#my mother will not be that way towards me but i can be that way towards myself. fuck her for making me feel worthless

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hello! can you write for Charles taking his baby girl for her first haircut to his mom’s salon? And like the whole family doing lunch afterwards and just spoiling the baby

A Special First Haircut

The soft morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Charles' apartment, casting a warm glow over the living room where little Yn sat on the floor, playing with her stuffed animals. She was humming to herself, completely immersed in a made-up conversation between her plush rabbit and a tiny toy horse. Charles watched her from the couch, a fond smile on his lips.

His daughter, his sweet sunshine.

Yn was the kind of child who made every day brighter just by existing. She was all golden curls and sparkling green eyes, her laughter the most beautiful sound in the world. She had inherited her grandmother’s and uncle Arthur’s blond hair, though Charles liked to say it had a little of his messy touch to it. It was long now, cascading down her back in soft waves, and today was the day she would get her first-ever haircut.

Charles had made up his mind instantly—there was no one else he would trust for such an important moment except his maman.

"Mon amour," Charles called, standing up and walking over to Yn, crouching down beside her. "Are you ready to go see Grand-mère?"

Yn gasped excitedly, immediately dropping her toys and looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. "Yes! Grand-mère! She’s gonna cut my hair, right, Papa?"

"Oui," he confirmed, running his fingers gently through her soft curls. "But just a little. Your hair is too pretty to cut too much."

Yn giggled, clearly pleased, and jumped up. She immediately ran toward her little coat, struggling to put it on in her excitement. Charles helped her, chuckling at her enthusiasm, before grabbing the car keys.

"Let’s go, ma princesse."

When they arrived at Pascale’s salon, Charles could already see his mother through the glass storefront, tending to a client. As soon as she noticed them, her entire face lit up with joy. She quickly wrapped up the appointment, saying a few kind words to the woman in the chair before ushering her out with a warm smile.

Then, she did something Charles fully expected—she flipped the sign on the door to "Closed" and locked it.

"Charles! Mon ange!" Pascale greeted, pulling her son into a tight hug before bending down to Yn's level. "And my beautiful, beautiful granddaughter!"

Yn let out an excited squeal and threw herself into her grandmother’s arms. Pascale laughed, lifting her up easily despite her small frame. She pressed several kisses to Yn’s cheek, making the little girl giggle and squirm in her grasp.

"Grand-mère!" Yn squeaked between laughs. "You’re tickling me!"

Pascale pulled back with a mock gasp. "Oh no! I would never!" She then ran a gentle hand through Yn’s hair, eyes softening. "My little sunshine, are you ready for your special haircut?"

Yn nodded quickly. "Yes! Papa said not too much!"

"Of course," Pascale agreed, setting her down gently before looking at Charles. "Would you like me to trim it just a little, keep it neat?"

Charles nodded. "Just enough to keep it healthy, maman. I can’t let her lose her princess curls just yet."

Pascale laughed, then gestured toward the styling chair. "Come, mon trésor. Let’s get you all set up."

Yn eagerly climbed into the chair, legs dangling adorably. Pascale carefully fastened a tiny cape around her, making sure she was comfortable before gently combing through her golden locks.

As she worked, Charles pulled out his phone and quickly sent a message to his brothers.

Charles: Yn is getting her first haircut. Maman closed the salon just for her. You two want to come?

Lorenzo replied almost instantly.

Lorenzo: Of course! Charlotte and I are coming.

A second later, Arthur’s response appeared.

Arthur: I’m on my way!

Charles smiled, already picturing how much his family was going to fuss over Yn. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up just in time to see Pascale snipping the very first strand of Yn’s hair. The little girl watched in the mirror with wide, fascinated eyes.

"That’s my hair!" Yn exclaimed, staring at the small golden lock Pascale had cut.

"It is," Pascale said with a smile.

As Pascale continued working, the door opened, and Lorenzo walked in, his arm wrapped around Charlotte’s waist. Arthur followed closely behind, looking just as excited.

"Lorenzo! Arthur! Charlotte!" Yn squealed, waving at them from the chair.

"Mon petit trésor!" Lorenzo grinned, immediately walking over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Look at you! Such a big girl, getting her first haircut!"

Charlotte smiled warmly. "You look adorable, Yn."

Arthur leaned down, resting his arms on the back of the chair. "Are you sure you want to cut your princess hair?" he teased.

Yn giggled. "Grand-mère says I still get to keep my princess hair!"

"Of course she does," Pascale said, sending Arthur a pointed look before ruffling his hair. "Don’t make her second-guess it."

Arthur raised his hands in surrender, grinning. "Alright, alright."

The adults stepped back, letting Pascale finish trimming Yn’s hair. But then—

The salon suddenly filled with the sound of Yn’s uncontrollable giggles.

Everyone turned their heads in surprise, only to see Pascale holding the blow dryer, directing warm air toward Yn’s head. Her hair was flying in all directions, making her laugh so hard she had to grab onto the armrests to keep from wriggling too much.

"PAPA, LOOK!" Yn giggled. "MY HAIR IS FLYING!"

Charles grinned, pulling out his phone to snap a quick picture. "You look like a little fairy, ma princesse."

"Or a lion!" Arthur added.

"Lion princess!" Yn declared, still giggling.

Lorenzo chuckled, shaking his head. "She’s too cute."

When Pascale finally finished, she turned off the blow dryer and carefully ran her fingers through Yn’s hair one last time.

"There," she said proudly. "My beautiful sunshine, all done."

Yn turned her head from side to side, admiring herself in the mirror. "It’s so pretty!"

Charles leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You’re always pretty, mon amour."

Everyone else immediately chimed in with compliments.

"You look like a real princess!" Charlotte said.

"The cutest princess ever," Arthur added.

"Perfection," Lorenzo agreed.

Yn, slightly overwhelmed by all the attention, giggled shyly and reached for her father. Charles laughed and scooped her up, letting her hide her face in his neck.

"My little shy baby," he murmured, rubbing her back gently.

Pascale smiled fondly at the scene before clapping her hands together. "Alright, now that we’re done, who’s ready for lunch?"

"Me!" Yn perked up instantly. "I’m so hungry!"

Arthur ruffled her hair. "Then let’s go! I think our little princess deserves a big treat today."

At lunch, Yn was completely spoiled by her uncles. Arthur insisted she get a chocolate milkshake, while Lorenzo made sure she had extra fries. Charlotte helped her color on the kids’ menu, and Pascale couldn’t stop pressing kisses to her forehead.

Charles just sat back, watching it all with a full heart.

His little sunshine, surrounded by love.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[joeyfranchise]

love is the tuesdays

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: joe asks your dad for his blessing to marry you, and then he reflects on what love really feels like.

warnings: it’s all fluff 🥺 but mdni with my page, thanks!!

word count: 1.4k.

note: i listened to tuesdays by jake scott and i was immediately inspired to write this. the song has such beautiful storytelling and it just reminded me of joe, so i needed to write it for you all to read. italicized bits are lyrics from the song.

this summer would make two years since you and joe became a couple. 

you met him through your job, a small non-profit in cincinnati, where you occasionally took trips to paycor stadium to oversee events that involved the bengals organization and their players. 

he was quiet at first, but always polite. he had the kind of smile that could light up a room, the kind that would knock the wind right out of you. he thought the same thing about you. 

he was enamored with you almost immediately, the grace with which you handled yourself and the way you spoke so softly, the way you made everyone you talked to feel important. he always enjoyed the days he’d get to see you around the stadium, your presence became somewhat of a comfort for him, even though he barely knew you. 

when he finally worked up the courage to ask you out, you accepted immediately, harboring a little crush on him yourself. you loved his laugh, when you’d see him goof off with his friends… in your eyes he was perfect, and he felt the same about you.

the rest was history.

since the first date you’d become inseparable, soaking up all the sweet moments you’d get with each other and falling deeper and deeper in love. that led joe to this moment. 

you’d left for a business trip a few states over to help with a fundraiser, promising joe you’d be back in a few days time. he dropped you off at the airport with a sweet kiss and a light tap on the ass, which you scolded him for while simultaneously laughing. 

once you were gone he went home, grabbed up his things, and drove to your hometown with the intention of talking to your parents, specifically your father. 

joe had everything already planned, but he needed your dad’s blessing. he wanted to propose to you on the anniversary of your first date. he brought the ring with him as well, hoping your mother could give him a bit of insight on it. 

when he arrived your parents were shocked, but he pleaded with them not to tell you he’d come by and that he planned on staying for a night. 

“what brings you by, son?” your father had asked, raising an eyebrow at joe suspiciously. “not that we mind, of course,” your mom added, “just a bit unexpected.” 

“well, sir,” joe began, fiddling with his fingers as he spoke, “i was hoping you and i could talk about something… maybe privately. sorry mrs. y/l/n.” 

your father agreed, wrapping an arm around joe’s shoulder and leading him outside. your mother didn’t mind. she’d tell them later she knew all along, something to do with a mother’s intuition. 

joe and your father sat down together on the porch swing, and your father kicked his legs out to set it into motion. “so, are you gonna ask for my blessing?” your father questioned, a knowing smile spread across his face. 

joe was taken aback by the question, but he only let his confidence falter for a moment. “yes sir, that’s why i came here. i love your daughter so much and i want to marry her, and i know it means a lot to her to do things traditionally. so i’ve come to ask for your blessing and for whatever advice you can give me.” 

“it’s been twenty seven years since i married her mother,” your dad started, leaning toward joe a bit, “and i wouldn’t change a single thing. what i’ll tell you is this… love is the tuesdays.” 

joe looked perplexed by your father’s admission, simply asking him “what do you mean?” 

your dad smiled again, resting a calm hand on joe’s shoulder. “what i mean is, it’s not always picture perfect dancing in a white dress. it’s not just rainy days when nothing stops the fighting. it’s not just highs and lows. it’s everything and all that in between. love is the tuesdays. if you want my blessing, kid, you’ve got it. but you had better treat my girl right.” 

joe extended a hand for your father to shake, which he did with a firm grip. “i promise i’ll treat her right,” joe assured, “i love her more than anything.” 

“i know you do. she feels the same about you,” your dad said, before hopping off the swing and heading inside. joe came in a few minutes later and spent the rest of the evening just going over his plan to propose to you, where he’d do it and how. 

your mother teared up at the amount of thought joe had put into this, he knew how sentimental you were and he wanted every detail to be absolutely perfect. he admitted he didn’t care much for tradition, he’d marry you at the courthouse if it meant you’d be his forever, but he knew what it meant to you. that’s why he took the time meticulously curating every detail, and he knew it’d bring a smile to your face. 

your parents enjoyed talking with him, but eventually they went off to bed, bidding him a good night. joe headed off to your childhood bedroom to get settled in for the night, hoping he’d be able to talk to you for a bit before he went to sleep.

the two of you got a few texts in, followed by matching ‘i love you, goodnight’ messages, and then joe locked and plugged in his phone before rolling to his side and closing his eyes, hoping sleep would find him. 

as he tried to relax, your father’s words replayed in his mind. love is the tuesdays. 

joe thought for a moment about what that meant. and what your love meant to him, what your relationship did for him. he realized that your love is breakfast thrown together, or sleeping in his high school sweater. 

he always enjoyed those perfect, comfortable mornings when you didn’t have anywhere to be. you’d make your coffee and sit by the window, staring out at the view as you sipped the warm liquid, often with a book in your hands. you loved wearing his clothes, especially to sleep, and joe thought you were the most beautiful in those soft sweet moments. the way your hair cascaded down around your shoulders, your eyes still puffy from sleep. the way he could see you physically relax as soon as you took a sip of your coffee, your comfort in a cup.

when you’d finish you’d take it to the sink and start on breakfast, whatever he wanted for the day, and you’d eat together as you planned out the rest of your day, and even sometimes your week. 

joe realized that love was the season three you’re watching, a little bit of evening walking, and sitting with your best friend talking.

he enjoyed watching any show with you, he loved your reactions and your sensitivity, how you were prone to cry at any given moment. 

he loved going for quiet walks after dinner at night, given you both had the free time. the crickets would chirp around you as you walked hand in hand, sometimes stopping to twirl in the street. 

he loved seeing you sit and talk with your best friends, how your smile would spread across your face as they made you laugh. love was sitting with his best friend, too.

ja’marr had told him many times, “you’re different around her, burrow. light. i like that.” 

joe liked it too. he knew troubles would come, and that it wouldn’t always be easy, but he wanted every moment with you. in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, for richer and for poorer. 

your fathers words echoed in his head again. “you’ve got my blessing… but love is the tuesdays.” 

he finally fell asleep, and when he woke the next morning he had a small breakfast with your parents before grabbing his things and heading out, back home to cincinnati. he knew he needed to grab you from the airport the next day, and he wanted to be able to relax his nerves a bit before doing so. 

he made it home safely, and the next day he greeted you at the airport with a bouquet of pink roses, one of your favorite flowers. “how’s my girl?” he asked you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

“i’m great, the fundraiser went super well. how are you? did you get up to anything?” you asked, leaning into his side. a mischievous smirk spread across his face. “nah, i didn’t get up to anything. i’m just peachy!” he said. 

