving family must leave where they are currently sheltering due to the ongoing shelling in Nuseirat in order to survive.

Samira and her family urgently need support. Since I posted the last time, we managed to raise 2k for Samira and her family, and got Samira 10% closer to her goal, money which helped save Samira's life and that of her newborn baby boy: now the two of them, plus Samira's four other children, are relying on us again.

It is in no way fair that Samira is not able to rest or eat or recover from childbirth, or that she is forced to reach out to strangers on the Internet in the hopes of even the slightest relief, but it's what is happening.

I know it is Christmas soon, I know that things are tight for many people, but if watching an ongoing genocide for over a year has been exhausting, demoralising and soul-destroying for those of us lucky enough to live in safety, it is impossible to overstate the impact of those actually in Gaza experiencing it.

Please, if you have even $5 USD or equivalent to spare, consider sending it to Samira so she and her children can escape the latest round of bombings, buy flour so they can eat, get a tent to shelter in and raise funds for future evacuation.

I'm not sure what else to say, but please. Please. As Samira said to me: "what else is there to say? [We are] dying from cold, hunger and pain." If there was ever a moment for action, this is it.

The link to Samira's gofundme is here. At time of writing, it is at just over $5k ($5,022 on the 22nd December 2024) but again, all that money has been withdrawn to pay for Samira's caesarean section. She is starting from scratch!

If you are able to donate at all, please do, but if not reblogging this post and sharing the fundraiser with those who are able to spare something is still a great help and something everyone can do.

Thank you so much for caring about Samira and her children ❤️

[canisalbus]

Hi! A little life update.

At the end of October I wrote that I was deep in a depression spiral and due to unexpected occurrences I had been left with basically no income for several months. I had emptied my savings at that point and was feeling extremely stressed, sick and hopeless.

I just want to thank everyone who reached out and offered support or even looked up my ko-fi info and sent me a donation. It was an unfathomably kind thing to do and helped me tremendously. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I was at the end of my tether, I had 1,70��� in my bank account at that moment. I was sleeping four hours per night on average because my insomnia was so out of control, and had more or less stopped eating, after surviving on nothing but porridge, bread, apples and buttered pasta for close to a month. Things were kind of dire. No one has ever showed me that kind of unprompted generosity before, irl or online. Thinking that people I've never even met were willing to support me like that both warms my heart and makes me feel kind of guilty and undeserving. I'm not used to being treated like that. I hope I didn't make you feel pressured to get involved. It did genuinely help me put myself back together though. The next day I went and bought some essential groceries and getting to eat properly was a massive boost in terms of energy and mood. I'm doing a little better now. I finally managed to get the financial situation corrected, but it'll take months before my finances recover and I'll be able to go shopping without feeling paranoid about counting every cent and hating myself if I buy a small treat. I mentioned that my seven years old, well-served laptop is on it's last legs, so the remaining funds are going towards putting together a new PC, hopefully soon. I don't really have any product or extra content to offer you as a thank you for the ko-fi donations I received, but I hope it's at least nice to think that they're directly enabling me to continue making more art in the future.

I'm still struggling with intense anxiety every day, and it has caused me to develope some kind of impostor syndrome that is impacting my online presence negatively at the moment. I look at the things I try to draw and the asks I get, and feel like nothing I create, say or write is good enough or worth people's time and attention. I'm having hard time opening up like I used to, and I miss the interactions I used to have here, they were an immense source of inspiration and motivation to me. But I'm trying to work on that, and hoping that posting stuff will start to feel more natural again eventually. This got a little long, but thanks for reading! I hope life treats you well.

[vsurg3-c]

Angst time(fluff at the end)

Imagine you and Simon have been happily married for nearly four years, turning five in a few months, he had already resigned from the task force in fear of not being able to come back after his deployment, wanting nothing but to spend his life now with his beautiful, pregnant wife.

He resigned after a month of learning that you were carrying your little baby, wanting to be there every step of the way.

Everything up to the sixth month was fine, until you went to labour three months early, which in his eyes was already a major alarm, a sign that something was severely wrong.

Now you were in the hospital, trying to birth out you and his child, clearly having complications which led to the doctors to prepare for an emergency c-section.

Simon was forced to wait outside until the baby was eventually pulled out, and after what seemed to be forever, the baby was out, but it was so small and frail, breathing but barely wailing.

The baby was born prematurely.

Now with you still recovering from the tiresome birth and passed out from the exhaustion and dopped out with drugs, Simon was left watching your baby girl in the incubator she was laid in, tubes helping her breathe as he looked at her with pained eyes, speaking to the sleepy infant.

“Hey sweetheart.. You exhausted your ma' didn't ye? You did so well, cryin' as loud as ye' can when you got out..”

“Keep fightin' yeah? Mama wants to see you, and I wanna see whether you got my eyes or hers, hm? Don't let papa down.”

After about a week, you soon recovered and waited for your baby girl to be stable enough, and after a ton shite of prayers, tears, and spending time talking to your baby girl, she eventually got stable enough, and was able to be home with you two.

That was the worst thing he had ever experienced, but also the greatest, as he had finally gotten what he always yearned for.

A family of his own.