#like the fact that my gran knows that there are always two sides

[mooninagust]

my roman empire is that my GRANDMA who only watches tv and doesn't have access to social media gets why we need to stand with Palestine but my chronically online friends and parents who claim to be "so well informed" don't.

[dolche-tejada]

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[specter319]

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗞 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗟

[Link to the work on AO3] A/N: Surprise, I'm back for a little Christmas present, after months of not being around thanks to University taking my entire time up (like to a point where I couldn't even do what the University even requested of me.) I'm back and here in the flesh with something that is now taking the top spot compared to my other story that yes — I'm reworking. I've done some world building in the Delta Squad Universe and realised that none of the other character involved would be even alive. So while that is on my slow WIP list, have this — something that inspired by my 2025's Game of The Year series. And a small little indie game named Night Runners. When I saw this, the 2000's aesthetic. I immediately ran to my MacBook's keyboard and started typing a furious storm, so much so that I'm now several chapters in and 25,000 words deep, and with an ending in mind, but no end in sight ironically enough. Trigger Warning: None, as of far. Word Count: 1.7k Words. Characters in Chapter: John 'Soap' MacTavish, Various other characters, mentions of John's Family Story Blurb:

When John MacTavish had a single rule of putting his family first. He'd never figure that a drunken night after partying would change everything. A blur of headlights, the roar of engines, and the sight of a white and blue car tearing through the highway below him would ignite something in him he couldn't ignore.

In a story set in the year 2000, John MacTavish finds himself with a bunch of fellow illegal street racers after getting in through friends of friends, and with eyes set on him as a member for the taking, a fish out of water. It's up to him to find what had pulled him in to begin with. 'The Blue Comet'.

—

Inspired by the Five Star lyric line from 'Rain or Shine': "Silk and steel, that's the way you feel. And how I love you now."

𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗡 — 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘

It was strange, hearing that low hum at 2 o’clock in the morning. When all that was around were that of empty streets, barking dogs, and the light rumble of voices. Sometimes becoming uncontrolled bouts of drunk laughter. He never took note of much else, the traffic. The loud sounds of throttled engines as they tore through the sound of quiet. It happened every couple of nights. How they hadn’t stopped it, changed the way the highway structure behaved. He didn’t know.

Because John MacTavish never understood the urge to move faster than the speed of sound. Something akin to a cheap thrill rather than something paying off in the long run. That’s because he was on the scientific side of it, saw that an engine could run down as fast as the car itself. Hell, though he’d played Need for Speed or Gran Turismo, given they were fresh, new. It never appealed to Johnny what a car did. Other than at a certain amount of compression, creating a combusted explosion. And that bit, he was most interested in.

That’s why as his bunch of drunk friends, close to no sailors’ legs, walked along the bridge. With a giggle, one of them made it wobble before one of the girls screamed out to stop, all the while they all laughed. John carried on like a scared cat as the very same one shaking it saw him flushed with panic as he stopped.

“Fuckin’ Lavvy heid” John called out in slight anger before one of the girls came up to him. A way to tease him, but the very same one who screamed out for the guy to stop.

“Such a big baby you are, Johnny boy.” She spoke as the others continued on, hands moved around him as she hugged him from the side.

“‘Cause ye kin talk Kimberly ,” John bit back as he laughed, “ye wur panicking then!”

“No, I wasn’t.” She stated back, trying to brush off the fact that John would, of course, remember that she, in fact, was.

There had been a strange little bout of intimacy between the two over the past couple of months. And both of them could see it . They’d been so close to kissing on many occasions, but in some parts, something would always distract them. Make them turn away or get interrupted by something they didn’t want as a distracting factor.

But Johnny always seemed to dwell on it. As if it was an early warning sign not to get too close to her. But close enough to where she could feel the blood race in her body. Could smell the lingering hints of sweat, a mixture of various drinks that hadn’t settled in on John yet. But enough to where she could single out what he’d had at the party. One of which was the stench of tequila. It was too close for Johnny. Almost like a siren call, that woman. She was trouble, and he knew that trouble wanted him as much as he wanted to sink into the flame of her body.

“You catchin’ up, lovebirds?” An Irish voice called out, loud for a quiet area, no less. John stared at her, looking at her lips, then back at her almost toxic green eyes with the way the two stood there. Had they kept looking at one another…

“Coming,” Kimberly called before she smiled at John. We’ll get back to this, you and I, later.

So Johnny stood there. Rebuilding the pieces of his mind as he figured out what had happened between the two of them. Before he swallowed what little saliva she had sucked out of him from looking at her. When he heard that sharp whine, a loud crackle. He knew what it was, heard it every week. The roads below them were a festering playground of cars. When people weren’t on this section of highway strip at this time of night. And somehow, they’d decided that tonight would be the perfect time to do so. Four hours before the sun always came up.

Lights flickered through metal poles. Two boxes of shaped metal came blazing through at speeds a cop would drool over. As he watched them grow bigger with the shortening gap of distance below him. It was a dangerous dance as the pair of them corrected their steering. The only thing heard were the screaming revs of their motors. The rubber compound of the tires pounding like a cardiac arrest in someone’s rib cage. Passing under the bridge and blowing Johnny’s hair back as he rushed over to the other side of the bridge to see what they were doing, where they were still going . Flames shooting out of the exhaust as one of them finally shifted. And the acoustics bounced along the fence the houses had protected them from that sound.

He kept his eyes on where they’d last seen them, a white car, a small thing compared to the blue comet he’d seen chewing miles up on it but taunting it no less . As Johnny stood there on the footbridge, the smell of petrol lingering in his nose as he heard the sudden rev limit hitting at the sound of a winner . It was a familiar pattern he’d heard time and time again. And this time, he’d managed to see who was behind it. But from that sheer moment alone, Johnny MacTavish’s brain chemistry had altered. Be it worse or better now for the life of a scientific university student.

It soon came to be that after that moment in time, Kimberley had never gotten back to what they were about to do, for she was already sitting on the lap of another boy, the very same Irish bastard that was calling out to them, making out with him in a careless fashion . All the while, they got further drunk around them, and those two took it to the room. And all the while yet, Johnny’s mind flashed to how smooth the cars had been, spoke about it many times to his friend in a heavy Scottish brogue that only another Scot could understand as he let his body send him into a state of memory so deep he didn’t believe it was a dream, where he was behind the wheel instead, but unable to control the car . It took handwork from thought to get something like a comet to dance.

And that thought left him as soon as he’d awoken, his mind not thinking any longer of the girl, or of the race last night, but of the looming and loud crack of thunder in his head from the hangover he had, a simple sign that he’d drunken too much — but what was new . Because even as the thunder rumbled in his head, it took on the shape of the dancing cars, even as he grabbed his phone out and took minutes to get through a menu to find ‘Messages’ as the phone beeped at the warning of low battery, with a simple message shot out .

MK B home soon. J x x

And as soon as he’d sent out a message to both his mother and sister, he’d shut his phone down so he could save whatever battery remained . And as the morning came to, and the others soon came alive, no one reminded him of the Brogue rambling he’d done about dancing cars . Rather, passed it off as a drunken and now, it seemed hungover state that Johnny was in. Hell, even laughed at his drunken state given he’d often act child-like in his drunken reprimands which also came with a god-awful pig-like laugh that was only worsened when it started out in an evil cackle too .

He never believed how bad his laugh was, for though people often spoke about it, there was no real evidence. And that was more than enough for John to not believe it as a firsthand account. Even as they swore up and down that it happened again amongst the brogue rumble of his voice accounting for some kind of dancing . So with a coffee sculled down, a strip of bacon stolen, water and a painkiller taken, John was out as the party had been set up .

So it became no wonder John felt a weird sense of déjà vu wash over him when he walked over that footbridge again. To see it full of life, the 9 a.m. traffic coming through in droves as per usual. Watching as he looked on at cars whizzing by at the typical speed.

Not the speed they were going last night, no, about two times slower, if at best. And even as he stared at all the cars going past, John felt his brain doing something, he didn’t know what, it was still the hangover finally breaking through . But he’d feel lesser pain if so. He didn’t care, for he was too tired, but it was a great observation nonetheless in why cars made such a great deal of, even if it didn’t interest John .

Because then he thought about his own, his shit box of a 205 he had at home, on the precipice of another incident that left the car collecting dust . It was almost as if the car itself had made him personal enemy number one the moment he turned on that ignition. So he too hated how the cars whizzing past carried a wind mixed with that very same fuel that made his brain flash back to the very same moment . If not where he was several hours earlier.

It finally pulled him away as soon as his eyesight landed on strands of hair, damp from the sweat of last night, as he pushed it back past his forehead . Unscrewed the cap of his bottle to take a swig of his water, desperate at best too, before he sealed it back up. He knew once he got back in class, there would be many things spoken about in said party. Especially who Kimberly slept with, given John hadn’t. Because only then as he watched another blue car pass by. Did he finally push himself off the rail, in a stumbled manner and walk home, even with the pounding headache.

[super-paper]

you don't have to respond to this if you don't want to, but--I saw you mentioning you felt stupid earlier and I'm going through the same feelings myself but I just wanted to say that your analysis of my hero academia was genuinely the best I'd ever seen after following the comic for almost an entire decade(I've been here since almost the beginning...). it's not your fault if the writing took a bizarre turn, you were correctly recognizing things about the story that was presented to you and I've really appreciated your presence ever since the first time I read one of your posts.

Thank you for your kind words, they really helped me feel better. I always enjoy reading your thoughts as well, so I hope you are able to feel better soon as well.

At any rate, I think I'm a bit calmer now-- At the risk of setting myself up for more heartbreak in two weeks, I really think there's no way for it not to be a fake out because Tenko dying sincerely is a failure on every level for so-so-so many characters and the story as a whole. Izuku wanted to redefine OFA as a power meant for saving not killing, yet OFA ends up killing Tenko anyway? We get a scene where the main villain literally mocks Tenko for having never been his own person and commands him to disappear, and he does?? Nana ultimately fails to save her family from AFO a third and final time??? The Yoichi expy is ultimately forced to die while tethered to his abuser and is never allowed to truly escape or live a life outside of AFO???? Spinner pushes himself to his absolute limit and Kurogiri sacrifices himself because they both want to save Tenko, and it ends up being all for nothing????? Toshinori never gets any resolution with his beloved mentor's sole remaining family and has to live with the pain of once again failing to save her legacy?????? Tenko wants to become a hero to the villains, to the LOV specifically, but dies while all of them are literally hanging on by a thread at this time???????? Gran Torino was right??????????? There's bittersweet endings and there's bleak endings, and this is absolutely bleak if true.