“alright, you’re being weird,” you said, eyeing him suspiciously. “what’s gotten into you? you’re creeping me out!” you laughed. “nothing, nothing. i’m just excited,” he admitted, pulling you back into him. 

“for what?” you prodded, expecting answers. 

you didn’t even know the half of what was coming. 

photos and dividers are not mine. all cred to owners.

taglist: @joeyburrrow @starsinthesky5 @joeyb1989 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @slimshiesty @yelenasbraid

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic

WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie

this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.

also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.

this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!

Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone. 

You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns? 

Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off. 

~~~ 

You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark. 

“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn. 

“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy. 

“Can I come up?” 

“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-” 

He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there. 

“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.” 

Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house). 

“Y-yeah, we can hang out.” 

“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.

You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan. 

Clark is going to die. 

“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him. 

You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going. 

“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little. 

“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him. 

Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment. 

“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.” 

“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages. 

“Come on, Clark, I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.” 

He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you. 

But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage. 

“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck. 

His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear. 

“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.” 

“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.” 

“Don’t you want me?” You ask. 

“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-” 

“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!” 

“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine. 

You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?” 

“I-I don’t think-” 

“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.” 

His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another. 

You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him. 

You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath. 

“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.” 

Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him. 

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking. 

Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do. 

You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time. 

Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell. 

You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane. 

And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. 

You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever. 

And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.” 

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t. 

So you pull off. 

Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely. 

But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?” 

“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” 

“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?” 

“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.” 

“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.” 

You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching. 

His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again. 

“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.” 

You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked. 

“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit. 

“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!” 

Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth. 

You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck. 

He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough. 

You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you. 

He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top. 

His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason. 

You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently. 

“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest. 

You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.” 

You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps. 

He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.” 

He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you. 

“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him. 

You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure. 

Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks. 

“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you. 

“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.” 

He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Clark- Clark, oh, please.” 

“Good?” He questions. 

“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless. 

Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be. 

“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?” 

Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end. 

You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it. 

“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes. 

“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick. 

“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra. 

He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining. 

You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods. 

You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?” 

“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And do you still want to do this?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him. 

If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps. 

His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you. 

You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.” 

“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted. 

You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you. 

“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips. 

He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.” 

“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep. 

“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not fragile, Clark.” 

“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…” 

“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.” 

He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-” 

“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.” 

He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you. 

“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck. 

Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses. 

“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” 

He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.” 

“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?” 

“Uh- I probably-” 

“Please?” You clench around him for a moment. 

He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.” 

“So I can see?” 

“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.” 

Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?” 

He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.” 

“It’s okay. You can cum.” 

He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life. 

And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-” 

“You like that?” He asks. 

“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?” 

“I’ll tell you later?” 

“You better.” 

He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there. 

“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.” 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours. 

You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him. 

“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?” 

You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.” 

You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-” 

“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.” 

“Okay.” 

His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.” 

“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.” 

Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you. 

“You were amazing, Clark.” 

“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you. 

You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you. 

Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.

taglist;

@mariswxt @blueeweeb @ssnapsaurus @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this @milestellerismybf @purple-1995 @writergiih @elysianrosie @glennussy @rainwaterxx @brinascorpio @withthistreaserisummon @babble28 @mollymal @alexcole1326 @mizzfizz @jiminie1028

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ movie night

pairing: stepdad!art x shy!reader synopsis: reader has a movie night with her stepdad. warnings/tags: smut, fluff MDNI! wc: 1.5k a/n; no thoughts head stepdad!art

shy masterlist ♡ art masterlist

two things had been filling your entire brain capacity for the past two weeks; your stepdad, and the locket you wore every day. you'd looked for the family heirloom for ages, but it was like it had vanished into thin air. as for your stepdad...

you'd been doing your best to avoid art to the best of your ability because whenever you saw him, your mind was filled with filthy thoughts of him; you'd always had fantasies about him but seeing your stepdad showering had made it all so much worse.

every time you even got a glimpse of his hands, all you could think about were the way his hands had been wrapped around his cock, or when he threw his head back to laugh, all you could think about was the way his head had been thrown back in utter bliss, and when you heard his voice... all your mind could conjure up the moan he let out when he came.

so, you'd come to the conclusion that the best course of action was to steer clear from him, unless you wanted your panties to get wet at the breakfast table; and your plan worked well. until your mother decided to go away for a spa weekend with her best friend, leaving you alone with art. because the moment your feet touched the first floor, your stepdad's head turned to look at you.

art was sitting on the couch, some old tv-show paused on tv, a small smile playing on his face, "you wanna watch a movie with me or something? i can make some popcorn?"

every part of you wanted to say no. every part of you knew you should say know to his mostly-blue eyes. every fiber of you knew you should say to the inviting smile that played on his lips. but your heart, your pussy, they were the ones in charge.

"alright." you said, taking a deep breath, tiptoing to the couch. while art got up, walking towards the kitchen.

"pick any movie you wanna watch!" your stepdad called out from the kitchen, a small laugh escaping your lips as your hand was on the remote, scrolling through netflix's horror movie selection.

"what if it scares you?" you call out in response.

you could hear his warm laughtering from the other room as art called back at out, "then you'll have to cover my eyes!"

in less than ten minutes, there was a warm bowl of popcorn resting on art's lap as the two of you were starting to watch 'the cabin in the woods', but when your hand reached for some of the popcorn, you felt art's hand wrap around your wrist. your eyes widened and your gaze moved up to his eyes, only for the man to let go of your hand with a sheepish smile, leaning over to place the bowl onto the coffee table and turning to look at you. "there's something i need to give you."

"what is it?"

"close your eyes and hold out your hands." art said in a low voice, causing you to shake your head and chuckle as you pressed your eyes closed and held out your hand. you felt something cold meet the warm palm of your hand, causing a shiver to go down your spine.

"can i open my eyes now?" you asked softly, and when you heard a soft 'mmhm', you did so, your eyes widening and a gasp escaping your lips as soon as you realized what was cradled in the palm of your hands, the confused expression turning into an elated one." "how did you find this?!"

"oh, it was in front of the master bathroom." art said with a small, casual smile, your entire body freezing and all breath knocking out of your body as you registered the words, "turn around."

you turned your back to art, not daring to breathe out as you pressed your eyes closed, nearly feeling moisture gather in your eyes the moment you felt a cold metal touch the warm skin of the back of your neck, causing shivers to run down your spine, the hairs at the nape of your neck rising.

you could feel a familiar tingling sensation gathering in your stomach as you felt the back of art's fingers brush against your skin, causing you to let out a shaky breath as you involuntarily arched your head back as if chasing his touch.

your eyes immediately snapped open and you pulled away, turning to face art again, your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest, your cheeks feeling so warm you would've been sure it was a fever if it wasn't for the wetness you could feel gathering between the thighs that you pressed against one another for some kind of friction. art simply gave you a friendly smile, before reaching for the bowl of popcorn again, pulling it back into his lap and turning back to the tv.

you couldn't focus on anything happening on the tv, even if your eyes were glued to it. you couldn't even taste the popcorn that you kept occasionally picking up from the bowl and shoving into your mouth, too occupied thinking about what art's touch, and if his hand accidentally brushing against the back of your neck could make your heart nearly jump out of your chest, how would it feel to have his lips on your neck, trailing down to your collarbones, his hand moving to cup-

"can i ask you something?"

your thoughts were interrupted by art's sudden question as you held a handful of popcorn in your hand, shrugging with a small, "sure." as you brought the popcorn to your lips.

"were you watching me shower a few weeks ago?"