Like, I know death and rebirth are huge themes in MHA-- but this is a case where the overall build up and execution of the chapter has left much to be desired. Still, the fact that Tenko says the name "Shigaraki Tomura" in quotation marks in the raw text does lend to the idea that this is actually the death of his villain persona rather than the death of the individual-- my other big concern rn is how Tenko's rebirth will ultimately be executed, since he still asks Izuku to pass a message along to Spinner on his behalf. Like..... a resurrection that has him losing his memories of his life as Tomura, or reverting back to his young "untraumatized" self, obviously feels wrong for entirely different reasons-- but this is just speculation atp and I don't wanna get worked up over smthing that hasn't happened yet.

Tenko's ""death"" also shares explicit parallels to both Toshinori's and Katsuki's brushes with death, so I do think Hrkshi could make things come full circle in a satisfying way here-- if Tenko's death is the only one that actually sticks while the heroes are allowed to defy all odds and resurrect/be reborn as the best possible versions of themselves, then obviously there's no salvaging the story. But I wanna have faith.

(Side note: Tenko/Toshi/Katsuki's (and even Touya's) limbo scenes depict them as surrounded by light and "sharing" that infinite space with someone who sincerely wants them to live-- and these scenes are starkly contrasted with AFO's limbo scenes, where his moments before death all depict as him being surrounded by darkness while being mocked by the vestiges of his victims.)

Anyway!!! At my own peril, I'll be leaning hard into the "Tenko Shimura: Rising + quirk awakening + aura!might using his vestige and the remnants of OFA to fill in the gaps of the broken reconstruction quirk (thereby fulfilling Izuku's wish to turn OFA into a power that exists to save while also helping Tenko symbolically embrace that he has the power to do more than just destroy-- he can save the villains through creation, not destruction)" theories from this point forward.

[morganaspendragonss]

part four: at a family event

my contribution to the birthday event for the wonderful @lire-casander !

era: break up prompt: at a family event tags/warnings: blood, kitchen accidents, unsavoury comments personal notes: lire, mi querida!!!! te quiero tanto y espero que hayas gustado este regalito, te lo mereces! eres una gran amiga y no puedo decirte lo mucho que te aprecio; con suerte, un día nos vemos otra vez. conocerte es un privilegio y fue un placer escribir esto por ti. espero que hayas tenido un buen cumpleaños y te deseo lo mejor para el año que viene. con amor, holly xxx

ao3 | 1.1k | please check ao3 for spanish translations

It doesn’t matter how old he gets, Sunday dinners at Tía Lucy’s will always take Carlos back to his childhood. The ranch has barely changed in all these years, still the same hand-crocheted doily covering the same oak dining table that has seen many a Reyes family gathering. The same pictures hang on the wall, the same smell filters through from the kitchen, and the noise that greets him before he’s even halfway up the gravel path is the same.

The door is already open – everyone is welcome at Tía Lucy’s table, including whatever animals might choose to venture in – and Carlos has to smile as he steps into the well-practised chaos. It’s a welcome distraction from the silence that has filled his life ever since TK left two months ago.

It’s his own fault, really, for letting himself get so used to having the 126 around, the unpredictability they brought to his days. They still reach out every now and then but… He knows they’re just being polite. He knows they’re on TK’s side.

He’s lived most of his life in silence, but this time it’s different. This time, he let himself believe it was over for good.

But at least he still has days like today. Ana’s kids are instantly on him, Isabela chattering about the swimming badge she earned this week and Diego trying to drag him out back to referee their soccer game.

He’s saved by his mother crossing the room to wrap him in a hug.

“Hola mamá,” he greets, breathing in the smell of her perfume; something else that hasn’t changed in all these years.

“Ay, mi Carlitos.” She squeezes him tight, then pulls back and scrutinises him. “Te ves cansado, mijo, ¿estás durmiendo?”

He rolls his eyes fondly and takes a step back. The truth is, he hasn’t been sleeping well, but his mother doesn’t need to know that. “Sí, mamá.”

She hums like she doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t press the issue, which is a relief, though it doesn’t last long; only until her next question, in fact.

“And TK?” she asks, craning her neck as though TK might be hiding behind Carlos.

Carlos swallows and drops his gaze. “Working,” he says, which might be true for all he knows. Or maybe he’s out with the gang, or maybe he’s not in Austin at all. Or…

But it’s none of his business.

If his mother notices anything amiss, she doesn’t comment on it; she just pats his arm and says, “You tell that boy he works too much.”

And then, “We miss him, you know.”

It’s this that stops him so firmly in his tracks, that makes the ache he’s tried so hard to squash flare and consume his entire body. His mother’s words, We miss him, you know, cut him down to the bone, because they remind him of just how much more than TK he lost that day. He lost his family too, this relationship with them that he was just starting to get back.

Carlos wishes, briefly, viciously, without really meaning it, that he’d never met TK at all.

“Carlitos?” His mother is looking back at him, frowning, and she comes closer to cup his cheek, searching his face for answers. “¿Qué te pasa?”

For a moment, the truth begs to be told; he even opens his mouth to let it pass. But the words stick in his throat, sour and sharp, so Carlos swallows them down again and smiles, taking his mother’s arm. “No te preocupes, mamá,” he says. “Estoy bien.”

*

Dinner is loud and Carlos is grateful to be able to slip away to the kitchen, with the excuse of doing the dishes, once it’s over. He loves his family, but being around that table, squashed between his sisters and their husbands, had reminded him just how lonely he is now. Just how lonely he hadn’t been.

But this kitchen… He grew up here, practically; he knows every notch and stain on the counter intimately, and he should be able to find some peace here.

Would be able to, if only his ears weren’t burning with the way his uncles and cousins are talking about him in the front room, not bothering to check their volume as though they’ve forgotten that he speaks Spanish too.

“¡Qué cara tan patética tuvo Carlitos!” That’s his cousin Daniel, halfway to passing out in the barn already, judging by the slur to his voice.

“Por favor, está siempre así, con un palo en el culo.” Tío José, probably sucking on a cigarette despite Tía Lucy’s insistence on not smoking indoors.

“Ya saben lo que necesita él,” Daniel says. He pauses for effect, or to drain yet another beer; Carlos neither knows or cares. “Una buena chica pa’ mamarle la pija.”

Daniel roars with laughter and Carlos clenches his jaw, scrubbing harder at the pan in his hands. The rest of the group are noticeably silent, and he can almost feel the way they’re looking at the door to make sure he isn’t going to walk in at any moment. It’s almost tempting.

The laughter dies down abruptly.

“Oye, ¿Para qué fue eso, cabrón?” Daniel says, sounding somewhat more sober now.

“Carlos es gay, pendejo,” Carolina, Daniel’s sister, puts in. “Y ya tiene novio. ¿Recuerdas el gringo?”

“¡No manches! ¿¿¿En serio???” A pause, then, “Bueno, no es de extrañar que le guste tanto ese palo.”

More laughter, this time all of them joining in, and Carlos feels the rage threatening to boil over. He yanks the pan out of the water and slams it on the draining board, then sweeps all the cutlery into the sink in one. The eyes of the room are well and truly on him now and his cheeks burn with shame as he scrubs and scrubs and–

“¡Mierda!”

The dishwater turns dark as Carlos holds his hand over it, blood dripping from the gaping wound across his palm. It stings and he knows he should deal with it before the bleeding gets too bad, but he’s stuck there, pinned down under the weight of his family’s gazes, his heartbeat rushing in his ears as his blood drips, drips, drips.

Then hands are on his shoulders, turning him around, wrapping a towel around his palm, and he’s looking into his mother’s eyes, and he can’t do it anymore.

She sits him down away from everyone and quietly bandages his wound, not saying a word as he cries like he’s a child again, suffering from a scraped knee after playing with his cousins.

“Mamá, I…”

And there it is again, the truth, waiting for him to say he left me, I screwed it all up, I’m so sorry.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

“Thank you.”

She smiles at him, reaches out to stroke his hair. “Always.”

[soopersara]

Union

Zutara Week 2023: Day 3

Read it on AO3 | @zutaraweek

Everyone seems to know that Zuko and Katara plan to get married someday. The only question left is when they'll finally get around to it.

For what feels like the dozenth time in a row, Zuko checks his own pocket. In his thick polar leopard fur parka, even a set of solid gold hair beads and combs is small enough, light enough to feel insubstantial. Still, he is aware of its presence. Almost too aware of it at times.

“I’m surprised the two of you haven’t gotten this all settled before now.” There is a familiar look in Hakoda’s eyes, the same one that Uncle gives him every time the subject of marriage comes up. A look of curiosity and impatience that usually comes just before another casual inquiry about when Zuko plans to marry Katara. But Hakoda isn’t quite as pushy as Uncle. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d decided to elope before you made it back to the South Pole.”

Zuko offers a sheepish shrug. “Apparently that’s not the proper way to do things. I’ve thought about it every day for months now, and I doubt Katara would have minded, but I don’t need to make her life any more difficult by proposing the wrong way.”

“And what about my life?” Kanna thumps her walking stick against the floor. “I’m not getting any younger here. If you two don’t hurry up, I’ll never get to meet my great-grandchildren.”

Hakoda frowns. “Mother.”

“It’s a fact of life, dear. We can’t all be King Bumi and live as many centuries as we please.”

“I’m going to ask her,” Zuko says. “Before we go north again, I swear.” His pulse quickens at the sound of his own admission, and he checks his pocket for reassurance. The engagement gift itself is as close to perfect as he can ever hope, but he’s less sure about his ability to actually propose. “I’m not sure about kids yet, but you’ll at least know if she wants to marry me before we leave.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that part.” Kanna waves a knobby hand at him. “I’ve known my granddaughter long enough to know the look she gets in her eyes when she’s made up her mind. She’s decided what she’s going to say. And frankly, I don’t think she would have dragged you all the way down here if it was no.”

Though Zuko’s heart still races, he manages a smile before Katara bursts into the house, cheeks flushed with cold, and hair glistening with ice crystals at its tips.

“There you are,” Kanna says. “We were just talking about you, weren’t we, boys?”