you nearly choked on the popcorn you'd just eaten, letting out a few coughs and reaching for your drink, your eyes a wide as saucers. if you were flustered before, now, the only thing that could describe your state of mind was straight-up mortified. "w-what? no!"

art leaned his head against the couch cushions, his brows raising slightly as he looked at you; why on earth did he have the kind of gaze that made him into a human lie detector when it came to you? you looked down at your lap in shame, fiddling with your hands, "i'm sorry, i shouldn't ha-"

before you could finish your sentence, art's fingers had gripped your chin, turning your head so you were facing him. there was a small smile playing on his lips, but before you could question him on it, your stepdad had crashed his lips on yours.

you were caught off-guard, but when you felt his hand slowly make its way towards the back of your head, you eased into the kiss, your lips molding against his.

art slowly pushed you to lay down on the couch, his lips leaving yours as he begun to pepper kisses down to your ear, sucking your earlobe into his mouth in a way that made your toes curl before he started slowly tracing your jawline with little kisses, interrupted only by small nips that he kept switching to, and each time his teeth touched your skin, you couldn't help the whimpers that escaped your lips.

art's hand slowly moved down to cup your chest, circling his thumb on your hardening nipple before continuing to move it down your body, and every inch that his hand got closer to your aching cunt caused you to arch into him more and more.

art's lips were on your neck, his hand sliding into the waistband of your shorts. you let out a small gasp when you felt him touch you over your panties, starting to chase the feeling.

he nipped your neck, and you let out a soft whimper that mixed in with a chuckle as you brought your hand to the back of his neck, tugging him closer to you as the wet patch in your panties grew bigger and bigger.

you let out a moan when one of his fingers started to approach the waistband of your panties, arching into his touch more and more.

but all of it came shattering down when art's phone began ringing on the coffee table; the man pulled away from your neck, pulling his finger away from your shorts and sitting up on the couch with wide eyes, looking at you as if he realized that what he was doing was something he'd regret; like you were a virus to avoid.

ignoring the throbbing between your legs, you sat up, trying to ignore the tears stinging in your eyes, "i'm just- i'll just go upstairs." you mumbled, running up the stairs.

art let out a sigh, ignoring the ringing of his phone and pressing the balls of his hands against his eyes, the man letting out a loud sigh as he listened to your footsteps against the wooden stairs.

the moment your head was pressed against your pillow, there were only two things on your mind; how big of a mistake that was. and how much you wanted him to touch you like that again, even though it should never, ever happen again.:.

[hrrtshape]

　 v-day in my better cr, 　 　 volume ii . . .

so. if you, inexplicably, criminally, missed the valentine’s day saga (what were you doing? a sensory deprivation tank? a vow of silence? serving a light sentence at rikers?), you can read the full rundown elsewhere, aka at the top. but the tl;dr is that coryo flew me to paris and spent a borderline inadmissible amount of spoils on me. disturbing, actually. feels premeditated. but let’s not dwell.

꒰ day two.

next morning, i had that creeping, noir-movie score suspicion that he was plotting something again. something elaborate. something requiring a mise-en-scène shift. and oh, oh. guess. guess what. anyway. he tells me to dress nice but practical, like we’re off to climb everest. we’d be walking a lot, apparently. deeply untrustworthy.

so i sip my little mimosa. gnaw on a croissant. watch the outside air glitter in that way that makes you feel like the protagonist in a godard film. and then. and then.

we get dressed. we slip into a car he’s rented from free2move (if you know about my cr escapades, this is a crucial, ominous detail). we drive for thirty-five minutes. at every stop, like some kafkaesque harbinger of doom, that mickey mouse billboard flashes past. you’re getting closer. and i’m sitting there, freshly enlightened, clocking him. a day after valentine’s? disneyland? peak crowd levels? claustrophobia waiting to happen? it’s giving sardine tin. it’s giving battlefield. but sure. fine.

we arrive. and it’s disneyland, in all its grotesque splendour. the air smells like synthetic nostalgia and churros. within seconds, he’s dragging me into one of those manic little gift shops, buying me minnie mouse ears with the urgency of a man paying off a gambling debt. he spends the rest of the day adjusting them atop my hair like a stage mother fussing over a starlet. i try to make him buy some to match. he shoots me a look, the kind of side-eye that would make a lesser woman wither. whatever. we eat beignets in the cold while performing a forensic analysis of the general public’s outfits.

first ride, of course, has to be mad hatter’s tea cups. i make him get on. he gets off trying to act unaffected, like some postmodernist take on masculinity, but he looks one sharp movement away from projectile vomiting. then straight to haunted mansion because, obviously, it’s the best one. sublime. evocative. big thunder mountain next, where he keeps his arm around me like a bodyguard anticipating an assassination attempt. it’s a small world. he resists. i drag him anyway. by the end, he looks like he’s lived through a particularly harrowing wartime flashback. i document this moment for future blackmail.

i do attempt to push him towards cinderella for a photo. he refuses. but, plot twist, he does bow slightly to maleficent. he buys me another pair of minnie ears (concerning). we hit the studio park, ride ratatouille, and demolish seven consecutive snacks. at some point, i fake a bathroom break. deception!! espionage!! i slip behind him and pop the most aggressively bland, stoically masculine mickey mouse ears onto his head. he looks like a disgruntled victorian child being forced to pose for a family portrait. exquisite.

we tackle eight more rides. he grumbles, theatrically, about the prevalence of screaming children. someone side-eyes us for speaking english. i, a known non-american, take deep offence. we circle back to haunted mansion, because we understand art. and then. the fireworks show. it’s soft-focus, it’s cinematically framed, it’s almost sickening. he stands behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, whispering things, pressing kisses into my hair. disgusting. humiliating. we should be shunned by society.

then back to paris. tragic. except not really, because we return to the hemingway suite at the ritz, where everything is soft and golden and marlene dietrich probably committed minor sins. we steal champagne. as one does.

꒰ day three.

okay. next day. because, obviously, i am dating the most absurdly good-looking creature to walk this earth, the kind of man whose cheekbones could inspire revolutions. so, of course, he is taking me somewhere else. once more.

we wake up. my feet are dead. rigor mortis has set in below the knee. my entire existence is compromised. meanwhile, coryo, ever the sybarite, orders a hotel breakfast so luxurious it should come with a tax audit. freshly baked viennoiseries, fruit so plump it looks photoshopped, eggs that have been fluffed within an inch of their life. pain perdu drenched in maple syrup, glistening like a bribe. he reads something in french, butchering it magnificently. i correct him mid-bite.

little dress, little boots, big mistake. coryo, ever the pessimist or, rather, the man who knows me too well, grumbles about how my feet will fail me. he tucks ballet flats into my bag, muttering something prophetic. manifest destiny. foreshadowing. ah, literature.

we take the train (yes. train!!!!) to versailles. sitting side by side, heads resting against each other, the whole thing nauseatingly cinematic. every period drama you’ve ever seen, but with better hair.

versailles, golden and gaudy and ghost-ridden. we walk through the town, hand in hand, my scarf slightly askew because i am chic but incompetent. coryo keeps fixing it, scowling, something about how i’ll get cold, perish, and then what? he’ll be alone??? we reach the gates. he sighs. mumbling about how he should've been a king.

inside, the mirrors swallow us whole. coryo, predictably, stares at himself for too long. i take approximately 140 photos in the first twenty minutes. then, tragedy: he becomes insufferable. every gilded room, a fantasy. a pause. a prolonged stare. a solemn nod. an "i could live here." i drag him forward. then, revenge. marie antoinette’s bedroom. i coo. i sigh. i nearly weep. i try to sneak into a restricted area, whispering that i once read about a secret passage. now he drags me away. an even score.

ladurée. obscene quantities of macarons. he feeds me each one with theatrical precision, licking his fingers after every bite. infuriating. romantic. he earns a glare, a sigh, a begrudging toothy smile. we sit in the gardens, sharing a vape.

the petit trianon. coryo mutters something about buying it. i haul him back to reality. i reimagine us as illicit lovers in the 18th century, tell him i would’ve written him devastatingly good love letters, kept them tied in pink ribbon. he plays along, tragic and smirking. then, the temple of love. obvious. inevitable. he kisses me there.

but the best part, the part that sticks, is the little hamlet. disneyland if disney had taste. i say as much ten times. we agree, solemnly, that we like it better than disneyworld.

now. my boots. let’s talk about my boots. because despite the power of denial, my feet, shockingly, begin to ache. and then, as if scripted, coryo, my dearest prophet, pulls out the ballet flats. he carries my boots in his hands, refusing to dirty my bag. stupid. ridiculous. perfect. he earns a kiss for that.

as the sky bruises, we leave. rent a car (again). drive back to the hotel. somewhere between the road signs and his hand on my thigh, he kisses my cheek, murmurs for me to stay put. then, inexplicably, puts my boots away in our room himself. prince charming. (peep the ever after high dr).

dinner. eiffel tower in view. glasses clinking, candlelight flickering, some absurdly good food making its way into our bloodstream. disgustingly romantic. borderline illegal. the kind of night you never really recover from.

and then, a slow walk back, his arm heavy around my shoulders, the parisian night unfolding.

finite. no. jk. we spent two more days there but it’s nothing grandiose. and the reason this took me almost a month to write is. because. i was lazy. plus we broke up. but then got back together. so. everything's good.

[demonslayerunhinged]

cw: I'm going to be very blunt in this overly long post. Some things might rub you the wrong way if not offend you, so if that happens, you know the procedure: unfollow → block → move on.

A few weeks ago…

Three of my posts about Genya, Shizu and Sanemi caught the attention of and were the subject of discussion among a couple of weirdos. After I discovered all the crap they were spewing on their circle jerk of a server, I then went on a rage-fueled posting spree with screenshots and lots of insults towards them especially towards princeblue and pomchihuahua. I made the posts private but if you're curious here's the link.

You're probably thinking: Omg bitch, you're still on this? 🙄

Yes, yes I am. It's so fucking easy to move on from an incident when you're not the one being attacked or are the one doing the attacking. It's just like that saying the tree remembers what the axe forgets or something and it's my blog, fuck you.

Anyway, it really pissed me off that they were taking my post so seriously, despite me putting multiple disclaimers that these were theories. Proof:

And even if I didn't add disclaimers, can no one make theories anymore? Can no one make jokes or shit posts? I mean, I know we're living in a dystopian world, but the last place I want to be reminded about it is on my tiny, obscure fucking Tumblr blog. You don't have to (and honestly shouldn't) agree with everything I post! In fact, I would love to have a different pov and a respectful, engaging discussion. And even if you think Ugh this shit is so ass, just scroll past and forget about me! Unfollow me! Block me! I have made two posts literally begging people to do this because I didn't want to get involved in this kind of shit.

Talking shit about me in a place where I don't have the opportunity to defend myself, deliberately misunderstanding my posts and making assumptions of my beliefs based on said post is one thing. But minimizing the shittiness of your actions when called out, painting me as the crazy person for my justified anger at your shitty actions, and using your minor members as a shield to deflect scrutiny. That's just horrible, if not downright insidious. especially from someone who describes herself as a 'nice' person.

The so-called apology I got from pomchihuahua was so insincere, and it was just a way to brush past their actions so they could make the link to their shitty server public again. I never got an apology from princeblue; all I got were a series of pretentious and condescending messages and a manipulative post where she made me look like I was the crazy one, infiltrating her server and harassing her members who are minors. She also minimized and sanitized her actions by explaining that it was just a private discussion among friends that got a bit heated with a few dickish words thrown here and there, despite the fact that:

1.) It's a public server, so anyone who joins and lurks in that channel would think I'm some asshole that advocates for child abuse and slanders single mothers.

2.) It wasn't just a 'heated' discussion with just a few dicky things being said, not only did they completely misunderstand my post — so much so that it was like they were talking about another post by someone else — but they talked about my blog like it was (and I hate this word) slop. She said stated that she couldn't stand me and that she was seething with hate (the screenshots are in the linked private post) like I killed her dog or something.

3.) She kept stressing that I didn't censor the usernames of the shit talkers who happen to be minors despite her asking me to, all in an attempt to make me look like some kind of minor-harasser. The minors in question didn't censor my username or those of the people who commented on my posts that they bashed. So why should I?