Zuko feels his face flush, and Katara looks from him to Kanna and back again. “Well, that’s always reassuring. Thanks, Gran-Gran.” Before there can be any further response, Katara grabs his hand and pulls back toward the door again. “I think we’re going to leave before you fill my boyfriend’s head with any more embarrassing stories.”

He makes no effort to resist, and before he knows it, Katara has led him out into the snow and halfway down the street toward the burgeoning waterbending academy.

“So how bad is it?” she asks, looping her mittened hands around his arm. “Did they tell you about the time when I froze all my dad’s underwear to the side of the council hut because he wouldn’t let me keep an otter penguin in our tent?”

His eyebrow creeps ever so slightly upward. “You did?”

“Okay, I’m going to take that as a no, and also as a sign that I need to stop giving away my secrets.” Still walking, she buries her face in his arm. “Stop me the next time I try to embarrass myself, okay?”

A snort bursts out of him. “I would, but I know for a fact that Uncle tells you so much worse about me every chance he gets. Even Sokka is too busy to tell me any embarrassing stories about you most of the time.”

“I’d really like to keep it that way.” They make it only a step or two farther before her mood seems to lighten again, and she pulls just far enough back to steer him around a corner. “Maybe you can come with me to watch waterbending lessons tomorrow instead of spending the whole morning alone with Dad and Gran-Gran.”

He certainly isn’t opposed to the idea. Any excuse to spend more time with her is always welcome, even if all that entails is sitting quiet at the sidelines while Katara guides a group of noisy, energetic children through their waterbending forms.

He agrees, and as Katara leads him past the bending academy, pointing out all the practice space and sparring areas, he checks his pocket one more time. The combs and beads still rest there, exactly where they should be, and Zuko lets out a long, slow breath. Two opposing impulses battle inside his chest—on the one hand, he’s been waiting to find the right moment, the perfect moment for weeks now. If she’s going to remember this for the rest of their lives, the least he can do is propose to her properly.

But on the other hand, his patience with himself is running thin, and the brilliant warmth of her enthusiasm strains his resolve to its breaking point. If he doesn’t ask her soon, he might well lose his mind.

So when their winding path takes them to the far side of the village, he can hardly bring himself to stop alongside her.

“Oh, spirits, we should probably go back before you freeze out here.”

“What?” Though his face tingles a bit when a breeze passes by, though he’s certain that his cheeks are crimson from the chill, he doesn’t feel cold. Not enough to turn back, at least. “No, I’m fine. It isn’t that cold.”

Katara raises an eyebrow.

“It isn’t,” he insists. “I was just—thinking.”

“About what?”

Under the intensity of her gaze, his mouth goes dry, and it takes all his will to keep from checking his pocket again. Instead, he nods toward the path leading out of the village. “I was thinking that there’s probably a great view from the hill over there. Especially around sunset.”

Her lips twitch into a crooked smile, and the grip on his hand tightens ever so slightly. “You do realize that the sun isn’t really going to set for a few more days, right? If you want to wait out there until sunset, you really will freeze.”

“In that case, I guess I can settle for half an hour. But I think you’re underestimating my ability to keep myself warm.”

“I could never. You’re the one who keeps my feet warm every night.” She bumps him lightly with her hip before starting up the path. “But you might be underestimating the South Pole’s wind.”

It’s all that Zuko can do to keep his composure as they make their way up the sloping path. But he waits, and when they reach the crest of the hill, Katara stretches before turning a brilliant smile back on him.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Freezing or not, this view is worth it.”

Though Zuko has trouble focusing on the landscape, he can’t help but agree with her. The afternoon sun paints shining bronze streaks through her hair, and her eyes shine as bright as he’s ever seen them before.

He grasps her hand before she can go any further. “Katara—I wanted to ask you something.” His heart sits in the back of his throat. Despite her family’s confidence, despite his own suspicion that Katara will say yes, he can’t seem to push the worry away.

“Oh?” She looks up, and her gaze pierces him.

Silently, he thanks the spirits that it’s cold enough to keep his mittens on so that Katara won’t know how much his palms are sweating. He fumbles in his pocket until at last his fingers close around the little box of combs and beads. “Being with you has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Every day that we’re together, you mean more to me, and now—” He succeeds in extracting the box from his pocket and fumbles to turn it right side up.

Before he can finish, Katara lets out a squeak of surprised excitement and claps her hands to her mouth. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

Zuko blinks, and a surprising amount of tension leaves his chest and shoulders all at once. “You—you realize I haven’t finished the question yet. Right?”

“Oh! Right, I knew that.” She makes an apparent effort at bringing her expression back under control, then motions for him to continue. “Go on.”

Despite his best effort at solemnity, a smile breaks across his face. “I’m not sure I can remember what I wanted to say anymore. I swear I had this all planned out yesterday.” Looking down, he clears his throat and slides open the richly engraved lid so that she can see the beads and the combs lying in neat rows inside their case. “But I love you, Katara. And even if I can’t remember the right words, I would be honored if you would marry me.”

This time, Katara isn’t content to merely smile at him. This time, she springs forward and throws her arms around his neck. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Zuko laughs, and as his arms close tight around her waist, the world seems to slow.

Right now, with Katara in his arms and the future opening up around them, all the urgency in the world is gone.

[pretzelcoatll]

First day of @torque-witch #witchtober2024 has completed. My prompt is a little late as I got busy last night but I will be trying to do a short story for each, which I will put under a read more.

So without further ado

Day 1: Witch of The Woods

She knew this day would come. She’d prepared for it for a decade. Ensuring she had the spell correctly crafted and mastered before the fateful moment that would change a young girl's life forever.

Every fairy tale came to this point. A nasty witch living in the woods all alone. Casting spells and brewing tinctures from the land she tended, with the help of the Green Mother. Only those foolish enough, or desperate enough, for however different those two were, would ever visit her. They would wander down the ner traveled path that they had been told by their Nona’s or Grans to avoid at all costs. Get lost in the woods for what seems like days, and just when all hope is lost; when they are at the end of their rope and are close to giving up, there it stands.

A cobble and wood “hut” standing almost picturesque in the middle of the forest. Except they know, this magical abode housed a sinister being. They’ve been told so since they were old enough to understand good and evil. So why would they choose to travel to such a place? Maybe they were wrong to come here. Maybe their life wasn’t as messed up and fallen to pieces. It was all in their head. And if they headed back now they could continue with their life as they always had. Regretting knowing they could have changed it, for better or for worse, and not knowing which would truly be better.

And just as they gain the confidence to go back to whatever cruel and disastrous life they left on the other side of the woods, something calls out to them. A tug, on their soul, telling them to step closer to the house. One foot. And then the other. Raise your arm. And. Knock.

She’d gotten used to the routine. Though it didn’t happen too often. In fact she looked forward to the company. The human company that is. A life alone in the woods can tend to make the mind go a little mad. She’d even decided early on she would ease every soul that came to her. Greet them with a smile, initiate as much small talk as possible. Sometimes she would even learn the things that were going on in the old city she once called her home. Although much of the news she already knew.

Her visitors however always seemed keen on leaving as quickly as they came. So she tried to make it as painless as possible. Hear out their needs, Love affairs, ill children, lost jobs. It was always the same. She would cast a spell, or conjure a charm or two and on their way back through they would rush. She would watch every time staring down through the densely packed woods.

Today; however, was different. She knew this day was coming as if it had been divined. She had been waiting for this specific visitor for 10 years. And when the four small knocks resounded through her home she felt a wave of relief marinated in the bitter-sweet anguish that was a decade of perfecting a witches craft work just for Her.

She exhaled slowly, this was the first time she’d ever gotten cold feet on this side of the door. But like the tug on the souls of those who approached her home, she too felt a pull to answer. And so she did. Hands steady and posture welcoming she opened her gnarled wooden door looking into the face of a young girl, no older than 16. The witch knew her face well.

The girl attempted to speak, only able to get out a few soft spoken stammers and half words.

“Worry not my child,” the witch assured her. “I know why you have come.”

“You do?” the girl replied with wonder in her eyes. She’d heard the stories of witches, with their divinations, and the powers of the dark.

“Of course. Please come in and have a seat. We have terms to discuss.” The witch led the girl to a comfortable chair upholstered with old scraps of fabrics, all mish-mashed in flowers and stars of various colors. The girl sat with nerves apparent, but showing no signs of fear. After all she had been through, she didn’t think she could fear ever again.

The witch set a pot to boil before taking a seat of her own in front of the girl and began. “Your life has been. Well, some would call it interesting. Mishaps and unfortunate events from a young age. The loss of the lives of those around you. Disasters in homes you set foot in,” The girl looked away at this claim. “Worry not, my home is protected. Shadows watch you, and no one will so much as speak to you any more. Is all of this correct?” The girl nodded her head. “You have just recently discovered that your Uncle, the Duke, through trickery and loopholes, sold your soul at infancy for a deal with the devil, a deal that took the life of your parents. And now that he is about to secure control of the entire town, he chose not to care for you knowing you are no longer a necessity and cast you off into the woods to die.”

The girl’s eyes were wide. How did a stranger know so much about her life? She wanted to respond, and affirm all these claims. To plead with the witch to show her how to be cured of her curse, who she should be. How to get back at the man who ruined her life. But as she took a breath to begin her pleading she felt her head spin. The room filled with a pleasant herbal scent, the girl slumped back into her chair.

“Worry not. I will grant you everything you need to protect yourself from the malice of the devil himself. You will learn the crafts of a witch and how to help those in need instead of hurting them. And you will get your revenge on that man,” The witch looked at the girl with compassion and understanding before letting out under her breath “sooner than you would imagine.”

“Now do not fight the urge to sleep. When you wake, your training will begin. I am sorry I cannot stay with you, and thus you will wake alone. But you will find everything you need to begin learning in this house. When the time is right you will figure out the most important spell you will ever learn. Master it as if your life depended on it, and in ten years, another will approach you for help. Do your best, I know you will be brilliant.” A tear began to form in the witch's eyes.

As the young girl’s eyes faded into slumber she finally let out the words she needed the most. “How do you know?”

The witch of the woods smiled at her lovingly. “Because. I was you.” and at that the girl was asleep.

The witch let out a soft sign, stood up and placed a blanket over the girl, etched with sigils and laced with all manner of herb and vine. She performed a short enchantment before stepping away grabbing a large tome and her cloak. She swiftly exited her home, and as she shut it she whispered “I’ll be back, I have something I need to attend to. Watch over her journey,” and began her trek back into the woods.

[sophie1973]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged over the past week by @taste-thewaste, @stellarm and @onthewaytosomewhere

Have a little flashback ( a second one) from my WIP "Bloodstream" with Philip's pov this time. (I decided to make Philip a good brother in this story because, well, this is my fic and I do what I want. But consequently he might sound a bit OOC for some)

Snippet and tags under the cut

“Am I being clear, Henry?” “Perfectly clear, Gran,” Henry replies, a blank look on his face.   “I hope so. I would hate to have to take matters into my own hands.”  The threat is limpid, and with one last warning look, she leaves the room, leaving the 3 of them in various state of shock and confusion.

“Fuck,” Philip mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose and ignoring the surprised looks his siblings throw at him. It’s true he doesn’t swear often, and certainly not in front of them, but the situation at hand seems to require it. “She certainly did not seem happy to know about Mom and Dad’s involvement with Percy,” Bea says, her voice trembling slightly and her complexion paler than usual. “I should have kept my mouth shut, but I honestly thought she knew. Which, in retrospect, is a bit daft on my part,” Philip sighs. “It’s alright, Pip. You were trying to defend me. Besides, it’s not like they hid anything. It’s only because I spent time with him that she took notice, and we all know why,” Henry chimes in, his face now closed and somber.  Bea takes his hand and squeezes it. “I’m not sure what offends her the most: that you would shag a man, that he is black, or that he is a vampire.” “Bea,” Philip chastises her half-heartedly, but when he hears Henry’s soft laugh, he lets out one too. “Probably all three of them.” “So, I don’t want to sound alarmist, but I still think we should warn Percy. Just to be on the safe side.” Beatrice’s eyes widen. “You think she could….? I know Percy is not a peerage member, but he is still a prominent name in society. His…disappearance would definitely causes some stir.”  “It pains me to say this, but yes. I think she could. And she will. Again, I don’t want to anticipate negatively,” he presses, seeing Henry’s ashen face. “But it’s Gran.” “I suppose we should be more cautious for a while. Percy talked about expanding the shelters to America, maybe it might be the right time. Like you, I really don’t trust Gran to stay idle even if we don’t see each other anymore,” Henry says softly, obviously upset at the idea of having to send his best mate away. Philip knows he’s blaming himself for the predicament in which he put Percy, even involuntarily. “It’s just a precaution, I’m sure all will be fine,” Philip says in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, even though he doesn’t believe one word of what he just said. He sees Henry’s and Bea’s shoulders relax a little, so he feels a little better about lying to them.   Philip has always trusted his instincts, and the fact that he has been so catastrophically right about them will haunt him for the rest of his days. Two weeks later, Arthur Fox is found dead in an alley behind Drury Lane, allegedly the victim of a random mugging. Six weeks later, with the help of Percy, who made arrangements from across the pond, Philip puts his siblings on a ship to America, wishing desperately it won’t be the last he will see of them.

No pressure tag for

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @theprinceandagcd @inexplicablymine

@piratefalls @underthefigtree777 @happiness-of-the-pursuit

@ash-morrison @itsmaybitheway @tintagel-or-cockleshells @fckngyrs @blueeyedgrlwrites

@kj-bee @yrsacdfox @tailsbeth-writes @firenati0n

[shadowkat678]

For someone who’s talked so much about the value of hope, I don’t think I’ve been doing much to show that I believe it. Saying, maybe, but not doing. Not really.

I wish I could claim that it’s just been a hard time lately, but that’d be downplaying the length of it. Two years ago I wrote an essay on the concept of Hopepunk by Alexandria Rowland. I wrote that I’d been clinging to the concept like a life raft, but I’m not sure if that’s true. Clinging is active. Drifting might be more apt. Passively draped around it while screaming at others to hold on. I didn’t have the energy myself.

My family likes to tell the story about how I learned to swim, in Florida at my great grandmother’s pool. I was four years old. Stubborn even then, they’d say. Smug, even.

We had a rule like responsible families do that kids had to wear water wings, but I’d been wearing them. The whole trip I’d been wearing them, and I was doing fine. In fact, they were slowing me down. So, I decided I was going to show off, called out for my great gran and mom to watch, tore off the wings, and ran straight for the deep end of the pool.

I don’t remember much after, but I remember somehow making it to the other side of the pool, my mother worried and scolding me as she pulled me out, and my great grandma laughing. The story always ends with my mother mimicking me, saying, “I told you I could” like the smart mouthed child I was. But I also remember the fear before that. The flashes of my head bobbing below the water. Of the glass roof surrounding the pool room above as I tried to orient myself.

Two years ago, after just learning to drive and never living away from family, I moved all the way across the country. My car broke down halfway. The engine was overheating. I tried to keep driving. I’m lucky I made it into the autozone just as it gave out.

My whole life has been me jumping into the deep end, getting out, catching my breath, and doing it again, pushing myself to keep going, with or without the support. But through the last year the weight has increased. The water is deeper now, and the shore is a lot farther away. I’m not sure who’s running to the other side to try and grab me.

When the news broke, I felt like I was finally drowning. On election night (or very early morning, by the time I checked the results) I didn’t sleep, I was too busy crying. The second day I spent sleeping. The third day, I turned to music, old songs made years earlier and still far too relevant. Protest songs. Punk music. Lyrics that screamed the same anger and sadness and loss I felt. The rage at a system that is still continuously failing us and leaving us to tread water.

I didn't know why this hit me harder. Not that other instances had been exactly easy, of course. Then I read a post that someone else wrote.

They'd been used to being angry. Being tired. Being disappointed. But they weren't used to hoping. They let themselves hope. And they watched it implode.

I think one of the reasons I've been so fixated on the idea of hope is because honestly, as much as I like to pretend, I haven't actually had a lot of it.

I knew there was a chance of loss. I knew there were still plenty who supported the policies of Trump, or at the very least overlooked them in the hopes of gaining safety to float away from their own fears and concerns. But the magnitude of it still caught me off guard. The emboldening of those who resonate with him, even if a smaller subsect of the total numbers, frankly scares the shit out of me.

I had hoped that after one term we'd learned. I hoped that while things weren't perfect, the match of progress was going steadily forward, even with backsliding. I hoped that people had become more aware the past few years, even with hatred very much alive and well. Even with genocide. Even with natural disasters. Even with everything else. I hoped that maybe, just maybe, there were enough people that saw now to at least choose someone who'd mitigate the damage of the situation our world is facing, as much as there still is to fight for.

And I watched my hope implode. I watched the country vote across the board for people who have been nothing but loudly vocal about their intentions and hatred. More even than the first go. After we already have been seeing a mass movement to repeal civil rights and protection for minorities and vulnerable populations.

I watched it happen in a way that could not be brushed aside as a near miss. It was a landslide.

I wanted to sink. I felt so tired at that moment. Of fighting. Of hoping. Of seeing the support I’d finally relented into admitting I needed so badly being ripped away from me. Why should I keep swimming if it only ends with me drowning again? Not that this is exactly new for most minorities, but it felt like things were changing. People were waking up. Before it just was. This was a slap in the face.

And yet. And yet.

I started moving anyway. After three or so days, the panic receded, and I started treading water again.

I went to the grocery store. I got hugged by a stranger while I was checking out groceries, and we shared our fears. She told me about her kids. I told her about how I was hoping to start T this year. I cried again in the middle of the check out line.

I went on a walk at 3am and kicked a Trump sign. I didn’t watch the sunset, but I did watch the sunrise. I checked in with friends. I sat with myself. I cried again. I screamed in my car, the same one that has been sitting for three months waiting for a repair that no one in town but the manufacturer can fix an issue with, that’s been booked for one and a half of those months after I dropped 2k on other car issues before that.

I accepted that in no way, shape, or form am I remotely fucking okay. The world is not okay. Genocide. Natural disasters. Climate change. Emerging facism. Those aren’t things you can be okay with if you’re paying attention.

I have no idea what’s going to greet me as I head towards shore. I don’t know exactly what lurks under the water. I don’t even know if there’s going to be a shore to reach.

Part of me feels like raging against that is just a way to cope. But we only have the options in front of us, no matter how tired we are, and despite all these feelings. Despite it all. I’m still swimming, for some fucking reason.

Maybe it’s instinct at this point. That same stubbornness I had as a child pushing back against the waves crashing down around me.

Maybe I just don't want them to get the satisfaction of winning here too.

Feel the feelings. Acknowledge the situation. But FUCK them if they think this is over. If I stop swimming, it will be. At least for me. And I can't let myself accept that.

So I'm going to keep going the same way I always have. Because I can't turn back on what's happened. I can't change it. I can't make the storm in front of me disappear. But I can live through it. I can show up on the other side. I can build another support to help me on the days I'm tired, and I can try my best to build a raft big enough to pull others onto with me.

They can vote away our rights. They can try their best to intimidate us. But they can't make us lay down for it. Be afraid. Be sad. Be angry. But they don't get to drown us. Fuck that.

I've been clinging to hope like a life raft, but hope is motion. Hope is a muscle you train. Hope isn't thrown to you. It's taken and built with bloody, stubborn hands.

Sometimes hope is a burden, not a gift. Sometimes you don't want it. I don't want to fight. I want rest. I want peace. I want safety. But that isn't handed to me either, even if it's unfair.

It's not something you can take and hold and keep. You have to build it up, consciously and constantly. You can share it, but you can't promise it's going to stay without maintenance.

When it's taken, you have to find it again, and you have to accept it's going to hurt every time.

You have to be ready to open yourself to what that means. To hope is to face disappointment, again and again and again, and decide to keep after it anyway, because the only other choice isn't any better.

Sometimes it's more sadness than rage. A quiet voice of longing for what you wish could be, and the knowledge that if no one else is going to make it so, you have a choice if you accept it or try and make the change you long for, even if it's smaller than you'd like, because it's better than nothing. A small act of resisting when your arms feel like lead and you're hardly able to keep your head above the water line.

Self destruction is what they want. Hope is turning the page, even if what comes next is scary, again hoping that eventually a new chapter can be written. It's pushing the boulder up the hill. It's going out in public despite the best efforts to shut you away. It's spite. It's love. It's anger. It's continuing to live despite all efforts to make you choose to the contrary.

And that's how change works too.

Uninteresting times are a myth. The world is always chaos. People are always having to fight for things that in a just world would already exist. This fight, these feelings, aren't new.