Side tangent but, I've noticed that lately the internet has some kind of obsession with the protection of minors and put them on some pedestal like they're unassuming babies who aren't capable of real harm or aware of their actions. Thus, they should be shielded from the consequences of said actions and shouldn't be called out for them.

I don't subscribe to such beliefs. Not only is it stupid, it's dangerous. This belief is the basis of laws that allow minors to get away with heinous crimes in some communities and even countries. Why should they get to live on, blissfully unaffected, while their victims suffer? Why shouldn't we be allowed to call them out on their shitty behavior? If they're old enough to throw shit at a stranger on the internet, they're old enough to have that shit thrown right back at them. If that makes me a heartless asshole, so be it.

Anyway, I was angry (as you can tell by my online crashout) because as someone who takes a lot of time agonizing over every single post and making sure my words are clear and that I provide the right resources — all these accusations and comments hurt. The situation sucked the joy out of me, ruined my whole week, and made me feel so shitty that I wanted to stop posting all together.

Because, what's the point? Why post anything if all I'm going to do is spend my time and energy not just worrying about the content, but also about being shredded by assholes who won't even attempt to understand my words?

I have this weird belief that my blog will only be seen by those who like it or if not want to understand what I'm saying and would give me the opportunity to explain myself. I know it's stupid, but that's just how I wish my blog was. This whole situation just burst the bubble of that belief and now makes me so paranoid about everything. Even now that I want to continue posting again, I'm still hesitatant. Every time I see some untitled/unnamed blog follow me, I think that it's either one of princeblue's followers hate stalking me for more posts they can rip apart on their stupid server.

One thing pomchihuahua said in her defense that really irritated me was that Shizu reminded her of a family member and that's why she attacked my posts and why she made the counter post defending Shizu.

Yes offense, but that is insane. Like the you-seriously-need-professional-help kind of insane.

Don't believe me? Let's recontextualize her explanation:

Say Shizu is a mass-produced doll that being marketed as a single mother with the blurb on the back of the box. A girl, let's call her Suzy, has one of these dolls. It's her favorite doll, and she believes the story on the box is the one true story for this doll because Shizu looks like her mom and the story mirrors her mom's life.

When she goes out with her friends who all have the same Shizu doll and agree with her about the story for it, she sees another girl let's call her Kacy, playing with the Shizu doll, but it's different; the girl put on different clothes on the doll and Suzy could overhear the girl telling her friends that this Shizu doll is a businesswoman who's travelled to space or something.

Suzy gets enraged, she starts shouting to her friends — loud enough for Kacy to hear. She calls Kacy names, talks about how Kacy doesn't understand Shizu, that Shizu can only be in the clothes she came in, and that the only story that matters is what's written on the back of the box. Kacy is a bad person for dressing Shizu in different clothes and giving her a different story.

When asked why she acted this way, Suzy explains that Shizu reminds her of her mom, so anyone dressing the doll up differently or giving it a different story makes her defensive, angry and causes her to lash out.

Now tell me, does Suzy seem like a well-adjusted individual to you? Doesn't it seem like she needs to talk to a therapist? Like my guy, are you good?! Are you running a fever?! Do you need a Kit Kat?!

I don't give a fuck if a character reminds you of someone or if you're emotionally attached to them. That DOES NOT give you the right to attack or talk shit about people because of some 2d drawings. And if you think this is perfectly acceptable behavior, then you need to take a long, hard look in a mirror for some self-reflection and to remove the brick that's lodged in the back of your head because you obviously have some sort of brain damage.

Who are you to tell others what they should and shouldn't like? Who are you to tell others how they should and shouldn't interprete these characters? Who are you to think that your analysis/interpretion is the only correct one? Who are you to attack people just because they happen to have opinions that differ from yours? Who are you to control people's behavior to fit your own narrow, close minded and boring point of view? Just who THE FUCK do you think you are?

This is the kind of shit that makes fandoms so inhospitable and draining. When a couple of dry, basic, joyless, overly serious, overly sensitive, fun-sucking, Sarah j mass/Colleen Hoover/steel-wrapped-in-velvet-reading, no-life-or-rose-toy-having, Club Chalamet-looking, terminally online losers who get high on the smell of their own farts decide that they're the only ones who understand a character or a piece of fiction and treat any other interpretation or analysis like it's a personal attack. Then to make themselves feel better, make counter virtue signalling posts that do nothing but allow them to express their smug, self-affirming, self-righteous moral superiority.

I'm tired y'all, the world seems so shitty right now. Every day it' seems like the world it's like we're sliding back into the dark ages. I wanted this blog to be a safe space where I can just yap about stuff I like and stuff, and connect with people who share similar interests. Not a place to get policed, dragged and scrutinized over every fucking sentence or action when there's already enough of that in real life. I'm done with over-explaining and disclaimers, I refuse to tie myself into knots to accomodate the stupidity of imbeciles who're too lazy to read.

If you bite me, I bite back. As you can tell from my other posts i'm not above insulting and name-calling. Don't expect civility from me when you didn't offer one in the first place.

Like can a bitch breathe? Christ.

*Side note: I know I made this post which is similar to what I'm complaining about, but I just used the screenshot as to rant about the misunderstood complaints in the fandom. I mentioned the bullshit excuses she made when she was called out. But that was it. I didn't attack the OP personally, shit talk about her other posts or make assumptions of her beliefs. I didn't even mention her name at all in her post. So it doesn't count ha!

[talesfromawannabewriter]

To Domesticate a Feral Omega

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Warning: dub-con, forced marriage, Omega verse typical dystopia overall just dark themes

Lucifer's knee bounced up and down anxiously as he waited for his appointment. It had taken months for it to finally come to this day. The day he would find a new mate.

Never did he think that he would need a new mate. Never mind being at an omega mart of all places. Yet here he was, sitting in the waiting room as he watched other alphas go in mate less and out with an omega on their arms.

Soon that would be him. He prayed to whoever was listening that he found the right one. Not only for him but for his baby daughter.

Now, many might be wondering as to why a respected man such as himself was here. The answer to that question is that when his now ex-wife left not only him but their three-month-old daughter in his care. He knew that he couldn't get simple childcare to watch over her but an actual mother, an omega.

Of all the secondary genders in their society everyone knew that tender was in an omega's nature. To take care of others was just the way God made them. It was exactly what his daughter needed from a mother.

And if Lucifer was being honest with himself, it would be nice to come home to a sweet, calm partner ready to take care of him after a hard day at work.

Lucifer felt his stomach would throw right out of his mouth and onto the floor when his name was suddenly called. He sat up quickly, fixing his appearance as he headed towards the person who called.

Peter: Hiya my name is Peter and I'll be helping you today!

Lucifer: Hi, thank you for taking the time of day for me.

Peter: Of course, not come it's our true honor and pleasure to help true mates come together. Please, this way.

They walked right through the door leading to where the omegas were held for listing. They walked down the stark white hallway where a line of doors had the omegas in question.

Peter: As you can see the Golden Gates Omega Mart holds an abundance of beautifully crafted omega's all waiting for alpha and master to finally claim them.

Lucifer looked into each of the windows that were provided and saw them. While it was true that they were all beautiful they were incredibly meek, even so for Omega's not one of them daring to meet his gaze. That didn't sit well with Lucifer, how was he to have a relationship with any of them if they didn't so much as look at him?

Then as if his prayers had been answered, he came up to the last door. In there was possibly the most beautiful of all of them. It was a male omega that was pacing back and forth, his hair was so fluffy and brown, and his eyes were a softer shade than his hair but with a hint of gold to them.

However, what caught his attention the most was the size of his belly behind the stark white dress he wore.

He was pregnant.

Lucifer: Excuse me?

Peter: Yes?

Lucifer: Who's that?

Peter: Oh...him. He was picked up not that long ago and found living on the streets. He wasn't in the system, so we assumed he didn't have a mate or a family.

Lucifer: He's pregnant.

Peter: That he is, since he had no bond mark on him, he must have gotten pregnant with some random alpha during his last heat.

Lucifer hummed, how interesting.

Lucifer: Can... can I meet him?

Peter made a face: I don't think that's such a good idea Mr. Morningstar.

Lucifer: Why not? I thought you said all the omegas here were open?

Peter: Yes, but if I'm being completely honest, I don't think he is yet. You see he is what we call...feral.

Lucifer: Feral?

Peter nodded: He doesn't respond to authority or command. He'd been extremely agitated towards any that weren't other omegas. And I even heard he bit an administrator.

Lucifer's eyes widened at that, never had he heard of an omega doing that: Sounds like he's been through a lot.

Peter: Maybe but he is far from ready to be mated, he still needs to be domesticated by our staff and learn to acclimate to his life as an omega.

Lucifer: But...maybe he is ready, they certainly thought so if he's here.

Peter: I suppose that is true...are you sure you want to go in there?

Lucifer: I'm sure, I think it's time to meet the "vicious feral omega"

He chuckled as Peter looked unsure.

Peter: Alright but I'm going to be with you for every second while your in there.

Lucifer held back a snort at the man's fear. What is there to fear in the first place?

[barakat25]

Hello, merciful and generous souls

I am Barakat Al-Taweel

I am communicating with you at a time of unimaginable hardship and fatigue. I am 24 years old and I have a brother who was a martyr, his two children, his wife, 7 brothers, 7 sisters, my father, and my mother. Our lives have been turned upside down due to the devastating, devastating war in the Gaza Strip, and we are in dire and urgent need of your help.

At some point, the calm we knew disappeared. The echoes of war destroyed our existence and our being. All that remained for us were the clothes we were wearing and the fragments of our withered dreams. When we woke up to the harsh reality of displacement, we found solace in a temporary tent. The vibrant paths of my life have turned into ruins and rubble. My house, which used to contain me and all my brothers, is now piles of rubble. My brother, who was supporting me with work, rose to the throne as a martyr.

He left behind a son and a daughter, in addition to his wife, and they are now one of my great responsibilities... Despite the darkness that surrounds us, a ray of hope appears in our hearts, a longing to settle in a safe home, to provide the needs of my orphaned nephews and my family in general. With each passing day, our burdens become heavier and our pleas for help become more urgent and necessary.

We long for the warmth of a safe haven and the opportunity to regain what we have lost and forge a path toward a brighter future Your kindness and generosity can make a big difference, and your contributions will help us secure a safe shelter and access the necessary necessities of family life. We humbly appeal to you, good and generous souls: to extend your hands to help. Your generosity may pave the way for us to escape this nightmare and extreme poverty, and give us the opportunity to start over with a decent life with affordable needs.

Please, consider helping us during these critical times. Every donation, regardless of size, brings us one step closer to safety, stability and a chance to rebuild our lives.

With gratitude overflowing from the depths of our hearts, we thank you for every donation, every participation, and every ounce of sympathy you provide to our cause. Your support means more than words can express. together !! We can turn the story of our loss and calamity into a journey of hope and resilience... I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your interest and for your invaluable sou

https://gofund.me/8597e73a

[olgasaysso]

Nothing represents experiencing narcissistic parentification better than Buffy Summers' entire existence. (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)

For context: narcissistic parentification is something children of people with narcissistic personality disorder overly experience. Parentification is when children are forced to take on adult roles in their households and have too many responsibilities at a young age. This can be emotional (like being a therapist for your parent) or/and logistical (having an overwhelming amount of chores or being forced to do things parents should be responsible). For narcissistic parentification, it will be both of these + the childs identity being molded towards what their parents like.

With that out of the way, my explanation:

1. When we first meet Buffy, she doesn't want to be a slayer. There is an adult man following her around and telling her how special she is. But she knows what follows - the responsibility. She never wanted to kill monsters or miss out on her teenage years, so she stays out of it. But they still make it her problem.

This is something I know I experienced and many other people, too. Your nparent will find a talent in you, something they will endlessly praise you for. Think Jennette Mccurdy, hearing from her mother about how talented of an actress she is.

This is something I know I experienced and many other people, too. Your nparent will find a talent in you, something they will endlessly praise you for. Think Jennette Mccurdy, hearing from her mother about how talented of an actress she is.

For me, I started working at my fathers company very young because of the threat that it would go bankrupt and we'll be homeless.

2. Once she starts doing the slayer work, we can quickly see though how unsatisfied Giles is with her. He has problems with almost everything she does. How she dresses, the fact that she has friends.

He and the whole watcher organisation aren't just happy that she's going along. They don't want her to just slay. They want her to be a slave. A machine even. Someone they can completely control and make her do whatever they want.

At the same time, they offer her no support. Although over the course of the show Giles becomes more active (and then less) in helping/protecting Buffy, something that is made very clear to us is that she is and always will be alone. It's also pretty rare for anyone in her vicinity to challenge that idea.

So, we have a bunch of adults who sit around doing very little, relying on a literal child to save them. And when she dares to express any kind of wants or needs of her own, she gets shunned.

Because slayers are special.

Slayers are supposed to act a certain way.

3. Her being a good slayer is not enough. She has to die for the cause.

And I think it's very ironic how later on, Dawn (effectively an extension of Buffy) is expected to die. And everyone, with the exception of Buffy (and Spike), was ready to sacrifice her.

4. By the end of her time in high school, people around her managed to completely destroy her sense of identity. She has completely given up on her future. She had no time or emotional strength between her having to save the whole world and being given challanges by the council that are supposed to kill her while constantly being questioned and not believed by the people closest to her (her mum but also Willow, Xander and Giles. It's a continuous thing in the show that she tells them about a monster, and they don't believe her. After a while, she gives up on telling them about her hunches). She never thought about her future, what she wanted to study. What kind of work does she want to do.

And let me be clear again, this is not willingly. At the start of the show, she wanted to have nothing to do with being a slayer because she knew it'll robb her of her future.

5. So when she goes to college and people around her completely abandon her while she's struggling.... the amount of rage I feel. After she went to college, Giles whole approach to her changed. He stopped being her watcher, even after she literally forced the council to start paying him again. (The fact that Buffy doesn't get payed and Giles didn't stick up for her is yet another thing I need to add. Because it makes her quite literally a slave.)

His whole demeanor can be summed up by "Figure it out, you're an adult now. I can't always hold your hand"

Which under other circumstances would be normal. Except this adult spend some of the most important years of her life sacrificing her life, love, future and everything important to her to make him happy. He owes her at least a bit of guidance after all this. Yk, especially since she continues to be the slayer and he still gets payed to help her.

She would also ask him for help in the most reasonable ways. Like helping her parent Dawn. Considering she's not her mother, has other responsibilities, is literally going through the worst time in her entire life while having the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, I think that's not an unreasonable request. For a grown man, who gets PAYED to take care of her, to step in as a role model for her sister, so she doesn't lose that bond (once you start parenting your siblings, you're no longer siblings. Parentification is a form of abuse that has long lasting effects).

The financial aspect is another thing. Whenever Buffy is struggling with something, everyone almost acts offended and like something is wrong with her, because she should be alright on her own and taking care of everyone around them. Everyone wants Buffy to help them but how dare she ask for some support?!

She should be getting paid by the council. She should be getting rent for these 2 useless witches living at her house. She should be getting compensation everytime Xander dares to open his hateful mouth in her presence to spew some judgmental bullshit after he tried to grape her in s1 and pretended like it didn't happen, manipulated and lied to her for years.

6. She is expected to die, but they can't even let her be at peace. Brough her back against her will, didn't dig her out, didn't care to pay attention to her to figure out that something was wrong. They just expected her to be happy and get back to saving their asses. What the fuck.

7. In season 7 (which I adore btw) Buffy finally figures something out. She owns her identity as a slayer. For the first time, she stops taking shit from people who would never take on her responsibilities.

She realizes something about evil. Which is: "Evil cannot create anything new, they can only corrupt and ruin what good forces have invented or made.” (J.R.R.Tolkien)

It's why the first evil never showed its true form. Not because it's too terrifying for anyone to handle. It's because it's true form doesn't exist.

It's why she calls the girl who hanged herself an idiot. And it's why she's right.

The meaning behind this quote is that the only way evil can win/prevail is when you let it. It has no creative powers. Every single terrifying monster was once a human. It's why Buffy doesn't listen to whining anymore.

It's why she expects people around her to step up. Because, let's be real. If so many of them are capable of evil things, they are also capable of good. And they can fight alongside her.

But once it gets only a little bit hard, they corner her and throw her out of her own house. None of this mfs actually beared any costs for it. HER HOUSE.

Why do they throw her out? Because they experienced a small % of fear, pain, and hardship she had to handle for years. Almost always on her own. And suddenly, they cannot trust her anymore.

I like when Anya tells her that they don't truly know of she's "better than them" or "special". Because it shows the insane duality of this dynamic of being a slayer.

She's so special and good she has to take care of all these things for everyone around her.

At the same time, they can always tell her she didn't earn any of it. Despite the fact that there is literally a second slayer in the room, who quite literally became a murderer and a villain while Buffy saved the world countless of times.

Also, although I enjoy Anyas character, the audacity of her to say this when she became a literal demon twice.

After all of this, after they treated her this way and trusted an inexperienced (in being good) Slayer who tried to steal her life and graped her boyfriend... she was right all along. She saved their asses.

And she didn't even receive as much as a thank you.

8. I could go on an on about this topic, but just a few points to add for now:

1. Willow and Xander (and everyone on earth actually) aren't entitled to Buffy protecting them and killing herself for the cause.

2. Although I'm not saying that every single side character was bad (I actually love many of them, just not in regards to how they treat her), they were all abusing Buffy in one way or another because they were benefiting from her exploitation and keeping her locked in her situation.

3. Buffy wasn't chosen to be a slayer by some divine intervention but by a group of old men, to terrified to fight their own demons. Relying on teenage girls to save them.

4. There's something to say about the fact that the whole supernatural world is kept a secret, although I'm pretty sure the council could easily make the world aware of the truth. I think this can be interpreted as a toxic family. There is one abusive family member, and everyone protects them and hides it because one person takes it on themselves. There wouldn't be such a need for a slayer, were people aware of what was happening. They would create ways to protect themselves.

Disclaimer: I am not a therapist or a medical professional in any way. My credentials are: I experienced this kind of abuse and learned a lot about it. Also, pls, you don't need to tell me if you have npd and you're the kindest person in the world. I have no hate for you. This is about my own experience.

[kaechu1]

Hermes x noble!reader

note: this fic takes longer than it supposed to be soo...and this is for my pookie @plushiesssforcrying HERE YOU HAVE IT NOW LET MY FAMILY GO!

warning: ranged marriage, mommy issues? idk but the mother being an ass.

pronounce: this was supposed to be gender neutral but now it's fem reader!! i didn't even notice until i read it

it was early in the morning when [y/n] decided to wake up and get herself ready for the day, her mother tells her there's something important she want to discuss with her so she make sure she wake up early.

[y/n] was excited thinking it's just her mother rewarding her again for doing great with her studies or for taking good care of her little siblings like always.

but she wasn't ready to hear what she meant.

as [y/n] sit from her bed and straight to her closet to choose something to wear she heard a noise coming from her balcony. she smile softly as she didn't even need to turn her head to know who was standing there.

"visiting me so early, huh hermes?"

said [y/n] as she continue looking through her clothes for something to wear as she hear his little cheeky giggles behind her.

"how couldn't i? you know i miss you my darling" says the god as he enters her room and starts walking towards her "why didn't you miss me?~"

[y/n] giggles as she turn her face to him, seeing how the sun kissing his face so beautifully "you know that's not true, i always miss you." says [y/n] as kiss his cheek before going back through her closet

"i know darling, no one can reset my charm~"

"you're so full of yourself"

"but you love it, don't you!~"

"yes, i do"

[y/n] giggles softly as hermes wrap his arms around her waist from behind as he rest her head on her shoulder. "feeling comfortable i see?" [y/n] say softly. "how can't i? you're so soft and tiny compared to me" said hermes as he giggled again feeling the room with his silly and cheeky giggles.

"I'm happy you're feeling comfortable love , but i need to go, my mom wants to talk to me about something important this morning. i think it's another reward for doing great in my studies" said [y/n] happily as take one of the dresses in her closet and push Hermes away slightly.

"and don't you have messages to send anyway?" said [y/n] as she smirk looking at hermes who look a little bit disappointed

"well, yes but i thought I'll check on you first and who knows, maybe I'll get a little kiss in return~" says hermes as his smirk finds it way back to his face as he bends a little so his face was in front of hers.

[y/n] sigh softly as she chuckles "okay you'll have your kiss, but you need to go. don't want anyone to see you here okay?"

"sure sure, don't worry darling. no one will know that [y/n] the daughter of the wealthiest nobles is kissing and making out with a god~" he said before his smirk get wilder as his voice dripping with sarcasm.

[y/n] giggles softly before she get closer cupping his check pulling him closer as their lips finally meet. hermes didn't waste anytime as he hold her waist pulling her even closer as their kiss got deeper.

but before anything else happened, [y/n] start hearing sounds of steps coming closer to her bedroom door. she quickly push Hermes breaking the kiss. "someone is coming you should go, now!"

"[y/n], are you still sleep?"

[y/n] jump as she hears her mom calling her from behind her door as she knock on it. "you should go Hermes, now!" [y/n] said quietly as she didn't waste anytime and start pushing Hermes to her window again "but we didn't even finish kissing!" said hermes quite as he stood outside her balcony.

"we'll continue it later, now if she enters and sees us, we're done!" hermes just sighs as he looks disappointed. "fine... but you own me!" says hermes as he gets his fret off the ground ready to head off "sure sure love, just go now. bye"

said [y/n] before waving to hermes as she close her window. and then her door open. "[y/n], why didn't you answer me when i knock? and why aren't you ready yet?"

"m.. mother i was just getting ready before you knock, I'll be ready just give me seconds" [y/n] said as she smile nervously hoping her mother won't suspect anything.

her mother on the other hand either didn't notice or didn't care enough to bring it up."we're waiting for you, get ready and come to eat breakfast"

"sure mother!"

then as the door closed [y/n] sigh deeply as she sit on the ground calming herself down for few seconds before she decided to stand up and start getting ready.

as [y/n] start walking down the stairs she sees her her siblings and her mom and dad, and she she start walking towards her seat her father voice stops her. "[y/n] my dear, why won't you come?"

[y/n] was confused at first but she didn't ask as she go and dit beside her father as he start petting her head. "you've grown so much my dear." said her father softly as he look at her with caring eyes.

[y/n] blush a little at her father sudden affections towards her but she didn't ask anything. "yea you know, I'm aren't the same little girl you used to know, im all grown now!" said [y/n] as smile at her father.

"i know my dear, that's why me and your mom have decided something..." said her father as he looked at her mom waiting for her to say it. [y/n] was confused at first but then it hit her.

"me and your father decided to marry you to one of our noble friends son"

suddenly everything was silent. [y/n] froze in her place as she look at her mother with wild eyes before she turn to look at her father "what.."

"listen dear i know this isn't what you expected but believe me, it's going to be great! I have known this friend for a long time and his son is such a gentleman, he'll treat you right, i promise you my dear!"

[y/n] just look at her father for few seconds before the realization hit her. "you marry me off to someone without even asking if i wanted that!?" [y/n] stand up as she slam table look at her dad

"you don't get a say in anything, it's not about what you wanted, it's about what is the best for you and this family"