Here in the USA where I am, only a few decades ago women couldn't own their own bank account. In my grandmother's lifetime Jim Crow was still in effect. Same sex couples have only been decriminalized since 2003, and still are fighting for that much throughout other parts of the world.

If those who came before us facing injustice gave into these feelings at every setback, we wouldn't be far enough along to feel these losses.

Does that make it sting less? No! It doesn't! But it's still important to remember. It's proof. Hope is not pointless, as much as it hurts. To continue moving forward you have to go through the rough waters.

We're in the storm together now, and there's only one direction we can go to get out. Feel your feelings and please. Keep moving. I love you. I see you. I'm so sorry. But one day the waters will be calmer. Keep allowing yourself to hope. If you struggle to do so alone, let this help to start, when you're ready.

[slutforsfender]

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

The date I had been dreading came around sooner than I had wished. November 6th. My mum's birthday, one of the reasons I decided to come home for the month. Me and my grandparents always connected with each other in some way on this day and today we are letting a balloon go, small I know but it's a nice thing.

However, this date meant another date was yet to come. Twelve years since we broke up on November 11th. But for now I put that date to one side in my brain far away, today was about my mum.

I was in the front room, watching some classic British TV with my grandparents while we reminisced over her. Memories bouncing off all our heads, laughter echoing over the sad atmosphere.

Me and my grandparents struggled while I was teenager, a lot happened between us but now as twenty-eight year old they were my best friends. The day I told them about London, there were a lot of tears but they understood and wanted me to do what I needed. They didn't need me to say the words for them to know, I couldn't stay in North Shields near him anymore.

"You okay darling?" Granny asks as I begin to zone out.

"Yeah, just thinking that I want to write a letter with my balloon for mum, might go do it now" I said, placing my mug down and kissing both of their cheeks.

I ran upstairs towards my childhood room, thinking over the idea I had. I had never done this before, I wrote letters for her all the time as a teenager now in songs but never attached them to anything.

I placed a record on the record player in the corner of my room before grabbing my cigarettes, a lighter, a notebook and a pen before sitting on my windowsill like usual with my legs against a chair. I lit the cigarette in my hand and as I opened the pen and book.

Mum,

I haven't written to you in a while, well not since I was a teenager. In fact it was when I was going through the infamous breakup. I know you are watching so I don't need to catch you up on all that. I'm a different person to the teenager I was and I know you know that but are you proud of her?

I always wondered what you would have said if you were here when I ran to London and didn't come back til now. I have a feeling, you wouldn't have let me. Probably would have said something about him not determining the rest of my life and what I do that I should do it for me.

I used to imagine what you two meeting would have been like. Now I imagine you giving him the evils in the corner shop over the milk or pouring a drink over him in the Lowlights, purposely talking loud about me down in London doing music just to get in his head.

Gran tells me I get all my things like that from you. Even my bravery but I don't think I do. When dad left, you didn't run instead you kept me and we even lived in the same house for the first eight years of my life even when uncle passed you were strong for me. Guess your way of running to London was your alcoholism. I don't blame you, the boys like that truly fuck you up.

Sam was my version of dad in a way. He still calls me Rose mum because of you. I'm rambling because I'm wishing this was us over a coffee.

I miss you like no other mum, if there's anybody I have needed since that happened when we were sixteen it's you. I always look up to you before a show or a certain song. I cover p!nk all the time for you (a little for me), I do every day to make you proud and for us. My life is ours forever. Your dreams are mine. I will always be your little girl and the signs you leave will forever impact my heart because mum you were special to me. My inspiration for every day.

I love you forever from the moon and back - Arabella x

I wiped away a few stray tears and tossed a cigarette from my hand. I folded up the letter neatly before attaching it with a ribbon to the balloon in the corner of my room.

I grabbed my phone from nearby before pressing the ring button on Phoebe's contact.

"Hiya bella, how are you holding up today" Phoebe asks through the phone as she clicks on the kettle.

"Aye i'm doing okay, I'm still struggling being home and today is just bringing everything up especially with next week yanno" I admit, falling backwards on my bed.

"She'd be proud and you know it. You're a little her, not just the looks but the personality too pet" She soothes.

"Can you remember when she'd pick us up from primary singing Umberella by Rihanna with your mum? We'd both laugh out in embarrassment, running to them for them to stop in front of the other bairns" I laugh as I recall the memory.

"Aye, you two would go red as tomatoes but we knew you'd love it. Your mum always used to remind me of it when we got to the gate" Phoebe's mum spoke from the background of her childhood house.

I let a sweet smile come to rest on my face as I got a few messages ding all at once.

"Popular. Anyone special?" She asked, stirring the tea.

"No one that special, I better go do this balloon and other things. I'll text you later, love you" I say quickly, putting the phone down as she said it back.

I only checked one of the messages, the other being instagram which could wait til later. It was a message from my cousin who was like my brother.

Levi: Missing you loads today Arabella. The bairns are missing their Aunty Bella and Lily's missing her sister in law. You can ring me anytime, you know that. My little sister, forever being protected by me. Love you and so would she x

I smile at the message and send a love you back. I grabbed the balloon from the corner, running downstairs to meet my grandparents in the back garden like we had decided.

"Ready pet?" My grandad asked from behind me.

"As ever grump" I reply, letting the balloon go from my tight grasp as the grasp falls to my jumper sleeve.

We all love you with a few tears, sharing hugs with each other for a while before going inside for some wine and music with each other like usual.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

I was scrolling through my phone and of course I had recognised the date but I knew better than to think about it. I didn't want a flashback today to the day we spent this day together. The guilt would be too intense and it wasn't fair to Arabella.

It was no longer my business but then her post came up and I couldn't not do my following actions. She was in my heart no matter what.

Before I could even register what I was doing, i clicked on the message button on her account and sent her a message. It was automatic in my brain. 

Sam: I know we aren't on the best terms but she loves you. She's looking down with immense proud as her daughter smashes the music industry and conquers London. You are doing incredible Rose and she knows it x

----

omg is that me posting a long chapter for the first time in ages? yes it is as a future apology for the lack of posts over my gcse period. love you all and enjoy x

[wildechild17]

Mag 7 wip

something I'm working on as a side project for NaNo, decided I'd share a little (not really) excerpt here, just because i could

Sam Chisolm wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but as he stood in the sparsely decorated apartment in London, it wasn’t… this.

It was, in fact, sparse. There was a small kitchen, a couch with a pullout that looked slept in, a bathroom, and a tiny closet. It was by no means a luxury place, but it was just one level above being condemned, if you asked Sam.

The man’s heart broke a little as he took it in. There was no sign of the occupant he was looking for, not that he knew who he was looking for—his boss had simply given him this address and said the person who lived here would be a good addition to the team if Sam could convince them.

Given the fact of who the rest of the team was made up of, Sam had two guesses as to whose place he was standing in. Past experiences told him one was more likely than the other.

Something caught his eye, a leatherbound book sitting among the blankets on the pullout. Curious, Sam wandered over, reaching for the book. He flipped through it, noting it was some mix between a journal and a scrapbook. The first entry dated back to just over eleven years ago, and Sam couldn’t help but read.

9-29-12

I’ve always known my family had powers… how could I not, when mom uses hers to heal those in our family, and when both she and gran have told me about other members of our… bloodline? Apparently, the blood is important… and their abilities.

I just assumed, like everyone before me, that it skipped generations… Instead, I woke up this morning with my own abilities. Powers… magic? I like the idea of calling it magic. Who knows, I may have them sooner and didn’t realize it… Skipper had died during the night, and when mom and Aunt Elenore asked who I was greeting this morning because to them it was empty air… I told them Skip, and I was then informed he’d passed in his sleep, so how could I be seeing him?

One quick test later, my mom declared that a) I had magic, and b) it could be classified as necromancy. That’s… a terrifying, truthfully, prospect, but… I can handle it. I hope.

At least it’s the weekend before fall break, so mom can help me figure out how to start managing it. I’m in senior year, so it’s not like I’ll have to hide it from the others as school for long. If I go to college, I can get by with strictly online classes, I think.

Mom suggested I use a journal to track my progress, but I’ve never been the best at keeping records, even school wise. Hopefully with something to keep track of, that’ll change.

I’ll make another entry when something of importance happens, I guess.

10-10-12   10-9-12/10-10-12

What the fuck is my life, truly?

With the influx of my powers, came something else… my memories. I guess necromancy and reincarnation can go hand in hand, because this isn’t the first time I’ve lived. I started having dreams and flashbacks during break, of an older version of myself set back in the Wild West. I thought it was just some weird dream/fantasy thing since… well, since I’m sort of obsessed with that era, anyways, but… no. It all came rushing back to me, today, during fifth period, which is my study block this year.

We got a new student… which, in a small town like Salem, is kind of a cause for chatter, and I wasn’t really paying attention until the guy sat next to me. When I finally looked at him…

Son of a bitch… it’s Vasquez. It all came back to me—Sam Chisolm, Rose Creek, Bart Bogue…

I’m… sort of embarrassed to say that I had a total breakdown right then and there. Mom actually had to come and pick me up early, it was so bad. It’s super late (early?), right now, almost three in the morning, and I’ve been catatonic all afternoon, according to her. So, I guess all these events really happened yesterday?

I’m getting distracted… I told her what had happened, what’s been happening, and she… didn’t seem totally surprised. Fact is, she’s the one who gave me the idea that my reincarnation ties in with my powers. Something about death being involved, which… makes sense, in a weird way.

Mom offered to keep me out of school for the rest of the week, so I can recover, but… I don’t want to do that. Maybe a day or two, but not a week. I want to talk to Vas so I can Vasquez, so I can sort of explain things to him. Hopefully, it’ll go well…

10-13-12 Update: It… I didn’t explain the powers thing to him. I didn’t want to freak him out, but I did tell him why I had my breakdown on Monday. He understood, because when his memories came back to him, he was a wreck for a while too.

He came over for the afternoon, and mom and Aunt Elenore absolutely fell in love with him. Bastard put on the damn charm. We didn’t get any schoolwork done, not like we really planned to, but we did catch up on things. What’s been going on in our modern lives, and he told me a little about what happened after I died in Rose Creek… His family travels a lot in this life, for his dad’s work. He’s got two siblings, an older sister and younger brother. I couldn’t resist and had to make a crack about his ‘three Maria’s’… he asked where mine was.

… I told him Maria died when we were kids. He sobered up pretty quick… guess he could tell it was a sore subject.

Anyways… my magic practice is progressing well. Right now, I can just see spirits, which is weird because they look like just regular people—for the most part. I’ve seen a few grisly sights, but I’m learning how to pick their energies apart from the living, so I don’t make a fool of myself in public.

Oddly enough, Vasquez has a couple ghosts hanging around him…

Sam flipped through the journal, heart twisting in his chest as he noticed a few entries more prominent than others. One, over Christmas break, detailing why Vasquez had ghosts—his father was a hunter of the supernatural, and the revelation apparently caused a rift between the two boys before Vasquez’s father himself had put things to right. He’d put the hunting behind him and was trying to settle down with his family… he could have never expected his son to befriend a witch—which, that had led to Joshua admitting about himself…

Prom. They stopped dancing around their feelings for each other and became official, and that entry made Sam smile, as well as the photos of that night that accompanied the entry. They did make a handsome couple. That was where Vasquez’s writing started slipping in on a few pages, offering extra insight or his own commentary to whatever Joshua was writing.

Graduation. Maybe too quick to those who don’t know about… us, but Vasquez gave me a bloody promise ring tonight. (you’re not actually complaining, are you? Fuck you, I’m keeping it forever thought so) and detailing a rough plan of the future. Plans to stay in Salem long enough to get through college, before moving. Maybe they’d find where Rose Creek was, if it was somewhere they could move to, settle down there. Ideas about where the rest of their motley crew were…

College. Joshua went into Anthropology and the Occult (seriously, guero? Bite me, texican), and Vasquez Art and Architecture (you know there’s a joke about cliches in there somewhere, right? Don’t you dare). Joshua seemed to develop a minor side hobby (?) in helping people with their dead loved ones, the spirits who hadn’t crossed over because of unfinished business (Jennifer Love Hewitt, who?) When they’d both finished their studies… Joshua was the one who proposed.

There were photos of various moments, in those early years. High school included prom, graduation, senior trip, homecoming week. After high school showed moving into their first apartment together, as they worked through college, domestic moments, moments with their families, college graduation, of the proposal, and later, multiple photos from the wedding. Tickets to various date locations, movies, and festivals, were taped in as well. It seemed Joshua (and by some small extension, Vasquez) was eager to keep track of everything.

But just after their return from their honeymoon in August of twenty-fifteen, the entries stopped. The next one wasn’t dated until January of twenty-sixteen. Reading it, Sam felt his heart stop and blood run cold.

1-13-16 I’m sorry, Ale… I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t… couldn’t save you. If I was faster… maybe you’d still be here. Maybe I could have… God, I’m crazy for thinking it… brought you back. If you’d wanted it… if maybe I’d seen you… your spirit, at least, maybe one more time, to ask…

There are limitations to my abilities… I can bring people back from the dead, but only within a set time… I didn’t make it with you… And I’m so sorry.

You must have crossed over. That’s the only reason I can think of to not see your ghost… it’d be just like you, too… you wouldn’t have wanted me to see you like that. I know you wouldn’t have. I know, but… goddammit it still hurts, you son of a bitch. If I could have just said goodbye…

… you were gone too soon. And those bastards… they’ll pay. Eventually, they’ll pay.

I’m sorry.

I… did find where Rose Creek is. It’s still a small town but thriving in today’s age. I’ll… I’ll go there. For us… for you.

Maybe I’ll find some sort of peace there.

Silence, for a few months, before another entry was made.

5-23-16 God, what have I done? I didn’t… I wasn’t… I didn’t mean for that to happen… I didn’t know I could do that.

I need to get away. From everyone. Anyone that I can hurt…

I’m so sorry Vas…

After that, there were no more entries. Sam flipped through the remaining blank pages and found nothing. Frowning, Sam went back to the last entry, and wondered what the hell might have happened for it to exist.

Actually, he wondered what happened in those last two entries in general—one was obvious. The other… not so much. He’d have to ask Matthew to investigate the dates mentioned, give or take a day or two. Surely, there’d be some sort of record online, somewhere—

“How the fuck did you get in here?”

Sam startled, the book falling from his hands and back on to the bed. He whirled around, coming eye to eye with Joshua Faraday. The first thing the older man noticed was how tired the redhead looked, with bags beneath his eyes, and skin pale. He stood as though the weight of the world was laid on his shoulders, but it didn’t distract from the, frankly, intimidating glare he was fixing Sam with.

“I know I locked the door when I left,” Joshua continued, and then his gaze flicked down to the journal on the bed, and his anger grew. He stood straight, and Sam swore the room grew colder and darker as Joshua set a bag of possible groceries on the floor, “You went looking through my personal things?!”

“Now, hold on just a minute, son—” Sam began.

“I’m not your son,” Joshua hissed, and there was no doubt about it—Joshua was altering the space around them. His eyes were beginning to glow, a toxic green that caused the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck to rise, “What are you doing here, Chisolm?”

“I came to offer you a job,” Sam said, quickly, and Joshua drew up short. A brief look of bafflement crossed his features as he stared at the older man, “That is, if you want it.”

The redhead crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

“Explain,” he said, shortly, so Sam did.

He explained how he’d been tasked with bringing a crew together (yes, the rest of the Rose Creek bunch, for the most part…) and that while Joshua’s name hadn’t come up directly, Sam’s own bosses had suggested Joshua could be an integral part of the team. This team would be dealing with threats across the world, both natural and supernatural. Clearly, Joshua would be a good addition, if he wanted to join.

“But… I’m not pressing you to,” Sam said, quietly. He glanced down at the journal, then back to Joshua, “You’ve clearly been through a lot already.”

Joshua’s expression darkened, lips thinning, but he said nothing. Just stared at Sam with those eyes of his still glowing. But he was silent, and Sam took it for a good thing.

“… would you have come for me, if I hadn’t been brought up?” Joshua asked.

Sam blinked at the question, but answered nonetheless: “Eventually, yes. It wouldn’t have been fair not to include you and—” he faltered, only because Joshua pinned him with a venomous glare, “We want everyone we can get. We worked so well together, before.”

Silence, again, and Sam could tell Joshua was right on the edge of accepting the offer, he just needed one last push.

“Who killed him?” Sam asked, pitching his own voice low—after all, someone had mess with those he cared about. He was angry thinking about it; Joshua startled, so Sam asked again, “Who did it? We can go after the sons of bitches with you.”

Joshua’s jaw clenched.

“Hunters,” he ground out. “Ones who didn’t approve of his relationship with… with me. I don’t… I don’t have exact names, though.”

“Then come with me,” Sam offered, holding out his hand. “Together, we’ll help you figure out who did it, and we’ll see them get what they deserve.”

Joshua looked down at Sam’s extended hand, before he looked up at the man himself. The temperature returned to normal, and the shadows fell away. The glow in the witch’s eyes faded, but they still burned with anger and determination…

Joshua took Sam’s hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Chisolm.”

[psylockexs]

'You know more than you let on...'

Skye was just her middle name. In her younger days, she went by Elizabeth. Elizabeth Skye Goth. Daughter to Cassandra Andrea Goth, pride of the Goth blood line. Or what remained of it.

Centuries back, the Goths were a family that boasted some very powerful warlocks. They sported a range of abilities from simple telekinesis to advanced necromancy. The Goths rubbed elbows with many other notable superhumans like the Vatores and the Embers. However, under all that power and strength, they are just...humans....

Skye: So, would you like something to drink or...?

Nyon: nods in appreciation No thank you. But I must admit, it's nice to see you and your daughter are not alike.

Skye: Heh. I get that a lot. Ramona, she...she's a tiger. Once she has her teeth in something, she won't let go...even if it's killing her...

Nyon: Mm. I hope, as her mother, you won't sit by while she tries to regain something that isn't for her to gain.

Skye: Any other day, I would have called the cops on you. But I would be a fool to deny that Ramona is in over her head.

Nyon: You know more than you let on. What is Ramona hoping to gain from this?

Skye: leans forward Revenge. When she was little, she loved stories about princesses, fairies, dragons. Anything mystical. I will admit, I made the mistake of telling her her grandmother was once a good witch. Even showed her old pictures.

Nyon: And how did you explain your line's fall from grace?

Skye: I would say her gran was tricked by bad people. Tricked by people that were jealous of her gifts.

Nyon: But in reality?

Skye: We were the ones who did the tricking. Ramona is obsessed with vices because it's how we fell from grace. Belladonna Goth got too caught up in her fame as a witch that she traded her identity for mere fame and fortune. Greed nods while thinking. All that power, and yet she fell to the most human emotion of all. Greed. More fame. How much higher could she go.

Nyon: So. You are able to rectify this situation. Are you going to help me do so?

Skye looked at Nyon with a nostalgic smile. He reminded her of her younger days when she discovered her magical heritage.

Skye: How old are you, young man?

Nyon: I'm 17 in two months.

Skye: You bear wisdom greater than your age. I'm monumentally glad you came around and quizzed me like you did. That means I won't have to carry this burden to the other side. You know I'm just a human. I don't have that fancy longevity we used to have. stands up and walks towards a box In fact, I remember when we lost our status.

Skye led Nyon to the TV stand, on which an ornate box stood. It was wooden with intricate carvings on it. Carvings of crows...

Nyon: This box...it's carved with crows.

Skye: Yes, it is. Ironically, it's a box that was given as a reminder of our failure. A woman with draping purple hair and snake-like eyes. I remember those gnarly hands. Those nails. Always had a crow at her side.

Nyon: Morrigan...

Skye: Is that what they call themselves? Seems fitting. Anyway, nods to the box You can take this box, and 20% of what I own will go towards your efforts. Ramona...Ramona isn't fit for this. Promise me you won't allow her to complete her goal.

Nyon: You have my word, Ms Goth. You may be human again, but that doesn't mean you're alone. Ok?

Skye: Thank you, young man.

Nyon took the box and bade farewell to Skye after ensuring she had something to drink herself. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was afraid no one would be able to aid her in saving her daughter, but now...now there was a flicker of hope.

While Nyon was seeking Skye's help, Morgyn woke up with a sore head. Too sore to be normal. He'd been waking up from nightmares all week, and he couldn't think why. Mikhail surely hadn't torn his wards down again; he'd have known if that was the reason. He hadn't eaten anything weird and such.

So what was going on?