[y/n] just stand there staring at at her mom for few seconds in disbelief before she felt her father holding her arm, trying to comfort her "[y/n] dear, why won't you sit down so we can talk like fa-"

"No I'm not! because you guys clearly do not understand how fucked up that is!" she cut him off as she raised her voice as the whole table went silent, not even a single move.

"you better watch your tongue young lady, we already decided so yelling won't solve it, so i suggest you sit down and act like a lady"

said [y/n]'s mother as she continues eating her food like nothing really happened or like she doesn't really care.

[y/n] couldn't take it anymore. she push her chair as she strom out the room running towards the stairs to her room.

[y/n]'s father try to follow her, to make her calm and listen but his wife voice stops him "leave her. she'll understand it by herself. she's a smart girl after all."

her father hesitates for a second but then he sighs deeply as he sits back down. "i hope you're right.."

"I'm always right."

as [y/n] strom to her room she enter as she slam the door close as she sit behind ut and start letting her tears out. she can't believe that her own parents did this to her, the same people who promised to love her snd protect her. and now they're marrying her to someone else.

someone she doesn't love.

how will she face this? how will she face... hermes.

as the thought were running through her mind, she heard a familiar sounds coming from her window. oh fuck this is the worse timing..

"my darling im back~ did you miss m-" Hermes though was cut short as he sees his lover sitting on the ground with her eyes full of tears and messy hair. he had never seen her like this. and he wished he would never have to.

"[y/n]... are you alright? why are you crying?" says hermes as he rush to sit in front of his lover as he cup her face brushing her tears away with his thumbs.

"did someone hurt you? just tell me who, I'll make them pa-" as the god starts to get frustrated, his lover stops him mid track.

"no Hermes! It's my parents, they marry me to some of their noble friends.." [y/n] suddenly snaps as she couldn't keep it in her anymore. "i try to tell them that's not what i want but they wouldn't listen... i don't want to marry anyone.. i want you Hermes.."

the god stays silent as he hears his lover pouring her heart to him, as tears continue to go down her face non stop like a waterfall. but he doesn't say a word, just continues holding her checks as he tries to brush her tears away.

the room felt quiet with only the cries and the soft sobs of his lover felling the room. he just stared at his lover for a few seconds before standing up again.

"I'll be back, stay here and wait for my love"

as the god was heading to the window where he came from his lover followed him as she held his hand with hers.

"please Hermes... they're still my parents.. please don't do anything to them, I'm begging" says [y/n] as she look down still holding her lover hand. as much as he hated all this, she don't wish for her parents to be hurt.

Hermes turns around as he cups his lover check again with his hand as the other one holds her hand back rightly. he then makes her look straight into his eyes. his loving and caring eyes.

"don't worry my love, I'd never do anything to hurt you or your family. just stay here okay? I'll be back soon i promise"

he said before kissing her forehead as he disappeared from her sight in godly speed.

[y/n] was laying on her bed as the thoughts were running through her mind again. it's been hours since hermes left and she start to get worried.. not about him but about what he's capable of doing..

he could curse this whole island if he left like it.

but [y/n]'s thought were cut as she heard knocks on her door. is it her father again? she already refused to talk to him and pushed him away 5 times in the past few hours..

"[y/n]! open the door right now you need to hear about this!" to [y/n] surprised it wasn't her father but her younger sister. Eliana was one year younger than her and they're the closest out of their siblings.

"Eli please leave, I'm not in the mood for anything." says [y/n] as she sigh deeply not wanting to talk about anything at the moment.

"[y/n] your marriage have been cancelled!!" Eliana said from the other side of the door which makes [y/n] jump from her bed.

cancelled? CANCELLED?? even the god of truth couldn't convince her that was true.

she didn't waste any time as rush to her door opening it to come face to face with her sister.

"tell me everything."

"you mean to tell me that they just... cancel it? without reason just like that??"

"pretty much yea, my father even said that the noble was terrified and refused to talk and even demanded that him and my father cut things off" said Eliana before she put another fruit in her mouth.

[y/n] was sitting on her bed staring at her sister who was eating the fruit that was on her desk with shocked.

but how? and why so sudden- oh.

it was Hermes wasn't it?

"anyway dear sister you better thank god that he refused, i heard that he's an asshole towards women" wow. how shocking, a noble who's an asshole, once every full moon. [y/n] thought as she roll her eyes.

"and my mom told me not to tell you this so you didn't hear that from me! yeah i better go before she suspects my disappearing, byee" Eliana said as she left but not before taking the fruit plate with her leaving [y/n] with her thoughts.

[y/n] sigh before going after sister to close the door behind her. and as she did she hears a familiar giggles coming from behind her. the same giggles she love and adore.

"heyy sweetie I'm back~" said hermes as he stood behind her looking as happy as ever, as if he just won some kind of prize, and maybe he did. the prize was you.

"hermes, what did you do this time?" said [y/n] as she turn with her arm Crossing looking at her lover. shes trying her hardest not to chuckles at her lover silly face.

"what? i didn't do anything what are you talking about?" said hermes acting like he never did anything wrong in his entire life.

"hermes? did you traumatize my suiter away?"

"what?? i would never do such a thing!" said hermes with yelp and hand on his chest as if your words wounded him deeply. what a play.

"are you sure?" said [y/n] before she finally let out a soft laugh as she start walking towards him. then she stops infornt of him as she cup his face "hermes?"

Hermes blushed as he leaned into his lover's hand "okay maybe i did something, not not much! i just sent a little... message." said hermes as stare into his lover's eyes for a few seconds admiring them, before he left her up and started swirling her around the room.

the room was now filled with nothing but their laughter and happiness for the moment before he stopped as he held her tightly to him as if she could disappear if he left her, as he rest his forehead on hers closing his eyes enjoying her laughs.

[y/n] smile wildly as she close her eyes resting into her lover arms. that's all she ever wish for, for moments like these with her lover, no thought, no anything. just her and her lover enjoying each other. oh she would trade the world for these moments.

for a few moments they didn't say anything, just enjoying each other's warmth in silence. well at least that's what they thought.

"you still owe me for cutting off our making out session last time!"

"hermes!!"

note: fuck this fanfic man. if there's anything wrong then just ignore it im not touching this fanfic ever again. this fic cause me my mental health so you better like it.

[ashblooddragons]

Forever & Always (Chapter 1/?)

This request was made by my bestie @themoonlitquill

Series Masterlist

116 ac

Rhaenyra’s pov

I remember the night it happened. I was so excited to see the city, so excited to experience a world I knew would forever be hidden from me. 

The way people danced. The way people laughed like they truly meant it. The way the food tasted better even though it was only a copper or two. It was all intoxicating. 

It was a dream for me, a night where I wasn't my Father's perfect daughter but just a nobody next to other nobodies. It was freedom like I've never felt before. Not even riding Syrax felt like this. 

But I never, not once, expected for him to bring me to that place. To tear my clothes from my body and take my virtue with such fervor I could hardly breathe. I still remember the way the wall cut into my back as he thrust into me. The way he wouldn't look at me even as I begged. And once he spilled his seed in me he set me on the ground again, and I thought I would finally get to kiss his lips again. But of course not, he left me there, completely unclothed, bare to the world with my hair on display. 

He didn't care about me, he didn't love me, he wanted to ruin me. 

And that was clear as day when he didn't even come to my wedding, when he stayed at Driftmark and fell in love with Laena Velaryon. When he left for Pentos with her. 

I don't blame Laena for his actions. She is just a woman as I, hoping to have a handsome husband to dote upon her. And from what I hear from Laenor, he does, and he isn't ashamed to show it either. 

I won't lie and say it wasn't a kick to the gut each time I hear how magical their marriage is. But I'm happy for Laena, she was always kind and welcoming each time we saw each other. 

But I hate him, I hate him with everything in me. He made me feel loved, made me feel seen, made me feel special. But it was all a lie, and he only proved I was a stupid, stupid, little girl.

Because here I am now, screaming as his babe rips me apart to come into this world. 

“Push, Princess!” A Midwife yells from beside me. 

I can't find a reason to care for her words. Is she the one being ripped apart right now? I thought not. 

I feel wave after wave of excruciating pain, my vision is blurry and I feel my heart beating out of my chest. 

I'm not ready for this, I'm not ready to end up like my Mother. Cut open like a pig only so the realm can rejoice over a son. 

“I can't!” I sob out when all of them scream at me to push. I know I need to but fear is holding me back. 

And just as they try and convince me to try, does the door bursts open and my past friend runs in. 

“Move, all of you!” She demands in that tone that she slowly learned. Her Queen voice as I like to call it. 

“Ali.” I whimper using the old nickname I gave her from our childhood when I see her. 

“I'm here, Nyra, I'm here.” She says using hers for me. I see the worry in her eyes as she looks between my legs. The smell of copper fills the room and it is sickening. And I could see my worst fear coming true. I'm going to die like my Mother, like a butchered pig. Image after image of what they will inevitably do to me flashes before my eyes. 

“Nyra, listen to me!” I finally hear turning to see a wild eyed Alicent staring at me. “You need to push.” She says, voice trembling. 

“I can't.” I sob out barely breathing through the pain shooting through me. 

“Yes you can, Nyra. Please, push.” She begs but I only shake my head violently.

“I don't want to end up like my Mother!” I scream and I feel a hush fall through the room. 

I can't help the large wet tears that roll down my face. I know I must look a mess but I don't care, if I'm going to die I need to say this. 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I treated you, I wasn't angry at you but I couldn't show my anger towards my Father. I'm sorry I acted like I hated you, I never did, I love you, you're the sister I always dreamed of.” I sob out and she tries to calm me down but I only shake my head more. “No, I need to say this!” I cry out as another wave of pain shoots through me. 

“If I don't make it, look after my babe. Be a Mother to them. Cherish them. Promise me!” 

“I promise.” She says kissing my cheek and wiping my tears. “And you have nothing to be sorry for.” She says taking my hand in hers but I still can't fight my fears, can't shake the image of my Mother cut open. 

I know I wasn't supposed to see it, that I wasn't supposed to know. But I wanted to see her one last time before the silent sisters came. I was alone in a room scented like sage but the pungent smell of copper and death still showed through. I remember gagging at the smell almost turning back, but I wouldn't. That's my Mother and I was going to get my final goodbye alone. 

So I walked in looking anywhere but the bed. Whether it be the floor where I would play with my dolls as she hummed a soft tune. Or the hearth where my egg laid turned to stone and she held me as all my dreams of riding a dragon disappeared. That is until I forced myself to look up at my Mother’s bed and I finally saw what my Father did to her. 

He always said he loved her, that she was the love of his life. But in the moment I realized he loved the idea of her. Because how could you love someone only to do this to them? To have her pinned down and then slice her open like some ham roast. 

No he never loved my Mother, he only ever loved himself. Which is why I turn to look at Alicent once more and smile. 

“But I do, I have so much to be sorry for and I will never be able to make amends.” 

Once the words leave my lips she reaches up to grip my face between her hands. 

“What did you tell me after my Mother died? When I was scared of every cold, every time bile left my throat, every sniffle?” She demands and I'm so confused I stare at her bewildered. 

“Wh-what?” I ask and she huffs.

“What did you say to me?” She demanded again and the memory came rushing back. 

“That you are not Alyrie Florent, that you are Alicent Hightower.” 

She nods, staring me in the eyes before her next words hit me in the chest. 

“And you are not Aemma Arryn. You are Rhaenyra Targaryen, rider of Syrax. Now push!” She says with such conviction I can't help but nod in agreement. 

“I am not Aemma Arryn.” I say through gritted teeth as I push with what little strength I have left. 

“I see the head!” A Midwife says, holding her arms out ready to catch the babe. 

“Keep going, Rhaenyra. You can do this.” Alicent says beside me and I know I must be crushing her hand in my iron tight grip but I can't find any reason to care right now. 

I give one last strong push, I feel all the blood rush to my ears making every voice in the room sound like they are underwater. But I feel Alicent grip my hand back cheering me on. So I keep going. 

I am not Aemma Arryn. I am not Aemma Arryn. I am not Aemma Arryn! I think when all the pain washes away and the room falls silent. 

Where are the cries? I think as I look up to see a Midwife rubbing the babes face, tickling its toes. I feel my heart sink into my stomach, all the blood rushing from my face as dread fills me. But just as those feelings come, the Midwife huff and flips the babe on its stomach and smacks its bum. And with that a cry fills the room. I never thought a babes cries would sound so beautiful. That they would bring me to tears of joy. 

I let out a laugh reaching for my babe as the old Midwife walked over to me handing me my first child. 

“A beautiful Princess, Your Grace.” She says putting the babe to my sweat slicked chest. 

“Healthy?” Alicent asks as she coos at my little girl. 

“Kicking like a goat, my Queen.” She says making me and Alicent laugh. 

We both smile down at my little girl as the midwives stitch me up quickly and wrap padding and cloth around my hips and core. 

“The Maester will be in soon to check the babes health. Make sure there are no complications me and my team missed. He will also bring you tea for the pain.” The old woman says before ushering her fellow midwives out of the chambers leaving me and Alicent alone. 

We are silent for a while, just looking down at my little girl. Her eyes are open and I can't help but smile at their distinct color of deep violet. Almost that of wine pooling in her eyes. It's a welcome sight for I had feared seeing the lilacs of her…no I dare not even think of him. 

Her hair is silver blonde hair, it is straight, almost eerily so. It reminds me of my Mother's straight silver blonde hair. 

But what sets in for me is one fact alone. She is pure, she is so very pure and I do not want her to feel the stress of being heir. I do not want to see that innocent and curious shine to dim because of court. I do not want that gummy grin filled with joy to slowly change into a look of despair because of the crushing weight of what is expected of her. 

The thought of waiting for my next child and hoping it is a son comes but I quickly shake the thought away. 

I would be a hypocrite. Naming a son over my firstborn. I think as she starts nudging her head into my breasts in search of milk.

I quickly let my nightgown loose and help her latch onto my breast. I can help but smile as her eyes flutter closed with each drag of milk into her small yet demanding mouth. 

“What will you name her?” Alicent asks as she fluffs my pillows to help support my now heavy body. 

“This may come as a shock, but I was thinking…” I stop for a dramatic pause pretending to think. “Visenya.” I finally say like it is the most wild name to come from my lips and no one would expect it. And thankfully Alicent starts laughing, falling into the jest as quickly as she used to. 

“I would have never guessed!” She teases with an exaggerated gasp. 

I can't help but laugh with her, it feels like old times but different. It feels like we're us again, and for the first time in a long time I feel like I breathe.

But when I look back down at my little Visenya I feel a decision set. And before I can truly grasp it I hear myself speak. 

“I do not want to be heir.” 

I feel both of us freeze, I feel Alicent eyeing me either in confusion or wariness. And I don't blame her either way. 

“Why?” Is all she asks and I hear the quiet shock yet relief in her voice. 

“I don't want her to feel what I feel. I don't want her to feel the whispers and glances of judgment. Nothing this pure needs to feel that.” 

I wait for her response, wait for a sigh of relief even, but none comes. So I force myself to look away from my little girl and look at my friend. 

Thick large tears silently roll down her face. Not ones of fear or sadness, but relief. Like all the weight has left her shoulders and she can now breathe again. 

“I don't have to worry anymore.” I hear her whisper to herself. 

“Worry about what?” I ask, confusion washing over my face. 

She flinches before looking up at me again. I see the debate in her eyes, of whether or not to tell me. But when I reach for her hand giving it a gentle yet reassuring squeeze she breaks down into sobs. 

“Everyone told me when you ascended the throne you would kill my children. I know it's no excuse, but it's why I didn't want to connect with them. I couldn't bring myself to put all of my heart and soul into living them because I knew one day I would have to watch them die.” She sobs, no wails. 

 can't help but feel my blood run cold when I hear this. Not in rage, nor in fear. But because somewhere, deep, deep, inside me I know what she says is true. A war would more than likely break out, if not with me and Aegon than with Visenya and her younger brother. And if I ascended the throne, I fear I would have been pressured to kill my siblings. 

So instead of saying I wouldn't have, of saying it's all lies, I turn to her and bring her close so she can sob into my chest as Visenya drinks away oblivious to the life changing conversation she has just witnessed. 

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy @technicallylegendaryenemy @talknerdytome5391

[dimalry]

I was thinking recently about your acotar concept/remake, and all the cool elements you’re adding to build up the world-building and it got me curious. will the Archeron sisters’ dynamic between each other stay relatively the same?

And on the flip side, what is the dynamic between our main 3 brothers now that Rhysand is more morally-grey? Does that make Cassian and Azriel morally-grey, and in what way specifically?

Relatively yes, their dynamic is stays pretty much the same.

I’d like to delve deeper into the Archeron sisters' lore, particularly how their family dynamics shaped them. The root of their strained relationship lies in their parents: their mother’s favoritism and abuse, as well as their father’s favoritism towards Elain and his overall cowardice, left quite some scars on their daughters. I want to explore their relationship that doesn’t include the constant interference from the Inner Circle or anyone else. Others may have opinions, but I won’t let them take it upon themselves to solve the sisters’ issues. Pleased to say, I’ve found a way to get Nesta to the House of Wind without force or intervention from the Inner Circle—especially since, in my story, they couldn’t care less about anyone outside their circle and have no interest in helping Nesta (Except Cassian, but he… isn’t capable of even thinking about her around that time)

Here‘s how it goes:

Nesta, raised to believe Mother Archeron stands always right, ignores Feyre as she’s convinced that their mother‘s neglect of her was for some reason justified, and later resents her little sister for taking their father‘s role in their cottage years. Elain, protected by their father from their mother’s cruelty (while Nesta was not), was never used to fending for herself. She seeks refuge in the next person who can care solely for her (which turns into coddling her). Nesta’s years of resentment and Elain’s sudden shift when they became poor affected Feyre a lot, making her believe she was the problem in their family and had to „make up“ for it.

Since Nesta and Feyre never had a real relationship, it’s going to be awkward when Nesta starts showing affection: Feyre’s confused like “Uh… what is this?” and Nesta goes: „Oh thank god you’re alri- Wait a damn minute.” (And vice versa.) Same with Elain’s polite apology—Feyre forgives but secretly resents her for always getting a pass. Imagine it like this: “I want to help the refugees. They’ve suffered enough.” Feyre: “That’s rich.” Elain: “What was that?” Feyre: “Nothing.” In turn Elain resents Feyre for never being honest to her. Nesta, after years of coddling Elain, is stunned and angry when Elain „leaves“ her in her worst moments, leading to little fights similarly to the ones in ACOSF.

Basically, they hold a lot of resentment toward each other and are too proud to even acknowledge it, let alone communicate. Their perceptions of one another are shaped mainly by how their parents treated them individually. After Feyre develops an attitude from her time in the Spring Court, you should expect plenty of sharp words, reluctant care, constant bickering, and a whole lot of snark as they're forced to work together. It’s going to be emotional and fun 🤭.

As for your question about the bat boys:

The guys are the opposite. They didn’t let their parents' influence define their relationship, instead they found solace in each other. They aren’t really good at communicating, but when times get tough, they try to be there for each other.

With everything Cassian and Azriel endured as children, the closest to a guardian next to Rhys’s mother was his father (which was hell). Cassian was seen as a worthless orphan, barely acknowledged by the former High Lord, yet he became the most empathetic and competent in the inner circle. He’d hesitate to kill innocents directly, even if necessary. Ignorant at times when his family is rightfully criticized or insulted (Illyrians spitting on Rhys for abandoning them to Amarantha), but not truly morally gray. Meanwhile the little Shadowsinger, rare and powerful as they are, was expected to be a perfect weapon and therefor bore the brunt of the High Lord’s anger. Both of them are forever grateful to Rhys and his mother, but for Azriel that gratitude extends to Rhys himself. Azriel feels like he owes him his life for everything Rhys has done for him (like shielding him from his father’s tantrums) and so whatever Rhys commands, he does. No objections, no hesitation. A spy caught doing his job? Tortured until he talks, then slowly killed (even if it’s eating up his soul). He holds Rhys in the highest regard, while Cassian, though equally loyal, simply treasures the family he was given.

Neither of them care about the rest of the world and why should they? They all look down on them (rightfully so lol) and whatever happens outside of the Night Court is none of their business. As long as their court stands strong, they’re fine with this devious asshole chasing power and dooming others, at times even support it… that is until Rhys goes too far by choosing power over family, the one thing that Cassian and Azriel treasure the most in the world. That’s when a rift in their relationship happens.

I tried my best to answer your questions. There’s just soooo much to say, but I didn’t want this post to be too long.. It makes me so happy that people are already thinking about my acotar story 🥰

[hyperions-light]

Taash Week 2025 Day 4 ⏤ Shokra toh Ebra

Thank you to @mageofquandrix once again for providing this lovely screenshot!

Drabble for day four of @datvcompanionweeks' Taash Week event!

Hmmm, I think this could use a little bit more tweaking, but ALSO I think it might be that I'm just so attached to this concept that I'm annoyed I'm not conveying my feelings about it perfectly? lol

So in lieu of perfection, I will say that I think Shokra toh Ebra is one of the unifying themes of Veilguard, and it's so wonderful that Taash plays such a pivotal role in the emotional narrative, through that concept. All of the characters find a more authentic version of themselves through struggling against adversity, and Taash gives voice to that idea. They acknowledge the pain of that journey, and the triumph that it brings <3

__

When Tama died, Taash thought she was scolding them, one last time, with her words— telling them they still didn't understand what she was trying to teach them— that they weren't Qunari enough.

Shokra toh Ebra. Through struggle, you find what you are.

But the longer they think about it, the less sure they are that she was correcting them. Because she had said that they'd done it. That they'd become more of themself, through their struggle.

They think that maybe the phrase is supposed to be something to hold against the pain of fighting for yourself; something that acknowledges how difficult it can be to endure, but reminds you of the good that can come out of it.

Taash wonders if maybe what Tama had been trying to say, was that she understood how hard it had been, for Taash to find themselves. And that she was… proud of them, for doing that. She was trying to acknowledge that, maybe.

But they're not sure. They could be getting it wrong— again.

So they ask Rook. They can be really good with serious stuff, sometimes— good at listening.

Rook turns their head to the side, slightly, like a bird.

"I didn't know her like you did, Taash. But I'm positive she was proud of you— the way she talked about you… I think you were the most important thing in the world, to her."

Taash swallows back the sudden tightness in their throat. They squeeze their hands together, where they're clasped, in the gap between their spread legs.

"Why didn't she just say that? Would have been less confusing."

Rook hums.

"Maybe she felt like the way she would have said it wasn't right. She told me she thought she wasn't that good of a mother, to you— that she'd messed a lot of things up, because she didn't really know how to raise you. Maybe she was just…. afraid to mess up the last thing she got to say to you, so she picked somebody else's words."

Taash looks down. Their eyes trace the dar-saam, wrapped carefully, precisely around their arms.

"She didn't mess it up. And I didn't want anyone else's words. I wanted hers."

Rook leans toward them, hovering; like they want to touch Taash, but aren't sure they should.

"Sometimes it's hard to figure out how to say what you mean, right?"

Taash nods. There are days where they get so frustrated about that— that they can't seem to say things in a way people will understand.

"I think it might have been hard for her, too. She didn't have the right words to tell you how she felt— nobody taught her how. I think she was just… hoping that you would understand her, eventually. Because you knew her better than anyone."

Taash scowls, frustrated.

"But I didn't get it. I messed it up."

"No, you didn't," Rook insists. "You just told me you've spent all this time thinking about it. Figuring it out."

"But I took too long."

"Was there a time limit?" they say, smiling.

Taash frowns.

"No, I mean… I didn't get it right away, when she said it. I was mad at her. I didn't feel the right thing. I didn't feel the way she wanted me to."

And that's… they're disappointed in themselves. That they couldn't get it right, again. That they let her down, when it was so important.

"That's not fair to you, Taash," Rook says stubbornly. "You were both stressed, and she was in danger, and then we had to fight a dragon. Sometimes people just don't understand each other, right away. That's not your fault, and it's not hers, either. You figured out how she meant it, right?"

"Yeah."

Tama loved teaching people; loved the Qunari; loved Taash.

Explaining things was part of the way she showed people her love. Giving Taash their heritage was, too.

They can see now, how she was trying to wrap up all of the things she loved, together.

"Then I think she'd be happy. Because all she wanted was for you to know how proud of you she was."

Taash nods, silently, tears falling on their clasped hands.

Rook crouches in front of where they're sitting, looking up into their face. Through their tears Taash can see Rook's eyes, soft with sympathy.

"Can I… do you want a hug? Would it help?"

They don't think it would. But they reach out and grab Rook's hand, and that feels okay. Feels better.

[pinkslipxox]

Ava and Mia have their first loose teeth and lose them in funny ways

hey, baby! Hope you like it ❤️🙈 based on true events from yours truly hehe 😉

——————————————————————————

You stand in the warm, inviting glow of your kitchen, the delightful scent of freshly baked cookies wafting though the air. Flour dusts the countertops, a soft haze enveloping the cozy space, and you hum a gentle tune, filled with the lighthearted joy of the moment. The anticipation of the arrival of your twin daughters brings a smile to your lips.

Before you know it, the familiar sound of the front door creaks open, and cheerful giggles echo through the house. Your daughters, Ava and Mia, announce their arrival by calling out, “Mama! Mama!” as they run down the hallway. Following close behind them is your wife, Billie, with a smile on her face that makes your heart flutter.

“Welcome home, my loves!” you greet cheerfully, quickly wiping your hands and wrapping them in your arms. The twins wrap their small arms around your neck and waist, their affection reminding you just how lucky you are to be their mother.

“I smell cookies!” Billie says playfully as she joins the three of you in the kitchen. At that, the twins are quick to go sit at the table, eager to indulge their afternoon snack.

“Hi, darling,” you murmur softly as Billie takes you in her arms, her affection warm and comforting.

“Hey, my girl,” Billie replies and she captures your lips with hers in a sweet kiss. Her thumb caresses your cheek, the love and adoration evident in those crystal blue eyes of hers. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

You can’t help but smile. “I love you, too, Bills. Could you help me with the girls’ snack?”

“Of course,” she replies and steals another quick kiss before heading towards the cupboard. Billie moves around the kitchen, setting out plates with fresh apple slices and cookies. You join your girls at the table and being to ask about their day. The room is filled with the scent of sweetness, blending with the warmth of your family dynamic, and it makes your heart happy.

Billie comes back with the snacks and places each plate in front of the twins. She kisses their forehead and sits down next to you. Her arm slips around your waist, and she kisses your cheek.

“Mommy, can we have milk with our snack?” Ava asks, her wide, innocent eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Of course, sweetie!” Billie replies, letting go of you for a moment to pour glasses of milk for everyone. The twins chirp in excitement at the thought of the cool drink.

You watch the scene unfold, taking in the way Billie moves, how gentle and nurturing she is with the girls. It reminds you why you fell in love with her in the first place. You can see the bond between them—Ava and Mia adore her, and honestly, you can’t blame them.

In no time, everyone is gathered around the table, munching on snacks and sharing stories about the day. Just as Ava takes a big gulp of her milk, she suddenly freezes, her eyes wide in shock.

“Mama! I think my tooth is loose!” she exclaims, putting a tiny hand to her mouth.

Mia, always ready to compete with her sister, goes, “Mine is loose too!” She too takes a gulp of her milk, and a clatter of giggles erupts around the table.

Suddenly, both girls look shocked, their hands flying to their mouths. “I swallowed my tooth!” Mia shrieks.

Ava gasps, echoing her sister’s disbelief. “Me too!” They both burst into laughter, a sound so pure and joyful that it fills the room.

Billie and you share a look of amused disbelief, unable to contain your own laughter. “Well, I guess the Tooth Fairy is going to have to find you in your bellies tonight,” Billie jokes, and the girls erupt in delighted giggles again.

“Looks like we’ve got some unexpected riches to deal with tonight,” she whispers playfully in your ear.

You lean into her, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. “Maybe we’ll bribe the Tooth Fairy with cookies?” You suggest playfully back, feeling lighter just being near her.

Billie's gentle fingers brush your hair back, her eyes dancing with love. “I like that idea, baby girl.” She cradles you in her arms, and you feel safe and cherished in her embrace. The warmth of family surrounds you, laughter filling the air as Ava and Mia continue to discuss their tooth-loss adventures, excitement lighting up their little faces.

In moments like these, you’re reminded that love comes in various forms, from the gentle whispers of affection to the loud, joyous laughter of your children. You sigh contentedly against Billie, your heart full, knowing that this is your happy place.

[cumplanecrash]

more of Shen Yuan being One Of Us™ from chapter 1:

dies choking on his own rage, reading a shitty novel that he could put down at any time. Literally me with Elinor Olliphant and that one self-publishing self-help book, my mother made me put the books down for fear that I was gonna have a heart attack and die from how pissed I was.

Calls himself "upstanding young man like him—who had properly purchased the website’s VIP currency and read the novel’s official version" -- Dragonball, Dragonball Z, and Dragonball GT are owned by Toei Animation, Fuji TV, and Akira Toriyama, please support the official release. Could be CYA, could be genuine belief. I choose to believe, given we find out that his family is rich enough to support him later, that he genuinely feels some kind of holier than thou for making sure to buy through the website and not buy like a trade paperback or pirate.

Nah, bro, it's not that he enjoys pissing himself off, he was just waiting for all the mysteries and foreshadowing to pay off. They weren't plot holes, there were logical explanations for all of it.

"Can we have a discussion? Fill! In! Plot holes! Okay?!" AKA "#airplane i just wanna talk"

"Having read many of Zhongdian’s transmigration novels, Shen Yuan had long ago resolved that, if he one day woke up to find himself lying in a strange place, the first words out of his mouth before he understood what was happening definitely wouldn’t be a carefree giggle and, “Are you filming a movie? The props look so real—your crew’s really giving it their all!” I.e., the words of a person slow-wittedly trying to find their footing." AKA this man has absolutely written self-insert fic in his own head even if he's never published it [potential essay topic: is it possible that SVSSS is Peerless Cucumber's own self insert fanfic, and if so, what does all the no-homo-ing say about his mental state as he published? Could it be spun as a self-discovery fic?]

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, what bullshit is this? How come you’re speaking directly into my brain? Does Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky know you’re plagiarizing Proud Immortal Demon Way’s setting like this?!” Priorities: 1) Cuss the System out. 2) How is this possible? 3) Did you know that actually making a videogame of someone's work without their permission isn't cool, it's stealing? [more evidence of a holier-than-thou attitude with regards to fanwork]

"He’d hit the jackpot—he’d transmigrated!" Even after assessing that he's in PIDW, this is his dream come true. Especially because he'd just finished PIDW, even if he hated it.

"As a 21st century veteran VIP reader of Zhongdian Literature, Shen Yuan had read various types of do-over and transmigration male power fantasy novel." His favorite genre is definitely transmigration novels, which was my favorite flavor of fanfiction back on quizilla. Do y'all remember when we used to write y/n fanfic on quiz sites, so you could change major scenes like in a Telltale Game? Because I sure do.

"As a semi-otaku, Shen Qingqiu had seen a number of fanwork-related terms here and there—you know what I mean" Shen Yuan is clearly a millennial fan, because he won't admit to being involved in a hypothetical fan culture, even as he admits to reading many do-over and transmigration novels. He ~barely knows~ what OOC is, and certainly not well enough to repeat the term. Where's that post that's like "No, mom, I don't think anyone's ever considered the possibility of Light and L being a romantic couple, what a unique idea" that's our Shen Yuan

[imjustalittlecrazy]

More yandere platonic queen please we eaten so good over here can’t wait to see what happens next

To Each Their Own (Chapter 3)

Platonic yandere Queen and fem reader!

TW! Assault. Non-sexual nudity.

1.0k words, kinda beta read.... I didn't know how to end this one off so it kinda just abruptly ends.

Your eyes went wide at the question, and suddenly you push yourself up off the ground. The reaction surprises the queen, and she too stands up albeit more gracefully. You don’t say anything, but you shuffle more towards the double doors, in hopes that the queen will dismiss you.

“Dear,” the queen says softly, “please tell me what’s wrong, why are you acting this way?” she questions. You can’t help but back away, hoping that somehow the doors will be right behind you for a grand escape. You’re so nervous about talking to the queen about the head maid, that you don’t truly understand that this women in front of you is a powerful woman, that she has the ability to fire the head maid, not the other way around.

“Your majesty,” you stutter through the words, “I have no idea why you would assume something of that matter, the head maid is fair and treats all the staff the same.” The words fall fastly from your lips, and you hope the queen doesn’t notice. Of course she does though, seeing as she immediately responds by saying,

“Dear child, I caught Charleen in a blatant lie about you, she’s already done at the castle, I merely was checking in on you, however if you don’t want to talk about it then, I suppose you can go onto bed.” She’s gentle while talking to you almost like a mother would to a mere child. You nod, too scared to speak, too scared to acknowledge her words, and most importantly to scared about what may await you when you head back to the servant quarters.

Your mind is a mess as you walk along the hall, and you can’t help but pinch the skin above your collar bone, a nervous tick you’ve had since you were a child. Theres no one around, yet you can sense eyes on you. You jump suddenly because of a noise behind you, and when turning around you are met with a maid…

Melina, a maid who’s been nothing but hateful towards you, approaches with a sick smirk on her face. You can already sense that this isn’t going to be a nice encounter.

“I’ve been waiting along time for the go ahead from Charleen.” she says. “Been waiting patiently to have my way with you.”

You tense, and you turn slightly back around, hoping no one is behind you, but sadly you can see two more maids. Ave and Lisa they’re apart of Charleen’s posse.

“Don’t look at them, look at me.” Melina shouts out. You flinch, noticing that she is close, too close. You can feel the panic rising, can feel your heart trying to jump out of your chest, and not to mention you’re still a bit woozy from fainting earlier.

There’s a hand on your shoulder as soon as you blink, and just as fast, there is a fist to your gut. You groan out is obvious pain, but that seems to only spurr her on. Its not just the one punch, it’s a kick, its more hands, and more kicks, and now you’re on the ground shielding your head with your bruising arms.

Its feels like an eternity but eventually they stop, and you can here Melina talking, but no words make it to you, however you do fell something land on your arms. Of course she would spit on you after an awful beating. Your head is pounding, but you make out footsteps leaving your vicinity.

Unshielding yourself, you stare up at the hallway ceiling, struggling to breathe. You lay there for a moment, until you know they truly did leave. Slowly, you drag yourself over to the wall closets to you and manage to push yourself up into a sitting position. You inhale to the best of your ability when you feel the dullest pain by your ribs, however you can’t see what it may be because of your uniform.

The pain pushes you to make your way towards the communal showers, in hopes of washing and checking yourself before anyone else finds you. But your luck still seems to be as bad as it’s been all day, because a gasp is heard from behind you a little later in the showers, fearing for the worst you flinch and curl into yourself.

It’s not anyone bad though, in fact once you really here the voice, you realize… it’s one of the only people who seems to have your back… The head chef Tammy, one of the oldest staff members, and one of your only friends.

“Who did this to you?” she questions as she runs a hand over your ribs. You hiss in response, and she quickly retracts her hand.

“No one, I fell.” Is all that is mumbled from your busted lip. She scoffs, and doesn’t hesitate to touch more of your damaged skin while saying,

“This is not something you get from a fall, now tell me who did this right now young lady or so help me god.” She’s seething at this point, but you understand that the anger is not directed at you.

“Mrs. Tammy, its nothing,” you repeat the lie in your head after saying it, in hopes of making yourself believe it. “I’ve had a long day Mrs. Tammy, and all I want to do now is go to bed.” You brush past her, while finally tugging your shirt on. She follows, close behind you and when the two of you make it to the door of the servant quarters, she pushes her way through, starting a rant about when she finds out who was responsible, only for it to die on her lips as she sees the state of your sleeping area.

The whole thing is shredded, and the trunk at the end, the trunk that holds all your belongings is destroyed. You gasp and you know everyone is staring as you limp over to your stuff. There is only thing you truly care about that was in that chest and you hope the people who did this had some mercy. Your worst fear is confirmed as you slowly pick up the shredded stuffed shark that lies on the ground.

You tear up, and you hear Mrs. Tammy start shouting, but you can’t understand her through the tears, through the sobs. You also don’t hear her call for you as you run out of the servant quarters, dead shark in your hands, and some how make it all the way back the queens’ quarters. This time you don’t hesitate to knock, only stopping once the doors finally open.