'Good. You're finally awake, sunshine...'

[lustagel]

you make my heart race ⊹ archie! jann marden, gran turismo f! reader. black reader in mind but anyone can read. kissing. praise kink. riding. pussy eating. a little manhandling. he's mostly sweet throughout. ( don’t steal gif pls )

having jann as a boyfriend would be really nice. he's so sweet, incredibly attentive, a little shy but willing to have a good conversation, heartfelt and passionate.

before the two of you got together, he was a shy and a little nervous talking to you.

enjoys talking to you even though he thinks he embarrasses himself all the time because he struggles to keep eye contact and stutters over his words.

he definitely rambles on about his love for racing and adores if you listen and ask questions.

if you bring up something he told you in another conversation? he's literally cheesing... hard.

jumps up at any moment to get the opportunity to hang out w you.

really scared to tell you about his feelings for you so you definitely have to instigate the first move.

lean in halfway to meet his lips or lock your hand with his first, anything to get his heart racing and you closer together.

when you finally get together, he is probably just as passionate about being with you as he is about being a racer.

doesn't hangs out with anyone besides you and his friends.

he still rambles on about racing and how bad he wants to visit tokyo.

you sometimes tease him about loving it a little more than you, and he will deny, deny, deny.

with his mom being the only one that supports his love for racing, he adores woman.

believe in treating them right and communicating.

so with you also being a woman in his life that supports him, he thinks you deserve the best. he doesn't even think he deserves you a lot of the time.

he keeps a picture of you in every car he drives. no matter if he has to switch time after time he's bringing your picture with him.

kisses his fingers then puts them up to the sky to "kiss you 4 good luck" if you couldn't make it to his race.

likes to match with you. maybe the color of his shirt to a dress or something. just thinks it's cute.

the people around him think you're generally good for him.

his dad really likes you. believes, at first, you can get the love for racing out of his head but once you tell his parents about how you believe in him, let's say he doesn't like you as much. still approves of your relationship though.

his mom is in love with you. cares about you a lot. ask for you to come over for dinner, constantly ask jann if you're coming over. thinks you're good 4 him.

his friends are so polite to you. you're just really good friends with his friends.

"gotta go, girlfriend's here." "ya? say hey to her for me." "will do."

his friends call you his "wife". they know how much he likes you because of how much he runs his mouth about you.

when it comes to his racing career, he tries his best to make time for you.

you're very understanding about his time and the things he has to do to become good at what he loves so you never go crazy over not speaking to him.

thinks about you a lot once he gets off the track. scrolls through your instagram and your personal photos in his phone when he really starts missing you.

doesn't call a lot of the time because of how different your most likely in different time zones but will spend a text about how much he misses you.

after winning first place against the other gamers.

you're the first call he made. adored hearing your praise over the phone and how you wish you were there to really congratulate him.

after winning 4th place, he surprises you with tickets to see him.

the tickets were jacks idea, of course. he always sees the picture of you secured on his dashboard.

calls him "lover boy" just because of that fact too.

he doesn't hesitate to kiss you in front of the press after signing his contract.

"m' happy to see you." hands cupping the sides of your face, grinning down at you. you can't help but look back at him, eyes filled with admiration. camera's flashing around the two of you.

the two of you enjoy tokyo together. see sights, buys you a really pretty dresses and jewelry to see you in them and make memories.

takes you back to his sweet and really shows you how much he missed you.

when he wins the 24 hours of le mans, you're truly happy for him.

hugs everyone as confetti rans down and when he gets to you, he doesn't hesitate to kiss you and pick you up from the ground. the two of smiling into the kiss.

buys you ticket after ticket to come see him after that. wants you to be there even if he loses.

when you're getting down in bed, he's very sweet and cute about it.

likes to be verbal: moans, groans, everything, he does it.

whines when he cums.

when i say whine, i mean whine. he puts his head in the crook of your neck (out of embarrassment), hips flushed against yours to make sure he's deep inside.

doesn't get praised often so tell him he's doing a good job. loves it.

eats pussy like he's hungry all the time. sometimes he eats you before he races just so he can taste you on his tongue.

likes when you ride him no matter how fast or slow (he definitely prefers fast).

if you really like to ride him fast he can definitely take it from all the pressure he endures when he's driving. he's said it himself when you're riding him.

"too slow, baby. come on, do it faster. i can take it," he'll say breathlessly. he'll take ahold of your hips and start moving you faster. mouth falling open slightly at the feeling of you.

his hands are a little rough from the steering wheel and you always tell him how good they feel when he's fingering you and touching your sides.

making out. making out. making out. it's his thing. especially when he's missed you.

know he fucks you nice and right. you're always very satisfied.

[dapperdragon-ao3]

The river provided a serene note to the music of the wildlife. Our footsteps carried us rhythmically across the crystal-clear water and farther down the road, scuffing the dirt and startling rabbits out of their hiding places, and Finch grunted while he fought against his own forehead.

“The damn brrstr is annoying,” he huffed, both of his hands holding apparently nothing on either side of his face. “I’m not supposed to wear it for more than a few hours. You ask me, it’s not fair that it’s both bolted to my skull and irritating to wear--should either be able to take it off or it doesn’t give my forehead rugburn, not neither.”

“Is that the portal?” I asked. “The thing that sent you back in time?”

“It’s not-” he paused. “It’s more complicated than that, but you know I can’t explain it.” With an exasperated sigh, he dropped his arms. “Next I’ll get hand-cramps from holding the vpmytpaartd, as if I could bloody well put them down.”

“Sounds like you need to take your mind off of it. Let’s talk about something that we can both talk about.”

“I can tell you about your future, if you like.”

“No--something normal.”

Finch sighed. “My normal and yours are worlds apart, mate. I doubt I could say a single comprehensible word about it.”

“It can’t be that different. How much time lies between us?”

“An insurmountable number,” said Finch with certainty. “And it’s chiefly technology, you see—that’s round about the stuff I can’t talk about. The—ah—time stream doesn’t want you to know about vpzqiyrtd, innit? An invention like that would change the whole world fundamentally. Even if I could explain to you how to invent it.”

I tried again. “Even so, there must be something. Tell me about your family.”

“Alright, I can give it a shot. So--I live with my sister, Francie. We’ve inherited our gran’s place in the city and figured we could work out how not to fight for a few seconds a day if it comes with a free place to live. She works at a flower store, and she’s always coming home with poor little dying critters they can’t sell. She’s named them all, I cannae keep track of them. They get underfoot, you know, which is a feat and a half when it comes to plants. I had to clear out two square meter just for the space to qasudlutoz, moving pots around and the like. The fact I haven’t heard her come home is about as damning as the fact I haven’t trampled a single poor sod in roaming around here, even now I’ve gone back to using the kpudyovl. And that that’s not made me nauseated is a gift horse I’m not bringing to the frmyody anytime soon. What, do you not have frmyodyd here?”

Trying to bring the conversation back to his family, I asked, “I understand if you can’t be specific, but where do you-”

A wolf’s angry bark cut me off, producing a yelp from Finch; instinctively I whirled around and drew my sword. When the giant black canine lunged, teeth bared, I swung and caught it across the neck. Blood spilled across the ill-maintained cobblestones and the beast’s momentum threw it across my feet.

The thing hadn’t had a chance to touch me. Somehow, that made it more jarring than any of the other battles I’d been in recently.

“Oh, that’s good,” said Finch, in a higher register than before. “I apertrfyjrfoggoviayu--made the world easier on you, remember? I’ll wager that’s why he went down so quick, given you’re still arbrapmr. Scared the shite out of me, I’ve never actually qasurfdlutozpmbt before--damn, I will not get used to saying those words. I’m sorry, DB, I’m a wee bit wigged out right now, just give me a sec.”

He said the last with one hand outstretched toward me, and the way he turned away to get his bearings while staring out at the river, I’d have thought he was the one who’d almost been mauled by a wolf.

[elpida]

"didn't you see the news this morning? world is definitely ending." she was being sarcastic but then, joey invited her for coffee and that threw her, this idea that he'd teach her spanish. her lips parted to speak, not that anything came out for the first moment and what did come out, was stupid but it's all she could think of at first. "si." idiot. "to the coffee date." did she just say date? "if that is what you're asking me on. i like black and white, knowing where i'm at." she paused. "plus, if it's just a friendly spanish lesson and i've got this wrong, i don't have to go wasting my fancy perfume trying to impress you... muneca, that can stay though." she groaned as he brother put an arm over her shoulder, playfully. "zachary you do know i wont carry you home, right?"

if anything, eris was so relieved that joey took the sensible option of saying nothing when she stood at his side. cains jacket, large on her but it hid the blood staining her dress. there was a little on her hand that she knew joey clocked. she wiped her palm to get rid of it but she was very, very clearly flustered. "don't worry about it, not a big deal just an incident at work, it's fine for now and yes, i will let you scold me for not telling you or asking for your help, later. deal?" her eyes did however make a gesturing flick to sienna before squinting up at joey. "you'd look good together." she whispered as she leaned to have him hear her. "as for the station, don't mention it.." and yet the fact he'd thanked her for it, meant the world to her. "i mean, you go to prison and... i'd have half the rent to find." she kept her eyes cast forward but her smirk was showing slightly. it was far more than that, but of course she would play it off.

"oh, i'm already there, you're gonna have a hard time catching up to me!" winnie giggled quietly, her hand linked in jacksons arm. "who's the beef cake 'risa?" winnie tried to whisper and rowan craned his head round. "rowan." and he couldn't help but laugh. "well hi rowan, nice to have you here!" she tried to be friendly, tried. it was more drunk person being a little louder than she should've been and was soon shushed politely. "sorry." she mouths before nudging her arm into karisa's.

there was a part of edens heart that ached, hearing benji's acknowledgement of her gran and her brother, their absence right now.. there was no stopping how her eyes lingered on the two empty chairs that'd been for them. what snapped her back was the way he had to say it again, his wife. eden stepped forward and for a hot minute, had no idea how to speak to a crowd, until she was. "i know i have already said but thank you all for coming, it really does mean the world.. and now there's something else that, for me and my husband, is going to mean the world.. i umm.." she faltered turning to look at him quickly. eden gestured a waiter with a tray of drinks forward so she could take one for her, one for him. she wouldn't drink it, more for effect. "when i was a little girl, i didn't really know what family was, but i always wanted one, you know? the type you would see having picnics in the park, the playing catch on hot summer days, getting ice cream hand in hand and all of that.. but me and ben, we never had that. we just had each other, until my grandmother took us and that was it. i had this.. this personal picture of perfection because my grandmother was everything. she was every late sleepless night, every batch of warm cookies on rainy sunday afternoons, she was hot summer days with chopped strawberries on a tartan blanket." she huffs a little happy reminiscence. her eyes focused in on the empty chair. "and ben? ben was a kid, an annoying older brother... that became my rock. he didn't let me be a quiet kid. his friends were my friends.. and a lot of you are here today." the tears were there, but she was really trying to hold it together. "so, if you could all just grab a drink, and join me in raising it up in a toast to–" she looked heaven bound as she raised up her drink. she was blissfully happy for their news, and yet she had to say it in a way that commemorated them. "to ben o'connor.. who would have made an extraordinary uncle." she hoped people would catch on to what she was saying. "to millie o'connor, that was already an amazing grandmother, but would have made the most loving great grandmother." she couldn't help it, a few tears dripped down her cheeks. "and to clayton warren, who i'm sure would've been an amazing grandfather." she pauses, smiles over her shoulder to benji, even with her emotional tears she still smiled. "and to my lovely husband, who is going to be the greatest father to our child." her free hand, rested along her stomach.

joey bites the urge to laugh, shakes his head as a snort could be heard somewhere underneath his breath. "who would have thought you, of all people would be asking me for my number. world has to be ending." a tease, spares her a look and raises a brow, lips curving into a softer version of his usual smile. "it means doll." a quick answer, lowers his head a little bit so it's a more private conversation. "i can teach you spanish but," a shrug, casts his gaze back to the groom and the arlen's. "you'll have to meet me at eden's for a coffee." says it so suave that he isn't sure sienna is picking up what he means but he says it nonetheless, zachary manages to find himself besides sienna, arm around his sister's shoulder as he raises a glass to joey, handing him one of apple cider instead. a thoughtful gesture that joey accepts with a smile. "if it isn't my two favorite people in the world. what are we talking about?" a tease, usual behavior from the firefighter as tommy shushed him. "pops is comin', i don't want a lecture on how we don't have inside voices again." a mention to earlier conversation as the two had a very, very passionate discussion on who would be the drunkest.

it's almost unnerving how still cain stood, touch soft, compared to his usual demeanor. basking in the moment for what it is and what it could be. whatever came tomorrow, he'd handle it tomorrow. he had eris, here in his hands, and that's what mattered. whatever tomorrow had in store for them, didn't. if he worried about what could happen and not what was happening, he could never be happy. the soon to be sheriff, nearly leans into her touch, almost as if he's touch starved because he is. and for a moment, he's happy. not that he wasn't before but this . . . is a different kind of happy. a high he's still on when she pulls away and he steps back too. ensuring that she has her space as does he. hands come to rest at his hips out of habit as he presses his lips together, almost as if he's reliving their kiss. hand wafts in the air that he agrees with the idea, left in his own thoughts as he watches the door close behind her. "jesus." a drawn out curse almost as he looks at himself in the mirror. "really did yourself one arlen." he whispered to himself, white knuckle grip against the counter as he tries to gather himself. chest tight and breath quickens for a moment as he reaches for the faucet - allowing the cool water to touch burning skin. drinks some of it, uses the rest to wash his face and pats himself dry with handtowels. there was always this underlying fear that lurked beneath his cracked armor and it just seemed to seep out of the said cracks for a moment, trembling hands are closed into fists as he reminds himself to breathe.

free hand is raised to show his innocence, lips pressed together to conceal his laugh. "mouth is sealed. nothing is coming out of my mouth." he whispered to his sister, canting his head at her for a moment before speaking. "heard what you did, back at the station." joey's never said thank you a day in his life, not that he's a prideful person, he doesn't really know why he doesn't say it - just doesn't. "thank you." words feel foreign, but he says it anyways. karisa takes her best friend's hands and let's out a laugh. "well 'course he was, he's only been in love with you since the dawn of time shortstack, i couldn't see him having any other reaction." a short reassurance as she walks in step with her best friend, snagging a glass of champagne on the way in as she notices cain taking his sweet time to get to the crowd. "i'll meet you there? it'll only take a second." she tells the bride, turning to face cain who was clearly lost in his own thoughts. "you look like somebody stole your bike." karisa pointed out, brows furrowed as she sips her champagne. his own hand is rubbing against his chest, almost as if he's trying to soothe this panic that is spreading. "oh, oh," karisa says, throwing back whatever is left of her champagne and ditching the glass. "ain't doin' it tonight, cain. look at me, deep breaths and think about cassie. her, really silly drawings, her laugh and everything that drives you crazy. you know, like when she and nikki took crayons and colored the walls?" karisa asked, teases, laughs and cain shook his head. "not funny," but karisa merely rolls her shoulders. "whatever this is you're feelin' it'll pass, whatever's got you worked up. just think about tonight. whole family's here and we've got an announcement we're going to miss if you don't get your shit together now, come on." southern charm, little sister routine as cain laughed. "this used to be the other way around."

"things change," hands come to readjust his collar as she pats his chest, head juts to the entrance of the hall. "and i got a date, so, get it together, i owe him a dance and a glass of champagne, amongst other things." turning on her heel, cain face contorts into one of disgust. almost as if the two are teenagers again. "does the old man know? you're disgusting." childlike insults as he joins the crowd, finds himself next to his own brother as karisa manages to snag two glasses of champagne, steals rowan and places herself besides winnie and joey. "heard i've got some catchin' up to do." karisa whispered to winnie, eyeing joey and offering him a wink. sister's intuition. benji welcomed eden back with an open arm, pulling her close as mr. arlen finally takes a seat, mrs. arlen behind him with a hand on his shoulder. "you ain't ever goin' to believe what i just saw." samuel whispered to his wife. "cain and eris in the bathroom." a confession that brings camille's hand to her lips. "and, karisa brought herself a date, no introductions or nothin'. we got, jackie finally actin' on his feelings, joey's makin' a move on sienna. what isn't happenin'?" samuel continued, scoffed and turned to benji who had cleared his throat. "uh, i want to first say, thank you for coming here today and sharing our special day with us. there are times where, it's good to be surrounded by people who are important to you, and for us, me, this is one of those times. i hope that you're enjoying every bit as much as we are and i'd like to thank you from the bottom of my heart." benji begins, eyeing the small crowd of friends who had ultimately became his family.

"unfortunately - it's not possible to have everyone we love here, with us today but we've got them here with us in spirit. and i know that, my dad, ben and grandma millie would've loved and been overly excited with uh, the news we're about to share with you all, so, uh, i'm going to stop talking and i'll uh, let eden, my wife, take the stage." a laugh as he turns to eden.

[slut4buckysarm]

hii !! this is my first time requesting anything ! i was wondering if you could write something based on the "Hey... what if I said I wanted to make this more than a casual thing"? prompt with chris evans :))

hey anon!! ofc I can. hope you enjoy it!!! :)

PROMPT: "Hey... what if I said I wanted to make this more than a casual thing?"

PROMPT LIST - you can send asks based off of something on this list!

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (praise kink, orgasm, fuck buddies to lovers, no protection, d in v, spit kink), language, fluff at the end.

MY MOTIVATION TO WRITE COMES FROM COMMENTS SO PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK :)

ALL mistakes are my own.

Do NOT copy, repost, translate or rewrite my fics!!.

I think I’m shadowbanned or something so please comment, reblog, follow, and like :).

"Fuck Chris" my screams are only getting louder the harder he thrusts into me.

"Yeah, you like that huh?" god, I always loved his dirty talk.

Chris brings his thumb to my clit and rubs hard circles.

"Shit, don't stop. Please don't stop." I whine under him.

All he does is smirk in response, knowing he has me wrapped around his finger.

“Chris…” I speak out of breath.

“So eager” Chris grans between his teeth.

His grip on my hips tightens with each thrust. I can feel my g-spot being brushed by his cock with every move.

“Fuck Chris. Yes Chris, right there. Don’t stop, Chris” I moan his name like a prayer.

My eyes roll to the back of my head feeling him inside of me. Chris grabs my hair from behind my head and kisses me up to my ears.

“This what you needed darlin’?” he groans in my ear.

All I do is bite my bottom lip and nod, agreeing.

He takes ahold of the backboard behind me and the cheap wood cracks with the pressure of his fist, but he doesn’t stop and god I don’t want him to. He keeps rocking his hips into mines over and over and over again.

“You’re fuck perfect” he mutters adjusting my thigh on his lower hip.

Chris takes his right hand off of my hip and places it onto my jaw. He then taces my bottom lip with his finger squeezes my jaw from both sides.

“Open,” he demands and I do as told.

He spits into my mouth and I close my jaw to allow myself to swallow. Once I do, I open it back up to taste him again but throw my head back due to the pleasure.

“So pretty” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“Chris, m’close”.

“Shhh, sweetheart. know. I know.” Chris breathes out of breath.

“Don’t stop. Shit. Please don’t stop”.

He starts to thrust faster and my thighs shake in his hands.

“Fuck” Chris mutters.

That’s all it takes for me to release onto him and he follows right behind me.

Chris’ body falls onto mines, but he catches himself with his forearms. He pulls himself out of me and watches a mixture of our juices run down my leg.

“Yeah, you're beautiful.” he chuckles, placing a kiss on my temple.

“Hey... I need to tell you something,” I speak quietly, as he gets into bed next to me.

“Yeah?” He leans over me to grab the tissues from the nightstand.

"What if I said I wanted to make this more than a casual thing"?

Chris stops in his tracks. He hands me the tissues and grabs my hands.

Shit, I fucked up. He doesn't feel the same way.

"Listen Y/N".

"I know we said that we weren't going to make anything out of this and you probably don't feel the same way so forget I said anything. As a matter of fact, forget-"

I'm interrupted by Chris' hands grabbing my waist and hoisting me into his lap. "I want to make this more than a casual thing too," he whispers, lips hovering over mines.

That’s all it takes for my lips to smash into his. Chris swirls his tongue in my mouth and bites my bottom lip. We fight for dominance but I give in knowing that he won’t.

I moan into his mouth and he starts moving my hips. The friction of his leg feels unbearably good on my cunt and I start to move my hips faster as Chris tangles his hands into my hair.

"You ready for round two?" he laughs in my mouth.

please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed.