#this is mars off the cuff

[buk0wskis]

insider scoop on mars’ personal life: in my public speaking class our final is a persuasive speech and i’m doing why you should allow yourself to become obsessed with something. this is just part of my draft but i’m literally giving myself an opportunity to yap abt aaron 😭😭

the opps will say i’m too silly (also yall reference :3)

[reidsworld]

Disobeyed Orders

Summary: Being married to your boss has its complications, especially when you have a habit of ignoring orders. Based on this request.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff, Angst

Content Warnings: Mild violence, injury, arguing

Word Count: 1.1k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for the request, I’m sorry that it took so long but I finally found some time to write, I hope I did your request justice!!

Masterlist

The mission had been intense from the start. You knew Aaron — Hotch, here in the field — had ordered you to stay back and cover the rear, but you saw an opening, a chance to catch the unsub off guard. You’d hesitated for a split second, hearing his voice in your earpiece, a mix of command and concern, but the adrenaline took over. You went for it.

Moments later, everything was a blur. The unsub had turned, a knife flashing in his hand, and you’d barely managed to dodge the attack. By the time the team swarmed in, you were grappling on the ground, the unsub subdued but not without a few bruises in the process.

As soon as the cuffs were on, you felt Hotch’s hand on your arm, his grip firm. He pulled you aside, his face unreadable, but his eyes were burning with a quiet fury. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled under his breath, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I saw an opportunity,” you argued, your chest heaving from exertion. “I took it.”

“That’s not your call to make,” he snapped, his hand tightening on your arm. “I gave you an order, and you directly disobeyed it.”

You felt a surge of frustration, tugging your arm free. “I’m not a child, Aaron. I made a decision based on the situation.”

“An incredibly reckless decision,” he countered, his jaw set tight. “You could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.”

You crossed your arms, bristling at the way he was speaking to you like you were just another agent. “I knew what I was doing. I had it under control.”

“Under control?” He almost laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You were pinned down by an armed suspect. That’s not under control, Y/N.”

Your heart pounded, anger simmering beneath the surface. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to know what risks I can handle, Hotch. You don’t get to—”

He cut you off, his voice lowering but still fierce. “Don’t you Hotch me. Not when you just put yourself in danger like that. Not when you’re my—” He stopped himself, glancing around at the team.

You knew what he wanted to say. Not when you’re my wife. But he couldn’t say that here, not in front of everyone. The silence between you was thick with tension, his jaw clenched, and you could see the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Fine,” you muttered, feeling the sting of his words. “Let’s talk about this later.”

He nodded curtly, his expression hard. “Yes. We will.”

Back at the BAU, the air was thick with unspoken tension as you both debriefed with the team. You could feel Hotch’s eyes on you, a steady, burning gaze that only made your irritation grow. You knew the others sensed it too, the way they exchanged glances but said nothing. They all knew you were married to your boss, and while most of the time it didn’t interfere, today was different.

As soon as the debrief was over, Hotch gestured for you to follow him to his office. You walked in, arms crossed, ready for another round. He shut the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you.

“We need to talk,” he began, his voice still low but more controlled now.

“Talk?” you scoffed. “Or are you just going to keep reprimanding me like I’m one of your agents and not your wife?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/N, you are one of my agents. And on the field, I am your superior. You need to follow my orders.”

“I understand that,” you shot back, your frustration boiling over. “But you can’t expect me to stand by when I see an opportunity to take down a threat.”

Hotch’s expression softened, just a bit. “It’s not about the threat, Y/N. It’s about you. Do you know what it does to me, to see you put yourself in harm’s way like that? To think I could lose you because you wouldn’t listen?”

You blinked, the raw emotion in his voice catching you off guard. “Aaron…”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to grip your shoulders, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. “You’re not just another agent to me,” he murmured, his voice strained. “You’re my wife. My everything. And I need you to understand that when I give an order, it’s not just to keep the team safe — it’s to keep you safe.”

You felt a pang of guilt at the fear in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on you like he was afraid to let go. “I know,” you whispered. “But I can’t just stand back and do nothing, Aaron. It’s not who I am.”

He sighed, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t want you to change who you are. I just… I need you to trust me. To trust that I’ll always have your back, that I’ll always protect you.

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making your heart ache. “I do trust you,” you replied softly. “But you have to understand that I’m not going to just sit by and let you carry all the weight. I’m your partner — in life and on the field.”

His eyes softened, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder. “I know,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just… promise me you’ll be more careful. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

You nodded, feeling the tension slowly dissolve between you. “I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that melted the last of your resistance. You sighed against him, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckled softly, your fingers tangling in his tie. “It’s part of my charm.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. “I suppose it is.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, and you felt all the frustration and fear of the day melt away, leaving only the warmth of his love and the steady reassurance of his presence.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, your hand cupping his cheek. “And I promise… I’ll try to follow orders. Sometimes.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer. “I’ll take that.”

And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many arguments or tense moments lay ahead, you’d always find your way back to each

Mars speaks… (again) Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations- 38

Aries suns with Scorpio moons can be big adrenaline junkies. They need to do something dangerous that makes them feel alive. They can be extreme sometimes such as fast driving, mixing substances ect. They don’t feel like they’re living if they aren’t experiencing enough intensity. They should learn to focus this energy in healthier ways such as maybe exercising and sports.

Pisces Mercury’s often did art to express their emotions when younger. I’ve seen Pisces Mercurys who struggled to logically explain how they feel so they would draw or make crafts to show what they were feeling. Their emotions a lot of the times are too complex and intense to explain with only words. They work better with visuals. They could’ve also been better visual learners compared to people giving straightforward instructions when in a classroom setting (they are usually very imaginative).

Mars in Scorpios can have a hard time keeping friends and partners because of how intense they can be. When hurt they can say some really scary fucked up things that can make people want to distance themselves away. ESPECIALLY when they get jealous. They can be super cut throat with their words.

Taurus Venus’s usually came from households where they were exposed to really good food. Either they had enough money in their childhoods to afford high quality ingredients or they came from a family who cooked a lot. This can cause them to be natural cooks themselves. Usually indulged a lot as a child.

Aquarius suns either give IT girl/boy too cool for you vibes or they’re complete weirdos with a school shooter vibe no in between.

I believe Taurus suns are way more jealous than Scorpio suns

Leo moons tend to be the most awkward Leo placement. They have this dorkiness about them which most people don’t expect but I’ve seen it a lot. They can also be very childishly dramatic about very minor problems. Any little inconvenience is seen as a tragedy. However they usually are extremely talented in one area (usually art related) I’ve seen a lot of musicians and drama kids have this placement.

I’d love to have a Sagittarius moon yall seem like you generally don’t give a f*ck what people think and I’m here for it. Such a happy moon sign. However your good vibes 24/7 attitude can make others believe you’re insensitive or shallow.

I notice a lack of fire in the chart can cause a person to go into depression easier. It’s harder to be optimistic.

Venus in 2nd house isn’t just about being rich it also has to do with self esteem as well! When these people are really on the right path they can live such a favorable life! These are the girls you see on YouTube who’s morning routine is waking up at 6, eating a balanced breakfast, moisturize and exfoliate and exercise all before 8 lmao. Usually they don’t start making good money until they fix their self worth but once they do it’s like they flow with the universe without much obstacles. But when struggling with your self esteem you can become bad with your money and be very greedy and jealous of others success so be careful!

Venus in 7th house people are so lucky with relationships. It’s like they just slide into romantic relationships so easily & naturally. So many people want to cuff them up it’s insane. They tend to get along with a lot of different personalities. Very diverse people which attracts people to them like magnets. However, they can be very codependent and do poorly when alone.

Pisces suns are either extremely wise or super foolish and immature. They also always look like they don’t know what’s going on whether they actually do or really don’t�� even if they are listening to everything your saying it looks like they have nothing going on in their minds like they got a lobotomy lmao (sometimes tho they really don’t know what’s going on, especially Pisces mercs)

Mercury in Capricorns are normally super smart. Street wise and book wise. They can come off as intimidating tho sometimes because of how intelligent they come off. They also have a vibe that can lowkey make people feel unwelcome like you’re too dumb to talk to them💀 (similar to cap risings). They tend to surround themselves with people older/more mature than them they can really get put off but younger acting energies.

Sag risings can be SOOO loud. Especially when they get excited or drunk.

Having a Sun in Aries and a Cancer moon seems like the most difficult sun/moon placements to have together. You have this tough exterior and such a vulnerable interior that no one knows about so people usually treat you harshly not knowing it’s really hard for you to take that☹️ also struggles a lot with being vulnerable to anyone.

Every Pisces Mars woman I’ve ever met was so dazzling to look at. They have such an ultra feminine nature that’s almost ethereal.

[prentissluvr]

this is real, it's right — sam winchester

pairing : husband!sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : hurt/comfort ➖⟢ cw : nightmares, sam dying in said nightmares, snakes, blood, crying, lowkey a panic attack, poorly edited ➖⟢ wc : 3K summary : when you get continuous nightmares, your husband sam comforts you.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

maybe it’s just a bout of strange and inconsequential deja vu, but the moment sam reaches for the door knob, a heavy pit in your stomach blooms and grows each second he gets closer. you’re not sure how, but you’re positive that if he opens that door, something horrible will happen. 

“sam, no!” you cry out, just milliseconds too late. the door swings open and you see sam’s expression morph into one of surprise. from your vantage point by the car, you can’t see what’s in the doorway. “sam!” you shout again, taking off towards him, only to be tugged back in place by the feel or cold, hard steel around your wrist. you look down and find yourself handcuffed to the car. panicked, probably beyond reason, you yank at the cuffs and search desperately for something in your pockets to pick the lock.

sam’s shout tugs your attention back to him and you just about scream in desperation when you take in the sight before you. there’s a horde of snakes spilling out of the doorway, small, yellow, and visibly viscous. they swirl around sam’s feet and he tries to run, but it seems as if he’s held in place by some invisible force.

a witch. it must be a witch, you reason. we have to find and kill the witch. i have to save sam.

the serpents waste no time in swarming him, curling around his legs, going higher and higher. they wrap around his torso and he struggles against them, calling out your name to beg for help. the snakes bite and hiss and squeeze and the pain on sam’s face is too much for you to handle. you’re in hysterics, shouting his name and drawing blood against your restraints as you pull against them.

“no!” you scream as the snakes twist higher and higher and higher and tangle in his pretty hair and mar his pretty face and the weight of all the serpents brings him to his knees and swallows him up and you shriek his name out one more time as he disappears and the snakes turn to you and then you wake up and you’re panting, trying and unable to breathe until you hear his soft, sweet, gentle voice calling your name.

“sam?” your voice comes out quiet and shaky and so fragile that sam thinks his heart must be breaking. breathing still panicked, you practically claw at his shoulders with fingers trembling too hard to cause any real pain.

“shh, i’m here, it’s okay. i got you,” he whispers, as convincing and sure and gentle as he can. so you can breathe better and he can hold you closer, he pulls you up to sit, tucking you into his chest and rubbing your back in a sweet, soothing motion.

“sam,” you sigh out in utter relief, clutching at his arms, shoulder, back and whatever you can get your hands on to be sure that he’s as solid and real and comforting as you want him to be.

“uh-huh,” he reassures, “i’m right here, honey. it was just another nightmare, i’m right here.” and because you’re finally sure that he’s safe and sound, you begin to relax into his hold, letting your arms curl around his middle and his hand rest on the back of your head. your breath begins to even, and sam relaxes too, still worried but feeling better now that you’re not whimpering in your sleep or wetting his neck with your panicked tears.

with your head tucked under his chin and his big arms holding you together, you feel sort of like his broad shoulders are shielding you from the horrors your sleeping mind makes up, and you’re lucky because you think you could drift back to sleep like this.

then sam’s breath shudders and a choked sound tumbles from his throat. you pull away from his hold, and he lets you, his hands reaching for his neck. suddenly the room is brighter than it was before, just enough for you to make out the features of his face and the blood. it’s seeping from his nose, his ears, his eyes, and the corner of his mouth as he chokes on the warm red liquid.

“no. no, no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t real,” you sob, “this can’t be real. no, sam, no. please, please, please sam, please.” you cup his face and you realize his skin is more of an idea than a real feeling which means that this is a dream, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying as you’re unable to wake, forced to take in the sight of his panicked, bleeding eyes, silently begging for you to help him. he can't speak, and it would physically hurt to hear if you weren't in a dream and could feel real pain.

“i don’t know what to do, sam, please. i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what’s happening, i’m sorry.” you feel responsible for him; it's your dream, it's all in your head. why can't you stop it? why can't you ever seem to save him? “sam, sam, please. please don’t, please. i’m so sorry. no, no, no, sam!” he falls limp into you and you can barely keep him upright. his weight is pushing you down, pressing you into the mattress and his strong hands are holding down your flailing arms.

“wake up, honey, you gotta wake up,” he begs, afraid you could hurt yourself in this state. your eyes shoot open, vision blurry with tears as you gulp in air. you’re being pulled up from the mattress again, taken into strong arms and pulled into a solid chest. if you weren’t so panicked out of your mind, so entirely shaken by the worst of your nightmares yet, you’d be able to tell that he really is as solid and real and comforting as you need him to be, but tonight, the calm of his deep, gentle voice and his protective broad shoulders aren’t helping.

“no,” you rasp, unable to say much else into the soft fabric of his grey t-shirt. “no, no, no, please.” pushing against him, you struggle like you never do, trying to escape his grasp like he thought you’d never, ever do.

surprised by your vehement attempts to get him to let you go, he loosens his sweet hold on you and lets you jolt backwards and away from him. “what’s wrong? what is it, baby, what’s wrong?” suddenly, sam’s terrified that this dream was different from the rest, that this time he hurt you and now you’re scared of him.

but the moonlight coming in from the open window betrays the utter concern that you hold for him, swimming in your eyes and overflowing in the form of tears. you look so devastated, so much more shaken by this dream than any of the others and all he wants to do is take that all away, pull you close and whisper sweet comforts until you’re sleeping soundly in his arms. but you look at him like at any moment he might burst into flames right in front of your eyes, so he knows he has to help you some other way.

you just stare at him, frozen in fear and he lets you look because he’s so beyond worried that he doesn’t know what to do. he wants to talk, to reassure you, but it seems as though a single syllable from his mouth or minute change in his expression will have you panicking too far out of his reach. so he lets you stare, for a long, long moment until your hand moves up, slow as it reaches to cup the side of his face.

he feels real. like really real, and the exact details of your nightmares already begin to fade. the horror of it, the idea of it, remains and still has your breathing rushed and your heartbeat wild. but you can feel his stubble under your palm and his jaw clenching and unclenching as he resists the urge to sweep you up and back into his arms.

“tell me this is real.” your voice is so quiet that sam barely understands what you’re asking. his face morphs into one of crestfallen understanding as he predicts what may have happened in your nightmare. it must have been something similar to this, only it wasn’t reality, and it probably ended in another one of his horrible deaths.

so he chooses to say it soft, with just a hint of that underlying conviction he could muster up much stronger, for the sake of not overwhelming you. you need authenticity, and though sam is strong and solid and convincing, he is soft and gentle and sweet-tempered above all. so he tells you, “this is real,” in nothing more than a whisper and a raw, tender voice.

“o-okay,” you breathe out and sam’s gaze softens infinitely. you’re trusting him. but you’re still frozen in fear, terrified that if your eyes leave his face for just a moment, the safety of this reality will melt away and he’ll be bleeding and choking and begging for you to save him once more. “how do you know?” you beg for more solid confirmation. this, he can give you too.

slowly, he brings his hand up to gently hold your wrist that still brushes against his jaw, just because he needs to touch you.

“we can check, honey,” he says softly. he hates to take your hand away from his face, but he needs to twist and grab the alarm clock on his bedside table. he keeps your wrist in his hand and shows you the digital clock. “first we can look at the clock. check the time, then look away, then look back. if the time stays the same, that means you’re not dreaming, okay?” you nod and follow his instructions. the clock reads 2:47. you look away for a few moments, then back. it reads 2:48. your face morphs into a look of horror as you fail to think straight.

“sam, it changed,” you whisper, voice so shaky and afraid and on the precipice of falling back into panic and hysteria. it scares him to see you so utterly vulnerable, so far from your normal self; assured, unafraid, and clear-thinking. something has scared you so bad that you're just about incoherent, totally unable to think straight, and horrified that you're stuck inside your own head.

sam silently curses at his own carelessness as he rushes to comfort you. “oh, honey, no, no that’s not what i meant. it’s only a dream if it changes drastically. it’s really 2:48 now, i promise. the fact that it changed like this is good, actually. it indicates the kind of continuity that dreams don’t have. it’s okay, honey, i’m sorry. why don’t you check it one more time? it’ll stay completely the same, i promise.” you oblige his request by repeating his instructions, and he’s right that it stays the same, but it’s not enough. while his explanation and the second time-check help you to not fully panic, you’ve still been spooked, and sam can tell that much with ease.

you look at him with pleading eyes, your face illuminated only by the light of the full moon, unhindered by clear skies or curtains, coming in through the window behind him.

sam switches his hold on your wrist to slip your hand into his. “i’m gonna turn on the light and we’re gonna do as many reality checks as you need, okay?” he doesn’t move until you nod in approval, then he sets the alarm clock back down, switches on the lamp, then turns back to you. “oh, honey,” he whispers as he gets a better look at you, finally caving and letting his free hand drift to your face to wipe away a few stray tears and cup your cheek. “it’s okay. this time we’re gonna just turn to the wall and press our hand against it, okay?” you nod again, and turn with him, mourning the loss of his hand on your face. he goes first, letting you follow his lead and place your hand right by his on the wall above your bed frame. you push your palm against the solid surface, and nothing happens. you’re pretty sure that’s a good sign, but you still tilt your head to look at sam for confirmation.

“good,” he smiles a little for your sake, “that’s good. in dreams, solid objects can pass through other solid objects.” he squeezes your hand after you let it down from the wall. “the fact that we can feel each other’s hands like this is also proof that this is real.” with relief, sam notices that your breathing has evened out when you nod a little.

“okay,” you relent, finally letting your shoulders sag in relief and exhaustion.

“do you want to do another one?” sam asks carefully. you shake your head and collapse into his chest. he catches you with ease, and he lets his face crumble now that it’s hidden from your view. his arms wrap around you, and this time their solidity, strength, and comfort aren’t just an idea, but a reality. sam has never felt a greater relief than having you in arms at this moment. he rubs your back and kisses your forehead and squeezes you close just like you need.

after these consistent nightmares over the past few weeks, you usually fall quickly back asleep in his warm, safe hold. but when long minutes pass and you haven’t even begun to melt into his hold like you normally do as you fall asleep, sam knows that’s not going to happen tonight. a few more minutes of silence and he realizes that you need him to be the one to say something first.

he shifts a little and brings a hand up to cup the back of your head gently.

“how about we head to the kitchen for water and a snack? then we’ll turn on the tv or i’ll read you a book in the living room, okay?” you nod into his chest, a little stronger and more convinced than before. sam gives your back a final rub before sitting all the way up and pulling you with him. he smiles a little when you part from him on your own, swinging your feet over your side of the bed and standing as he does the same. you cross the room to the door and sam meets you there halfway, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back.

the only sounds in the house are the padding of your feet against the hardwood floors and the rustle of clothing as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen in tandem. it’s a small house, perfect for the two of you and whatever the future will bring. you hate that your bedroom, when bathed in night’s darkness, might now be long tainted by the horror of your nightmare.

in the kitchen, you hoist yourself up to sit on the cool surface of the counter, glad to see that everything in this room and the spaces you walked through to get here are familiar and right. you reason that dreams often don’t get the details right, but the toaster is where it should be, with the decorative vase beside it. the small succulent in its brown pot sits on the windowsill, and the tall glass that you left by the sink last night is still there. sam grabs two new glasses, earning you a glimpse into the cabinet. glasses on the first level, mugs on the second, and some miscellaneous small kitchenware on the third. everything is where it should be. the details are right because this is right. sam, standing tall and safe and at ease in your shared home, filling you a cup of water and setting a snack by your thigh in case you feel hungry; that is right.

you don’t have the stomach to eat, but you accept the water gratefully and let it soothe your dry, hoarse throat.

“thank you, love,” you hum, still shaken up but beginning to recover. he leans back against the counter by your side and you drop your head onto his shoulder.

“of course, honey,” he assures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, his voice gone extra soft from your sweet pet name. no matter how many times you call him “love,” he’ll always find it special and better than any precious metal in the world. you let your eyes drift closed for a moment and you focus on the rise and fall of his breathing, the feel of his t-shirt and the muscle underneath against your cheek, and his wide hand curling around your shoulder.

“we’re gonna figure this out, okay?” he whispers, not wanting to remind you of the nightmares, but unable to let tonight go unaddressed. you nod. “i know you don’t want to use a spell or anything like that, so we’ll find something else. just please, let me do something. i know you don’t want me to worry or spend all my time trying to fix it and that you can take care of yourself, but i can’t keep seeing you like this, love… will you let me try and fix it? please?”

“we’ll fix it together,” you agree. “i can’t keep seeing you like that either, it’s– it’s awful, sam. i want them to go away,” you admit in a quiet voice. “awful” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

sam sighs in relief when you finally relent to letting him help. you won’t want it, but he’ll call dean in the morning and ask him for help too. anything for you to stop waking up in horror and in tears, for sam not to wake up in the middle of the night to your broken, sleeping voice calling out his name in desperation when you can’t save him in your dreams. he’s going to do anything for you not to be scared to go to sleep, for you not to have to worry about him so much.

he pulls you even closer, pressing a firm kiss to your temple. “i know, baby. this is good, though. we’re gonna make the dreams stop and everything’s gonna be just fine. we’re gonna be just fine.”

[yandere-wishes]

A thought for you, Diluc meeting his darling when they were knights together when they were younger but when his dad dies and he leaves but only comes back to see his darling is now a high ranking offical and he panics, what if she gets hurt? She isn’t cut out for this sort of thing. So now he is torn, he can’t let her get hurt but it’s not like he can just pull her out of the knights, can he?

He plays hero in the dark.

Maybe cause the dark obscures beauty and beauty is the last thing he needs right now.

Maybe he's a bit too scared to see too clearly.

Besides everything looks better in the dark.

Diluc doesn't thrive in order, he prefers solitude. The quiet of the estate away from town. The calm of the tavern during closing hours.

The solitude is safe.

Away from fickle lovers and family secrets.

He sees you in the dead of day. Standing outside the tavern with your brigade. Dressed in that loathsome armor with the sun's rays bouncing off the silver metal.

Gleaming.

Bright.

A beacon of hope in every way.

Diluc swallows his anger, his astound. There really shouldn't be room for surprise, it was to be expected. You had trained with him, fought alongside him. Captain is the lowest rank you should have by now

Still, you are not ready for such duty, such burdens.

You must taste experience, bite it, and let the crumbs mar the corners of your lips. You can not simply know by hearing tales of others' endeavors. They are as pointlessly purposeful as the stars. Distant lights you can never understand.

And Diluc refuses to see you as anything more than the little girl who'd drag him to the lake to hunt turtles.

Jejune in every way.

Diluc is not careless, he is not reckless.

The young boy who used to rush headfirst into everything be it battles or turtle hunts, died the same night his father did. The man born of his ashes, is scrupulous, vigilant. He calculates every mistake before attacking.

He lets you see him in the dark. Masked vigilante stalking the streets while you do your patrols. He leads you through the streets, weaving through the nooks and crannies of the cramped port city.

He wonders if this is how the turtles by the lake felt all so many years ago.

"Halt" You're voice holds authority now, no longer airy and melodic. It makes him discomfited.

He leaps past the high walls of the city, disappearing amongst the threes. He sees you cease at the threshold of the bridge. Defeat painted across your tender lips.

The game has ended.

At least for tonight.

He plays hero in the dark.

Dancing as he blocks your attacks.

Metal sings metal as sword and claymore clash.

The nostalgia seeps through no matter how hard he struggles, the familiar hyms of weapons clashing. Your taut frown of concentration. He's drowning in his crush again.

But is such a fickle thing really capable of throttling a man such as he?

Maybe this is truly love?

It's a sparse moment. He's too caught up in you, how tall you've gotten, how astute your stance has become. You've grown. But he still hears your sweet voice ringing across the north winds.

He doesn't notice the hilt of your sword until it's pounded against his skull. Since when have you learned such dirty tricks? His head buzzes on impact, the mask clashing violently on the ground.

The night is still.

But the beating of his heart is far too loud.

"Dily?

You're sword falls, face torn between shock and laughter. "You're the Darknight hero?"

He doesn't answer right away. He lets you laugh and ponder. Lets you come up with your own answers. He's about to interject. Throw some comment about being on opposite sides. But you beat him to the punchline. "Well, I guess I still got to take you in..."

"That's unfortunate, I can't say I'm particularly fond of being arrested by a Favonius knight."

"Captain" You correct and the pride flashing across your face makes him burn in anger. No, no you're not.

You approach him, carless and intrepid. Plucky steps as you reach for the cuffs on your belt. Diluc can't help but roll his eyes. Really? Has being made a captain taught you nothing?

Shouldn't you be more jaded? Wry of any potential threats.

Well, he guesses it must be hard to think of the boy who talks to his pet turtle as a threat.

The blaze from his vision washes over you, painting the night into a faux dawn. The fire melts through your body, peeling the flesh of your arm.

The Darknight hero stands tall amidst the inferno. Eyes aflame with the delicate sight of you.

Diluc licks the embers from his fingers as you cradle your burnt hand.

He didn't mean to do this, but he needs to stun you, he needs you to submit. Gingerly he picks you up, cradling your body close. He can't wait to get you home and burn away that dreaded armor. To dress you in soft silks and precious jewels.

"You're really not cut out for this knight thing. But it's fine I'll keep you safe"

He's only met with soft whimpers as he scales the back walls and dashes towards the winery.

Diluc plays hero in the dark.

And he still believes that.

Even as he opens the door to his mansion.

With you sobbing from pain in his arms.

He is a hero.

And heroes are meant to keep people safe.

Especially helpless little girls who try to play knight.

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations No.22: Lilith Edition Pt.2

*just based on my experiences only take what resonates

-Lilith house could show why someone wants to possess and “tame” you :

In 1st you just exude Lilith energy and a lot of mascs see that as a challenge -a challenge they want to feel dominate over (a fool’s fallacy tbh); 2nd your physicality is striking and they want it all to themselves; 3rd your fierce intelligence and academic reputation; 4th your nurturing abilities and how you exude dark femininity but you could be someone who could take care of them; 5th you seem totally wild and carefree and you know how to have fun; 6th your health and your passionate work ethic that make you come across as unstoppable; 7th I thought of that lyric “I’m so indecisive/ you can’t cuff me but I’m wifey” a lot of people see you as someone that will balance them out perfectly; 8th your s*x appeal and how your raw energy seems totally intoxicating; 9th your worldly air and how no one can stop you from speaking your truth; 10th your polarizing but memorable and powerful impact in public- you give off boss babe energy in such an effortless way; 11th how you seem like you have a lot of haters or ride or die friends; 12th your addictive aura and otherworldly untamable energy.

-Lilith conjunct your Lilith in a sex symbols chart could make you feel inspired by their style/attitude - by sign or house placement (A BUNCH of femmes I look up to have Lilith conjunct MC too)

-Lilith in Libra is a strong feminist placement- it’s the way they strive for balance even when it can be seen as taboo (Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has this placement and it’s conjunct her Sun, Mercury, Mars and MC !)

-Lilith in fire signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) tend to be feminists too. (It’s the “there’s no man alive who can tell me what to do” principe in their attitude)

-(light TW) in general I feel like Lilith harsh aspects, and like Lilith in hard signs (Scorpio, Capricorn, etc) and houses (8th, 12th) can make the native wary around men, usually after trusting the wrong one :/ (whatever happened was never your fault and that wrong one was just a a bad guy, I’m sorry)

-Hell I’ve had -dicey- experiences with -not so great guys- so I’ll also note that to a lesser degree it can apply to fixed Lilith signs (Scorpio, Leo, Aquarius, Taurus), and Lilith harshly aspecting 1st/7th/10th and maybe 4th.

-I totally almost got a sugar daddy a lifetime ago lol but I got afraid of getting human trafficked lol and ran off in the opposite direction Lilith square/opposition Asc bby (I’d guess Lilith conjunct, trine, and sextile Asc/2nd/10th would roll with this more easily if they wanted to)

-Said it an 18+ post, but it’s not an adults only observation imo - other girlies with fire/water Lilith placements have guys hit on them when they’re upset? (I used the example of like getting lost and heading to meet my family and an older guy tried to get me to go to his hotel room, but also more recently I -temporarily- lost my wallet and while I was searching in a panic not one but two guys hit on me :x like you’re not helping dude wtf)

-the element/sign of your Lilith can reflect someone’s sort of shadow reactions to you

Lilith in Aries could make a lot of guys compete with you; Lilith in Taurus would have someone try to buy their way into intimacy with you/try to control your finances; Lilith in Gemini would make a lot of people jump to correct you/undermine your intelligence; Lilith in Cancer could have people force you to nurture them in a sort of motherly way; Lilith in Leo could make people compete with you for attention or at worst try to trick you into having kids; Lilith in Virgo could point to people trying to micromanage you and restrict your routines; Lilith in Libra could point to people trying to tarnish your beauty and throw you off balance/force you to balance them out; Lilith in Scorpio can be scary because it points to people trying to force themselves on you/s*xually dominate you or causing your trauma in general; Lilith in Sagittarius could point to people trying to restrict your freedom/force religion on you; Lilith in Capricorn could mean that people try to sabotage your work reputation/public image; Lilith in Aquarius could point to others trying to restrict your uniqueness and trying to dull your outstanding qualities; Lilith in Pisces can point to others trying to get you addicted to substances/attacking you with their negative energy.

(I have Lilith in Leo and now years after I settled down I’ve finally realized that a lot of guys that made jokes about having kids with me and getting me to skip birth control and running off an eloping …we’re not joking) (yikes, bullets dodged)

-Ok bc we live in a society I feel like the constant overarching theme with strong Lilith energy is less that it’s bad when a dude likes you and more that some guys get so into you that they’re obsessed and also hate you but will still do anything to trap you and when men don’t need any incentive to act out, that’s so scary. Like it’s power that cuts both ways.

Now, of my favorite pieces of obscure art as a Lilith girly :0 (Thank you for asking me about this @corvoidea!)

-Zola: a str*pper meets a potential best friend and the chick tries to highkey human traffic her, it’s insane and based off of a true story (the aesthetic and everything are so good too, it’s one of my favorite movies)

-Sanctuary: this movie just came out this year but I love it so much?? It’s about a s*x worker whose main client wants to fire her because he’s about to inherit his dad’s company. And she fights back. Unexpected ending. Sort of a Lilith love story. Really funny through out.

-Paprika: my favorite animated movie? Ever?? It’s about a scientist and her alter ego that moves in and out of dreams, solving people’s subconscious problems. Then the dream tech gets stolen and things go haywire. A visual marvel fr.

-Cabaret: a movie musical about the cabaret scene in 30s Germany through a club singer trying to love to good life as things get darker all around her.

-Chicago: Another great musical all about getting famous from m*rder because of the protagonist’s feminine ways. (so good, the music is just *chef’s kiss* and Queen Latifah is in it!)

-Crazy Ex Girlfriend: a musical comedy tv show, it’s like a fun deconstruction of trying to live like you’re in a romcom. (So it’s really about mental health and all that, and it’s funny!)

And some songs I love:

Girls is all about just vibing and embracing that divine feminine

I got really into feminist punk rock (aka Riot Grrrl) when I was like a tween finding out how I wanted to express myself, I always recommend Sleater Kinney and Bikini Kill. This song is like Madonna vs Wh*re and I love it :

-idek how to explain this song lol but it’s soooooo gooood

The singer from Bikini Kill started a different band that’s also so cool and punky:

Omg this song about dealing with a f*ck boy and bonding over it I love this song:

I love how Junglep*ssy says /Ain’t a damn thing A man think gonna drive me crazy/ (Google these lyrics they’re everything and the song is a vibe):

This is my song for when I was running around with dudes I thought were tolerable enough but not great lol, I literally played this song for my friends once in college and I was like Ah, yes my creed lol (I got nicer, it’s still a fun song) :

The lyrics: /I wanna hold a seance For every heart I’ve broken Put them all in a room And say “get over it”/ and the lyric /And when I first met you I wanted to kiss you And I I wanted to need you And now I’m forgetting why I tried/ (so good):

A song to describe some of the -weird behavior- I’ve caught lol, cathartic to hear tho:

[sammyluvr]

this is real, it’s right — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, nightmares, sam dying in said nightmares, snakes, blood, crying, lowkey a panic attack, poorly edited, 3K words. requested !

summary : when you get continuous nightmares, your husband sam comforts you.

maybe it’s just a bout of strange and inconsequential deja vu, but the moment sam reaches for the door knob, a heavy pit in your stomach blooms and grows each second he gets closer. you’re not sure how, but you’re positive that if he opens that door, something horrible will happen. 

“sam, no!” you cry out, just milliseconds too late. the door swings open and you see sam’s expression morph into one of surprise. from your vantage point by the car, you can’t see what’s in the doorway. “sam!” you shout again, taking off towards him, only to be tugged back in place by the feel or cold, hard steel around your wrist. you look down and find yourself handcuffed to the car. panicked, probably beyond reason, you yank at the cuffs and search desperately for something in your pockets to pick the lock.

sam’s shout tugs your attention back to him and you just about scream in desperation when you take in the sight before you. there’s a horde of snakes spilling out of the doorway, small, yellow, and visibly viscous. they swirl around sam’s feet and he tries to run, but it seems as if he’s held in place by some invisible force.

a witch. it must be a witch, you reason. we have to find and kill the witch. i have to save sam.

the serpents waste no time in swarming him, curling around his legs, going higher and higher. they wrap around his torso and he struggles against them, calling out your name to beg for help. the snakes bite and hiss and squeeze and the pain on sam’s face is too much for you to handle. you’re in hysterics, shouting his name and drawing blood against your restraints as you pull against them.

“no!” you scream as the snakes twist higher and higher and higher and tangle in his pretty hair and mar his pretty face and the weight of all the serpents brings him to his knees and swallows him up and you shriek his name out one more time as he disappears and the snakes turn to you and then you wake up and you’re panting, trying and unable to breathe until you hear his soft, sweet, gentle voice calling your name.

“sam?” your voice comes out quiet and shaky and so fragile that sam thinks his heart must be breaking. breathing still panicked, you practically claw at his shoulders with fingers trembling too hard to cause any real pain.

“shh, i’m here, it’s okay. i got you,” he whispers, as convincing and sure and gentle as he can. so you can breathe better and he can hold you closer, he pulls you up to sit, tucking you into his chest and rubbing your back in a sweet, soothing motion.

“sam,” you sigh out in utter relief, clutching at his arms, shoulder, back and whatever you can get your hands on to be sure that he’s as solid and real and comforting as you want him to be.

“uh-huh,” he reassures, “i’m right here, honey. it was just another nightmare, i’m right here.” and because you’re finally sure that he’s safe and sound, you begin to relax into his hold, letting your arms curl around his middle and his hand rest on the back of your head. your breath begins to even, and sam relaxes too, still worried but feeling better now that you’re not whimpering in your sleep or wetting his neck with your panicked tears.

with your head tucked under his chin and his big arms holding you together, you feel sort of like his broad shoulders are shielding you from the horrors your sleeping mind makes up, and you’re lucky because you think you could drift back to sleep like this.

then sam’s breath shudders and a choked sound tumbles from his throat. you pull away from his hold, and he lets you, his hands reaching for his neck. suddenly the room is brighter than it was before, just enough for you to make out the features of his face and the blood. it’s seeping from his nose, his ears, his eyes, and the corner of his mouth as he chokes on the warm red liquid.

“no. no, no, no, no, no, no. this isn’t real,” you sob, “this can’t be real. no, sam, no. please, please, please sam, please.” you cup his face and you realize his skin is more of an idea than a real feeling which means that this is a dream, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying as you’re unable to wake, forced to take in the sight of his panicked, bleeding eyes, silently begging for you to help him. he can’t speak, and it would physically hurt to hear if you weren’t in a dream and could feel real pain.

“i don’t know what to do, sam, please. i don’t know what to do, i don’t know what’s happening, i’m sorry.” you feel responsible for him; it’s your dream, it’s all in your head. why can’t you stop it? why can’t you ever seem to save him? “sam, sam, please. please don’t, please. i’m so sorry. no, no, no, sam!” he falls limp into you and you can barely keep him upright. his weight is pushing you down, pressing you into the mattress and his strong hands are holding down your flailing arms.

“wake up, honey, you gotta wake up,” he begs, afraid you could hurt yourself in this state. your eyes shoot open, vision blurry with tears as you gulp in air. you’re being pulled up from the mattress again, taken into strong arms and pulled into a solid chest. if you weren’t so panicked out of your mind, so entirely shaken by the worst of your nightmares yet, you’d be able to tell that he really is as solid and real and comforting as you need him to be, but tonight, the calm of his deep, gentle voice and his protective broad shoulders aren’t helping.

“no,” you rasp, unable to say much else into the soft fabric of his grey t-shirt. “no, no, no, please.” pushing against him, you struggle like you never do, trying to escape his grasp like he thought you’d never, ever do.

surprised by your vehement attempts to get him to let you go, he loosens his sweet hold on you and lets you jolt backwards and away from him. “what’s wrong? what is it, baby, what’s wrong?” suddenly, sam’s terrified that this dream was different from the rest, that this time he hurt you and now you’re scared of him.

but the moonlight coming in from the open window betrays the utter concern that you hold for him, swimming in your eyes and overflowing in the form of tears. you look so devastated, so much more shaken by this dream than any of the others and all he wants to do is take that all away, pull you close and whisper sweet comforts until you’re sleeping soundly in his arms. but you look at him like at any moment he might burst into flames right in front of your eyes, so he knows he has to help you some other way.

you just stare at him, frozen in fear and he lets you look because he’s so beyond worried that he doesn’t know what to do. he wants to talk, to reassure you, but it seems as though a single syllable from his mouth or minute change in his expression will have you panicking too far out of his reach. so he lets you stare, for a long, long moment until your hand moves up, slow as it reaches to cup the side of his face.

he feels real. like really real, and the exact details of your nightmares already begin to fade. the horror of it, the idea of it, remains and still has your breathing rushed and your heartbeat wild. but you can feel his stubble under your palm and his jaw clenching and unclenching as he resists the urge to sweep you up and back into his arms.

“tell me this is real.” your voice is so quiet that sam barely understands what you’re asking. his face morphs into one of crestfallen understanding as he predicts what may have happened in your nightmare. it must have been something similar to this, only it wasn’t reality, and it probably ended in another one of his horrible deaths.

so he chooses to say it soft, with just a hint of that underlying conviction he could muster up much stronger, for the sake of not overwhelming you. you need authenticity, and though sam is strong and solid and convincing, he is soft and gentle and sweet-tempered above all. so he tells you, “this is real,” in nothing more than a whisper and a raw, tender voice.

“o-okay,” you breathe out and sam’s gaze softens infinitely. you’re trusting him. but you’re still frozen in fear, terrified that if your eyes leave his face for just a moment, the safety of this reality will melt away and he’ll be bleeding and choking and begging for you to save him once more. “how do you know?” you beg for more solid confirmation. this, he can give you too.

slowly, he brings his hand up to gently hold your wrist that still brushes against his jaw, just because he needs to touch you.

“we can check, honey,” he says softly. he hates to take your hand away from his face, but he needs to twist and grab the alarm clock on his bedside table. he keeps your wrist in his hand and shows you the digital clock. “first we can look at the clock. check the time, then look away, then look back. if the time stays the same, that means you’re not dreaming, okay?” you nod and follow his instructions. the clock reads 2:47. you look away for a few moments, then back. it reads 2:48. your face morphs into a look of horror as you fail to think straight.

“sam, it changed,” you whisper, voice so shaky and afraid and on the precipice of falling back into panic and hysteria. it scares him to see you so utterly vulnerable, so far from your normal self; assured, unafraid, and clear-thinking. something has scared you so bad that you’re just about incoherent, totally unable to think straight, and horrified that you’re stuck inside your own head.

sam silently curses at his own carelessness as he rushes to comfort you. “oh, honey, no, no that’s not what i meant. it’s only a dream if it changes drastically. it’s really 2:48 now, i promise. the fact that it changed like this is good, actually. it indicates the kind of continuity that dreams don’t have. it’s okay, honey, i’m sorry. why don’t you check it one more time? it’ll stay completely the same, i promise.” you oblige his request by repeating his instructions, and he’s right that it stays the same, but it’s not enough. while his explanation and the second time-check help you to not fully panic, you’ve still been spooked, and sam can tell that much with ease.

you look at him with pleading eyes, your face illuminated only by the light of the full moon, unhindered by clear skies or curtains, coming in through the window behind him.

sam switches his hold on your wrist to slip your hand into his. “i’m gonna turn on the light and we’re gonna do as many reality checks as you need, okay?” he doesn’t move until you nod in approval, then he sets the alarm clock back down, switches on the lamp, then turns back to you. “oh, honey,” he whispers as he gets a better look at you, finally caving and letting his free hand drift to your face to wipe away a few stray tears and cup your cheek. “it’s okay. this time we’re gonna just turn to the wall and press our hand against it, okay?” you nod again, and turn with him, mourning the loss of his hand on your face. he goes first, letting you follow his lead and place your hand right by his on the wall above your bed frame. you push your palm against the solid surface, and nothing happens. you’re pretty sure that’s a good sign, but you still tilt your head to look at sam for confirmation.

“good,” he smiles a little for your sake, “that’s good. in dreams, solid objects can pass through other solid objects.” he squeezes your hand after you let it down from the wall. “the fact that we can feel each other’s hands like this is also proof that this is real.” with relief, sam notices that your breathing has evened out when you nod a little.

“okay,” you relent, finally letting your shoulders sag in relief and exhaustion.

“do you want to do another one?” sam asks carefully. you shake your head and collapse into his chest. he catches you with ease, and he lets his face crumble now that it’s hidden from your view. his arms wrap around you, and this time their solidity, strength, and comfort aren’t just an idea, but a reality. sam has never felt a greater relief than having you in arms at this moment. he rubs your back and kisses your forehead and squeezes you close just like you need.

after these consistent nightmares over the past few weeks, you usually fall quickly back asleep in his warm, safe hold. but when long minutes pass and you haven’t even begun to melt into his hold like you normally do as you fall asleep, sam knows that’s not going to happen tonight. a few more minutes of silence and he realizes that you need him to be the one to say something first.

he shifts a little and brings a hand up to cup the back of your head gently.

“how about we head to the kitchen for water and a snack? then we’ll turn on the tv or i’ll read you a book in the living room, okay?” you nod into his chest, a little stronger and more convinced than before. sam gives your back a final rub before sitting all the way up and pulling you with him. he smiles a little when you part from him on your own, swinging your feet over your side of the bed and standing as he does the same. you cross the room to the door and sam meets you there halfway, placing a comforting hand on the small of your back.

the only sounds in the house are the padding of your feet against the hardwood floors and the rustle of clothing as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen in tandem. it’s a small house, perfect for the two of you and whatever the future will bring. you hate that your bedroom, when bathed in night’s darkness, might now be long tainted by the horror of your nightmare.

in the kitchen, you hoist yourself up to sit on the cool surface of the counter, glad to see that everything in this room and the spaces you walked through to get here are familiar and right. you reason that dreams often don’t get the details right, but the toaster is where it should be, with the decorative vase beside it. the small succulent in its brown pot sits on the windowsill, and the tall glass that you left by the sink last night is still there. sam grabs two new glasses, earning you a glimpse into the cabinet. glasses on the first level, mugs on the second, and some miscellaneous small kitchenware on the third. everything is where it should be. the details are right because this is right. sam, standing tall and safe and at ease in your shared home, filling you a cup of water and setting a snack by your thigh in case you feel hungry; that is right.

you don’t have the stomach to eat, but you accept the water gratefully and let it soothe your dry, hoarse throat.

“thank you, love,” you hum, still shaken up but beginning to recover. he leans back against the counter by your side and you drop your head onto his shoulder.

“of course, honey,” he assures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, his voice gone extra soft from your sweet pet name. no matter how many times you call him “love,” he’ll always find it special and better than any precious metal in the world. you let your eyes drift closed for a moment and you focus on the rise and fall of his breathing, the feel of his t-shirt and the muscle underneath against your cheek, and his wide hand curling around your shoulder.

“we’re gonna figure this out, okay?” he whispers, not wanting to remind you of the nightmares, but unable to let tonight go unaddressed. you nod. “i know you don’t want to use a spell or anything like that, so we’ll find something else. just please, let me do something. i know you don’t want me to worry or spend all my time trying to fix it and that you can take care of yourself, but i can’t keep seeing you like this, love… will you let me try and fix it? please?”

“we’ll fix it together,” you agree. “i can’t keep seeing you like that either, it’s– it’s awful, sam. i want them to go away,” you admit in a quiet voice. “awful” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

sam sighs in relief when you finally relent to letting him help. you won’t want it, but he’ll call dean in the morning and ask him for help too. anything for you to stop waking up in horror and in tears, for sam not to wake up in the middle of the night to your broken, sleeping voice calling out his name in desperation when you can’t save him in your dreams. he’s going to do anything for you not to be scared to go to sleep, for you not to have to worry about him so much.

he pulls you even closer, pressing a firm kiss to your temple. “i know, baby. this is good, though. we’re gonna make the dreams stop and everything’s gonna be just fine. we’re gonna be just fine.”

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ THE COLLAPSE (2)

pairing: captain john price x f!reader

2.1k. you’ve been captured. *tw: non/dubcon

John lets you out of the hand cuffs when you prove to him you’ve calmed down a bit.

Just the ones on your wrists though — the ones around your ankles are still keeping you firmly in place on the bed. He lovingly rubs a green salve into where the handcuffs have marred your delicate skin, talking softly to you as he does. You’re not quite sure what he says, you can’t help it when you tune him out. The part of your brain that tries to save you from trauma, you think.

You beg him, plead with him, to let you use a bathroom. Almost cry for it. He makes you go in a bed pan and it's then that you realize you’ve been nude this whole time under the blanket he's placed on you. It’s embarrasing — having to go while he watches and then him cleaning you up after, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As if some part of him enjoys it. Like he was meant to be here to take care of you. You tried to clean yourself, rip the cloth from his hands, but he warned you in a low growl not to and it scared you straight enough to let him continue.

You’re too smart to ask him to let you go. That can’t happen yet. No — you’re going to have to earn your freedom, little by little, like you did with the handcuffs. You almost did beg him to let you go in the beginning, when you were still in hysterics. John is smart. He’s a planner. That much has been obvious from the start.

The first night John feeds you every bite himself. It’s homemade soup and bread and you hate yourself for thinking how good it is. You briefly considered a hunger strike but realize not only would he probably force feed you — you also wouldn’t accomplish anything from it. You need to keep your strength up.

It’s been a few days, as far as you can tell, and that’s only by keeping track of the meals John’s been feeding you. They are actual meals too. Breakfast is sausage or bacon with toast and eggs. Lunch varies, but usually something light (you found the soup from the first night was actually his leftovers from lunch that day). Dinner is a full, homecooked meal — meats, veggies, the works. John’s even promised dessert when you ‘earn’ it, but hasn’t said what that means yet.

He doesn’t seem to take issue with your silence. You’ve barely spoken to him since he brought you down here, but he’s also been relatively quiet — only saying what he deems necessary, only soothing when rubbing that damn stinging green paste on your wrists. It discolors your skin but actually seems to be working.

No matter how hard you try, you always fall asleep at night — you get tucked in after dinner, he reads to you from his book (he’s currently reading The Old Man and the Sea), and he ends the night by kissing you softly on the forehead, turning the lights all the way off as he exits. You wait about 30 seconds before scrubbing where his lips met your skin, facial hair leaving a slight burn behind.

On the fourth day after breakfast, John enters the room, a caddy in one hand and a bucket of steaming water in the other. You can just barely make out the tops of bottles and a rag or two in the caddy from where you lay on the bed. He kicks the stool over to the bed you’ve been calling home and takes a seat.

“Time for a bath, love.”

Your throat is scratchy from underuse, but you still let out a small thank you — even if it is just a whore’s bath and not a real shower, you’ll take anything. You sit up on one elbow and reach with you other hand for one of the rags. John tsks at you.

“No, darling.”

Eyes wide as saucers, you look up at him. “B.. but you.. you said I could have a bath.”

“You are havin’ a bath,” he states matter of factly, as he plops a rag into the steaming hot bucket.

John grabs a towel and rips off the blankets covering you. You can’t stop the shiver that ripples down your spine, the whine that escapes from low in your throat. He shimmies the towel underneath you, caressing your side with light touches as he does.

John reaches down to grab the rag and wrings out the excess. He wraps it around a bar of soap and gently, very gently, starts to massage it into your skin. He starts with your feet, working his way up and up and up.

He dips the rag back into the bucket just before he reaches the seam of your pussy and a fat tear rolls down the side of your cheek. He swipes it away with his big thumb without a second’s thought. “Shh, now. None of that love.”

The rag runs across the outside of your lips gently and you let out a muted whimper. John grunts and palms the tenting in his pants before continuing to wash you. When he gets to your breasts he takes extra care to clean them as delicately as he can.

Once he’s finished on top, his strong arms grab you to sit you up. He sits on the bed behind you and washes your back hurriedly compared to the rest of your body. Once he’s finished, he takes the other wettened rag and quickly wipes the soapy residue from your skin.

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll wash your hair too,” he murmurs, his scruff brushing against your ear. Your body shudders in response. “You gonna be a good girl for me?”

Your lip finds purchase between your teeth before you decide to nod in response.

“Good,” he practically purrs, before getting up from the bed. He pushes you down onto your back with a tenderness you didn't know was possible.

“Now for the inside.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Wha-” you start, before you’re cut off. John’s warm mouth wraps around your folds, his tongue spreading you open. A whoosh of air releases from you and your hips buck up towards the ceiling. John reacts immediately and wraps a strong arm around you, effortlessly keeping you on the bed as his tongue assaults your sweet pussy. He laps up your juices like you’re the first water he's come across after days in the desert. Like he just found the fountain of youth between your legs.

You squirm and try to push yourself back towards the head of the bed, but it's useless under his firm grip. You’re not sure if your tears are because of just how insanely fucking good this feels or because you want him to stop. You should want him to stop… right?

“Sit. Still,” he growls, hot breath against your folds making you shudder. His tongue laps against you, splitting you open. It’s so wet. All of it. You feel the wetness pool against the towel beneath you; across your inner thighs; inside of you. John’s beard irritates your skin slightly as he assaults you.

John backs his mouth away from you only for a second to coat one of his thick fingers in saliva. He rubs it against you and you jump, a yelp escaping your lips. He hums to himself and he slowly rubs his finger up and down and around to your clit before he pushes his tongue inside of you again. You bite your lip hard enough that a metallic tang assaults your senses for a brief moment.

He splits you open slowly with that thick finger, dragging through your folds until he’s pushing inside. He’s purposeful in his movements. Once his finger is in to the hilt, he gives you a short lick. You whine. “Good little kitten,” he murmurs.

His finger rubs against your gummy walls while his tongue laps against your cunt with a ferocity you didn’t know existed. You can’t hold back your moans of pleasure now — you’re crying out for him. Screaming his name. Begging him to stop. Heat shoots up your spine and pools in your core. Your hips buck off the bed — or at least they try to but you can’t fight against the grip John has on your hips.

He only pauses for a moment to console you. “Shh, love. You can take it. Go on now, take it.”

He slips a second large finger inside of you and the stretch has you moaning. You struggle to catch your breath. Your toes curl, you grip the sheets hard enough to rip the fabric.

You ride out your orgasm on John’s face and fingers. Tears well in your eyes and spill down the side of your cheeks. John hums in approval the entire time.

His face is drenched when he sits up to look at you. He winces as he palms his stiffened cock. You suck in a terrified breath.

“We’ll start slow, love. Even though you let that wanker fuck you the first night,” he says with a growl. John unzips his jeans and pushes them along with his boxers off his thighs, flinching slightly when they catch on his thick length. His cock springs free and slaps against his stomach and your mouth waters. A shiver trails down your spine.

John approaches you like a predator approaching his prey. Steady, confident in his success. You know then that you’re absolutely fucked. You’ve known it for a while, in the back of your mind, but this solidifies it. Watching him saunter over to you, heavy cock palmed in his fist.

He pushes his head against your lips and you squish you eyes closed, mouth shut firmly. “Now, now pet… it’s my turn.” He brings his large thumb to your lips, his other fingers cupping the underside of your jaw as he pushes his thumb solidly into your mouth. His thumbnail grazes your gums as he forces your jaw to unclench and open around his thumb.

“No teeth,” he warns lowly, before slowly bringing his cock to your lips. Prespend wettens the tip and makes it glide into your barely open mouth. He pushes until he hits the back of your throat and you involuntarily choke, teeth barely grazing his fat cock.

He flicks your nose hard enough that you feel as if you just went underwater without holding your breath. “Watch it,” he growls. He goes achingly slow as he pulls back out, a string of your saliva the only thing connecting you two. Another tear falls and he gently wipes it away. The delicate skin on the side of your eyes starts to burn.

He fists some of your hair at the back of your head before pushing himself in again. You start to choke before he’s soothing you. “Easy, love. Breath through your nose,” he gently commands — voice low and scratchy — all while petting your hair. You do as he asks but only because you can’t get enough oxygen to your lungs.

“Little further,” he coos, slowly sliding himself again to the back of your throat. Your nose tickles on the dark coarse hair of his pelvis. He grunts at the squeeze. John watches you reverently in this position. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He can’t wait to break your stubborn streak, once he fucks your pretty little cunt. Can’t wait to stretch you open, feel your walls clench around him. You’ll be a good girl then. He just knows it.

Both of his large hands paw at your head now as he sets a steady pace. He almost cums just looking at the sight of you taking him. It takes every last bit of his reserve not to just blow his load right there. He grunts and shudders everytime his tip slams into the soft wall of your throat. Saliva runs down your mouth, tear tracks marking your beautiful skin. The prettiest sight he’s ever seen.

He fucks your mouth until he can’t hold on any longer. Ropes of his cum trickle down your throat and he pulls out faster than he would like to in order to keep your jaw closed completely. He watches you carefully as you struggle to swallow his load. Once he’s certain you have, he lets go of your face and you suck in a deep breath. You sputter, your lungs burn. The thick coating of him lines the inside of your mouth and you try not to gag.

“Sweet kitten,” he soothes, lovingly petting your head. “Come now, let’s wash your hair.”

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruins | 6 |

Part 6 [series masterlist]

Summary: you’re a mender from the dawn court specialised in cursed or broken relics. When Azriel enters the dawn court the truth-teller is silent, it’s not till he asks for your help that realises who you are. 2001words

Gods, you were a fool. You wished that the flesh eating worm could finish the job. Azriel knelt in front of you, his scarred hands rubbing a cool balm into the open wound on your thigh. Touch light and brief as to not give you anymore pain.

Tingles erupted under each swipe of balm, you couldn’t take your eyes off his hands.

“I wasn’t under the mountain,” he said, cleaning the balm off his fingers with a cloth. “Why do you ask?” He gazed up at you, those hazel eyes like the sunsets at dawn, the fires warmth flickering in them. It reminded you of home.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, your fingers clutched around the armrest so tight that you thought your nails would pierce the fabric.

“Because of your scars,” your voice nothing, but a whisper. How did he manage to coax words out of you without trying?

The bandage in his hold stilled, as if he'd just realised this was the first time you’d seen the burns curving against every plane of his hand. His shadows hissed, dark wisps clouding around to shield his face, but they fell away as quick as they came.

“I’m sorry, I just…” your words cut short as Azriel pressed the bandage to your wound. He’d practically slapped it on, adding weight for it to stick to your skin. You bit back a groan, eyes clamping shut at the pain shooting down your leg.

God’s he was mad. He wouldn’t glance at you, the clink of bottles returning to the worn leather bag beside him. “Is that how you got yours?” He spat, his deep voice startling you, heart pounding as he tugged your arm to him. His thumb trailed along the thick fabric of your sleeve, the layer on top of the burn scratching the marred skin beneath it.

“Yes,” you said, breath faltering as Azriel’s calloused fingers slipped under the cuff of your sleeve and pushed it back revealing the inside of your arm and the patchy tattoo. “The autumn brother’s favourite game.” Your body felt like a dead weight, back pressing into the chair with such force that you could feel the metal coils digging into your spine.

You don’t know why you said it so casually, as if you were testing the waters before swimming in the depths. Part of you wanting share a piece of your story, another wary of his pitying looks. You got enough of that back in your court, that you always covered up and stayed out of the sun.

But Azriel knew the pain those scars bared. The itchiness that crawled under your marred skin like a snake beneath your flesh. Sometimes you were convinced it was hot, burning like the flame that consumed it. Heat so prickling that you had to run it under cold water. Always reminding you of those years trapped under the mountain at their mercy.

Azriel did not say anything, hands slipping from your arm. Tic in his jaw pulsing as he zipped the bag up. He stood up, walking to the door but paused before stepping out. “I need to debrief Rhys on what happened,” he said, throwing a glance to you over his shoulder as he disappeared into the shadows.

You slumped back in the chair, chest heaving up and down. The worm writhed, teeth twitching as it tried to snatch the dagger, truth-teller from its body.

Truth-teller, whispering the same thing over and over since Azriel’s departure.

Lies, lies.

Why did he leave in such a hurry? If he wasn’t going to Rhys, maybe you’d triggered something for him by acknowledging his burns. Guilt and shame clouded your mind, but it felt different than normal. An urge pulling you to run to him, but you couldn’t, no you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t unravel his trauma, that was his and his alone. Not a story he’d share with you, you were nothing to him.

Lies, lies.

“Oh shut it,” you snapped at the dagger. You pushed yourself out of the armchair, wincing as soon as you put your full weight on to your foot.

The sun began to dip beyond the horizon, reminding you of home and how far away every little comfort was. Another flicker of want burning your chest, the want to be held and told what you wanted to hear, to fall into the warmth you found under the mountain.

You trailed your palm against the wall of the hallway, your shoulder crashing into it as a tremor shook through your thigh.

You were determined to drag yourself to your bedroom, eight doors down from the library. There was no way you could sit on that armchair any longer, waiting for him to come back and say something that made sense. Because lately nothing did, he seemed to leave your mind hazy as if his shadows had infiltrated your mind. You paused at the thought hoping they couldn’t.

A stray black wisp breezed past you caressing your cheek, your hair flicking along with it. It dove back over your shoulder and you felt the chill at the back of your spine. The pesky shadow pushing you along the hallway, like a phantom wind taking you to your bedroom.

You collapsed onto the bed, clutching the locket around your neck. You’d never felt so lost before, even with your freedom back. The night court too cold, the task unclear and Azriel, well you don’t know why he bothered you so much. Why did you think of him so much?

There was only one person you wanted to see, one who could hold you and know what you would want to say.

So you scribbled a note to Rhys, shoving the rolled up parchment in your pocket.

You found Cassian in the kitchen, finally taking him up on his offer to visit the shops in Velaris. You’d downed a pain tonic, reassuring him that the wound wasn’t that bad and you needed to get out, walk the cobbled streets.

You handed Cassian the note. “I’m sorry,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t hold it against you, but as you slipped between the crowd. Away from Cassian.

You called in your bargain and winnowed away before he could catch up with you.

Azriel could not focus on anything other than the blood pumping in his ears. If he didn’t get out of the library, he was going to snap and he didn’t want her to witness the rage rolling off of him. Everything amplified after the bond snapped, he didn't want to direct it her.

He zipped the bag up and shoved his gloves back on, not wanting to remind himself of her scars or who caused them.

That strand of fate, that bond twisted tighter and tighter the further he walked away. Azriel was used to denying himself of all the good dreams and wanted wishes. Centuries of pushing his feelings aside so he could protect others and in some ways punish himself. So he allowed the stabbing pain, the aching in his bones as his mind and body told him to stop, he pushed beyond it, adding to the suffering. The longing.

He’d wait, even if it took years to snap into place for her.

The past week had been a blur, his head clouded and attention divided. Gods his mind was full her, blossoming scent carried in the swirls of his shadows. The way his name fell from her soft lips, he could still the remember the weight of her fingers clutching the hair at the nape of his neck.

And then he thought of him, the tattoo and the bargain. Enough to send him spiralling, to send him to a court in the name of revenge, but it wasn’t his to take. The anger remained, he fed in to it and used it to fuel whatever task he could as spymaster. Took a few missions so that he could put some more space between them, but it all came crashing back down when he returned as it'd only strengthened the connection.

Everything was a mess, he was a mess. Her confession being the last thing to push him over the edge, he had to get out of there. Maybe he’d ask Rhys to send him on a mission whilst she healed, least he wouldn’t have to lock himself away to give her space.

The house flung Rhys’s office door open and slammed it in Azriel’s face. Lights flickering down the hallway, pointing him back the way he came like a beacon. He cursed the house, flames rising in the lanterns as if it heard him.

Azriel pushed his whole body into the door, forcing it open and stumbling into the office.

“Cassian already filled me in,” Rhys said, he scribbled the last few words of a letter, gaze flitting to Azriel. “What’s going on?” He raised a brow, his wandering gaze trailing after Azriel’s shadows as they fought between each other. As if knowing the shadow-singer was battling with himself and the bond.

“I’m going to go mad,” Azriel snapped, his focus on the uneven tiled flooring beneath his boots. Anything to distract him from his thoughts. “I don’t know how you didn’t go crazy.”

“It’s the bond, the more you run away from it, the more it’ll chase you.

“How is our mender? You did look after her, how is she doing?” Rhys asked after a moment of silence, Azriel lost in his head like he’d been ever since he’d set his eyes on her.

Azriel tensed, still trying to retrace his steps and everything he said to her. He groaned, hitting the side of his head against the window.

“I panicked,” he said, leaning against the frosted window. “I slapped the bandage on and got out of there as quick as could.” He ran his hands through his clipped hair, short tufts of his dark locks sticking up messily.

“You slapped it?” Rhys asked, he leant forward from his leather chair. “You slapped a bandage onto an open wound and ran away?”

Azriel’s brows shot up high, shadows swarming round him as if they were going to push him out of the window. How could he be so careless, he was too focussed on fighting the pull of the bond that he'd lost the bigger picture, her. All the little details he tried to ignore, forgetting the most basic need of comforting her.

“I was angry,” Azriel snarled, “she told me,” he closed his eyes, trying to shake the image of her scars out of his mind. The tremble of her voice and the echoes of deep breathes as she told him what they did. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t tell anyone. Was not his story to tell.

His shadows tore towards the open door, Cassian rushing through, breaths heavy. His wavy hair tangled and loose, but it was the yellowing parchment in his clenched hand that caught Azriel's attention. Her scent clinging to the smudge of inky words.

"I'm sorry, brother. She blindsided me, I couldn't stop her before she winnowed away," Cassian said, stretching his arm out to Azriel.

Dark wisps curled around the rolled parchment, black shadows tracing the neat cursive text. Azriel pulled the edges, eyes scanning the note.

Rhys, I’ve called in my bargain. I will return in a day once I’ve healed, Thesan will know where I am. Please forgive the rushed departure, it's better this way.

Azriel balled it up and tossed the letter in the bin. He didn't need Rhys to ask Thesan where she was and he didn't care about falling back into the dark planes, shifting through the shadows.

He stepped out of the darkness, boots squelching the soggy leaves.

Azriel wouldn't leave the Autumn court till he found her and if he came across the autumn brothers, well that would be a bonus, least their blood would blend in with the decaying leaves on the forest floor.

taglist: @rcarbo1 , @st4r-girl-official ,@azrielswhore , @cynthiesjmxazrielslover , @shizukestar , @wolfbc97 , @thecraziestcrayon , @i-am-infinite , @krowiathemythologynerd @nebarious @sidthedollface2 @sttvrdustt

Thanks for reading and all your lovely comments :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. Azriel is starting to go mad 😌

[velisle]

ᯓ♡ not maid for love .ᐟ

𖹭 ── 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 // nika x fem!reader, 2.8k wc, sfw. 𖹭 ── 𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 // pre-relationship, reader is (in denial) crown's fairytale keeper but not kate, nika being nika, likely ooc since there's only bread crumbs of his lore, al cameo, invented side characters, harassment from non-suitor, canon typical plot. 𖹭 ── 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 // I wish cherry boy was as popular as his twin but sadly he isn't. So here's a little something i maid for him hehe (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠).

Twilight stains the sky in a messy palette of oranges, pinks and reds. Its rays spill into a certain room, enveloping it in its warmth. It goes on to veil the pure white walls, the ink splattered papers on the table, and — the soft profile of a person.

You nervously tug at the frilly hem of your apron, throwing quick glances toward the mirror and back at yourself. The reflected figure on the clear surface is donned in a maid’s attire from head to toe.

Sighing gently, you pull and tweak on its parts. From the lacy head-dress to the ends of the creamy bow tied behind your back, and to the concealed handgun on your garter belt. At last, you twirl around a bit, making sure there would be nothing amiss.

Still, immersed in your own thoughts, you fail to notice the pair of deep ocean eyes eagerly sinking you into its depths.

Your heart leaps through your chest when the sharp wolf whistle penetrates your ears. Head whiplashing, you glare at the culprit leaning against the doorframe. A cheeky grin from the dark-haired man welcomes you.

Nica.

The two of you have been going out on awfully many missions the past few months, courtesy of his white-clad leader, who proposed that both organizations should work together. Though you suspected foul hand to be at play from your Palace Reaper as well. Why else would you find yourself tied to the frivolous German each time?

“Where are your manners?” You cross your arms as you question, displeasure evident in your posture. A small chuckle escapes him, “My bad, Miss Robin.”

He taps his knuckles on the wooden material — twice, thrice — his rings clinking against it.

“So then, may I enter?”

Was he not practically inside already?

“Go ahead.”

Nica strolls in, turning to admire the delicate crystals of the chandelier and the brilliant gold that matched the otherwise pale room. Were you a stranger to his habit of unplanned visits, you would have thought it was his first time here.

Casting you a prolonged once-over as you button up your maid cuffs, he manspreads on the rich chesterfield, sprawling an arm over the top of it.

“Sure you can play your role well, cute Robin?”

“I think we should be worried about you instead, Clever.⁽¹⁾ Are you sure you'll be able to behave yourself?” You furrow your brows tensely.

The event you were going to attend was to last two days and three nights. Coupled with his charming penchant for going off script and improvising things by himself… You had a not-so-wonderful intuition that everything would eventually end up heading south.

He curves his lips impishly, visibly amused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ll be a good boy.”

“When pigs fly.”

“Autsch,⁽²⁾ after all the time we've spent together! I'm rather disappointed you still refuse to trust your partner in crime.”

You throw a glimpse at him from the corner of your eye. Not a tinge of sadness marred his features.

“There are,” you begin, “plenty of reasons as to why I shouldn't.”

A pervading silence follows as he falls unusually quiet. As if he were trying to figure out the convincing reason you had. The golden hour crowns him in its soft light, shadows fleeing from behind.

“Is it because I used my Curse on you before? I just couldn't help myself. We don't always have a choice, you know~”

You were not too fond of how you liked the way he drawled his words sometimes.

“Or maybe it's because I lent my hand for other uses? Buuut, I don't recall you telling me to stop,” his grin widens.

“Nica Schwartz.”

You swivel to face him, with a twitching smile and a raised nerve on your temple. The way he spoke had to be on purpose. Your mind inevitably flew into the direction he wanted.

Though you could not deny enjoying your banter with him. Few people manage to truly push your buttons — such as that cranky fairy or lascivious mirror, but never quite like the sly swan.

“Ja,⁽³⁾ Robin?” He asks in an innocent manner, which would be more befitting of his twin than himself.

“We’re running late,” you curtly state as you wrap your fingers around the handle of your leather-bound luggage. When you lifted it up, its weight dragged your hand down slightly.

You then make your way to the double doors, only to be stopped by blunt nails digging into your wrist. That and the coolness of adorned rings.

“Say, doesn't it look heavy for a little bird like you?” Nica had the sleeve of one arm rolled up, revealing the veins climbing on his skin like a vine.

“Sie könnten mich um Hilfe bitten.⁽⁴⁾”

It was not all that heavy, but who were you to refuse if he's so kind?

“Oof!”

A low, misty layer of fog covers the forest of oak trees. The wind wails a scream, tearing dead leaves from their spiny branches. One of them slams flat against the glass, which you were staring through.

Bump!

Every so often, the wheels of the crested carriage jolted when it collided with the rocks on the path. You fidget in the cushioned seat, annoyed at the feeling of polished boots digging into the side of your waist.

Much to your dismay, Nica thought it was apparently a good idea to stretch his legs in the already cramped space. This left you sandwiched between the wall and his lower limbs — and it was not the most splendid combination.

You travel a glance from the tip of his pristine shoes, to the river of white that ran across his trousers and vest, until you docked at the port of blue that was his eyes. If you stared hard enough, vague dark circles polluted the edge of the waters.

He must have been staying up late. Despite his slacking attitude, he knew when to take work seriously. Or rather, fool you into thinking you have the winning cards when he conceals a royal flush beneath his table.

“Am I that charming tonight?”

An abrupt question pulls you back from your shores to reality. He had caught you in his net. Biting your tongue lightly, you shift your attention to the scenery rolling past the window.

Poke!

Poke!

Nica nudges his foot against you.

“Robiiiin~”

“Stop,” you narrow your eyes in warning.

“Oh, this?”

Poke!

“Or thiiiis~?”

No words could describe the urge you felt to scuffle over and clasp your hand on his mouth. Tape it shut.

You steal a quick look at the smooth arch broadening on his face. It seemed to always dance on his lips. Rare were the instances you found it halting into a frown. Even then, it was likely feigned. Will all you ever see of him be his superficial side?

“What’s your pretty head thinking about now?” He doesn't move this time.

“The mission.” A lie.

“Nothing to fret about when you have me.”

“That’s if you don't get kidnapped first,” you retort. A surge of missing socialites is what drove Crown to investigate further into the case that could be human trafficking.

Oddly, the victims all had received an invitation to a banquet from the same organisation a week prior to their disappearance — Regal.

“Chances are that I could charm my way out of it, Robin. If not… Es wird für mich leichter sein, zu töten,⁽⁵⁾” Lazily tapping on the holster by his thigh, he flashes his pearly white teeth, as if it were a everyday situation for him.

Thump!

The landau stopped before the gates of the venue. Nica promptly sets down his legs, motioning his head towards the place, “Ladies first. I'll be joining you later.”

Upon entering the estate, you are greeted with a towering hallway of a golden hue; enormous paintings that cost more than money than you could ever make hanging on it.

You briefly peek into the open ballroom. Velvet curtains draped the windows, with ornate candelabras fixed to walls. The sound of violins and the piano flows into the room, but not many guests.

Your next stop should be servants’ quarters. Wooden baggage in hand, you saunter through the luxurious building, the layout of which you have memorized beforehand.

It was not hard to imagine someone could get lost here, given its size, you muse. Still, vanishing into thin air without any traces? A nigh impossible feat for anyone… Well, save for the curious Cheshire cat you knew.

“Oh!”

“Ah!”

Moments later, you unceremoniously crash into a petite figure while taking a turn around the corner. Vivid green, partly hidden behind a fringe of blond, widens as she stumbles on her heels.

“Sorry, I-” the two of you spoke at once. You pause awkwardly, waiting for her to continue.

“Don’t worry! I was in no hurry,” she steadies herself, a soft smile curving up the corners of her mouth. You take in her appearance — hair that cascaded down to her waist in thick drills, scattered freckles on her fair cheeks — and a surprisingly similar maid dress to your own?

“Wait, by any chance, are you new here?” a sparkle lit in her eyes at the realization as she too observed you and the case you carried. You nod your head, holding out your free hand, “Robin. Nice to meet you…?”

“Dahlia!” she shakes it with an extreme fervor. “The others and I have been talking a lot about you. Not in a bad way, uh I mean, it's rare for Regal to hire a new employee, so we were just really excited!”

It was the Queen's Aide who pulled some strings to let you enter as a maid, under the common alias Crown, and a certain Vogel member called you by. Strangely, you cannot recall a time where Nica called you by your real name.

Dahlia links her own arm with yours. “Come! I'll show you where the quarters are. And the rest of the place, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Oh, and maybe we can share a room?” She sings sweetly in a jovial tone.

She talks a lot; you note mentally.

After setting down your belongings, you head towards the grand ballroom where the gathering was held. A massive chandelier hung in the center of the vaulted ceiling, illuminating the horde of perfumed bodies.

The billowing, silky skirts of noblewomen graze your body as you shuffle in between them, clutching a tray with both hands. Bubbles pop off in the champagne flutes on it.

“It is rumored Count Fitzwilliam is looking for a bride…”

“Have you heard about what Lady Spencer did during the last outing…”

Conversations, both hushed and outspoken, were easily heard by you. The aristocrats paid no attention to a mere maid after all.

“They say we have an ambassador from another country here tonight,” a faint whisper makes you perk up your ears. “Whom?” another person inquired.

You concentrate on their words, feeling your heart pound faster for an inexplicable reason. It must be the adrenaline from trying to not come off as suspicious.

“I don't know his name, but they say he's German.”

“Did you get to see him?”

“From afar, yes…”

Pat!

You felt a sudden, foreign touch on your shoulder — not in a good way. It made the hairs on your nape rise warily.

“Why, hello there, lass…” A harsh, gruff voice.

Standing behind you was a man with wrinkly, creased skin and a head bald. Except for the auburn patches groomed evenly. He was dressed to the nines. A high born no doubt.

“Can I help you, sir?” you ask politely, despite how you felt uncomfortable in his presence.

“Such supple skin and bewitching body you have,” crooked fingers caress your hand, which grips tighter onto the tray. Mild irritation growing into a flame simmers in your eyes, “Excuse me?”

“You poor thing, all alone… I could help you become less lonely,” the invading touch slowly crawls up your arm.

Who did he think he was? Drawing in a sharp inhale, you grit your teeth, “Leave me alone. Or else.”

“Don’t you mean… pretty please?”

“—Master!!”

He paused mid sentence as a call interrupted him. With a dissatisfied huff, he grabs the stem of the last glass you carried, withdrawing from your side. You release a sigh of relief at his departure, scanning the crowd for who could have called him.

Familiar, curly locks of gold appear in your vision.

The night deepens, and the sea of people is still flooding the place. An ache struck your back and feet from how long you stood to distribute the drinks.

Unfortunately, your attempt at intel gathering has not been particularly fruitful so far. Most chatters were full of gossip and the latest trends.

But you did learn of one thing: apart from the revelry at night, Regal also held exclusive activities to engage in during the day. You reckoned it was a technique to make more visitors pay for a room and stay until the event is fully over.

Wondering if you should rendezvous with Nica about this, you try to search for his tall figure in the crowd. In spite of all the buzz surrounding the philanderer, you had not once seen him. Perhaps you were too absorbed into your task to properly notice him, or he passed by you without a single comment.

“—Mr. Schwartz! Mr. Schwartz!!”

Think of the devil. There he was. You catch a bevy of young noble women and men flocking to him. The sight of his usual disarrayed jacket was absent. Instead, it was worn snuggly on his well-built frame.

“Say, are you truly not free tonight?” A lady coyly twirls her hair around her finger with her strawberry lips stuck out in a pout.

Another one cooled themselves quickly with their hand fan facing up, “I’d love to dance with you~”

“Here, my trade card. You are free to drop a visit to my shop any time you want! I'll even give you a ten percent discount!”

It was apparent he was no short of desperate admirers. You tap your shoe on the hardwood floor softly, thinking about what your next course of action should be.

You could always meet up with him later, and there is still a floor you have not yet searched for clues: upstairs. Since everyone else was down here…

Fwoosh!

Startled by the sensation of a warm breath being blown into your ear, you scramble to grab your flailing tray. Your train of thought had been forced to halt. Again. At least there were no remaining glasses.

“My, my,” A rich, teasing tone. And you knew exactly who it belonged to this time.

“Alfons!!”

“One could easily get the wrong idea if you call my name out so passionately, Miss Robin. Especially... Your partner tonight.”

“He’s not sharing a Curse with Roger, Al.”

“If you will, please refrain from uttering that brute’s name next to mine. It is truly something out of a nightmare to hear.”

The manner in which he shook his head with a distressed expression — it was as if there could not be an ordeal more mortifying for him.

“Should I even ask what you're doing here?” To be fair, it was not entirely shocking for him to be here. Though, Victor did not mention he would be assigned to this mission…

“Here’s a better question. Don't you just feel yourself greening with envy by how they're fawning over him?” Alfons shifts closer, nearly touching heads with you as you both gaze at the star of tonight's banquet.

“Of course not!” Right then, Nica’s eyes meet yours. As if he really heard what you said. Air catches in your throat as a familiar, conceited smirk is formed on him.

“Don’t be mistaken. I wouldn't... ever like him,” you subconsciously clutch at your dress with one hand, crumpling up the delicate fabric. You were sure that he wouldn't come to like you either. You would nip any attraction towards him in the bud before it would ever have a chance to bloom.

Alfons clicks his tongue. “I would advise you to make wiser choices — but then again, the little robin who brought water for the sinners in hell was not so clever either.”

You lift your face to glare back at him, intending to rebuke. When you did, the space next to you was empty. Gone like the illusionary phantom he was. Or was he there in the first place?

What a shame. If only you had paid a little more attention to the black swan. You would have spotted how his smile faltered upon seeing that raven head with you.

𖹭 ── 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒉 // notes + tl. cross-checked with multiple translators, but if you think that it could be corrected or further improved please let me know!

1. LINE chat reference

2. Autsch ➛ ouch

3. Ja ➛ yes

4. Sie könnten mich um Hilfe bitten ➛ you could ask me for help

5. Es wird für mich leichter sein, zu töten ➛ it will be easier for me to kill

𖹭 ── 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒑𝒕 //

and that's the end of part 1! to be honest, i think i will be putting this on hold, since I feel that my skills have not caught up yet with this kind of plot-heavy fic.

feedback would be greatly appreciated so that I can improve my writing! I still have a lot to learn.

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Growing Old Together

I've been trying to encourage myself to write more on impulse rather than get stuck in my head so much. Soooo, when this particular thread on twitter popped up about an older Joseph aging like fine wine and snuggling up to his sunshine in the morning, I got inspired.

This is an off the cuff first-draft drabble that might be a bit rough. There's some hints of spice to it, but mostly it's just marshmallow fluff about Joseph and Mary in an AU where they were able to grow old together and have their happy ending. (Unlike the main timeline.) I hope you enjoy this peek into what might have been.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

...

The house felt so big and empty after the kids moved out, all grown up now and living their own lives. It took Mary time to get used to the quiet after so many years filled with the sound of children shouting and laughing.

The past decades passed by so quickly with days that were long, but years that ultimately were so painfully short.

The passage of time made Mary all the more thankful that Joseph had been with her throughout it all. He was still here with her, just like he promised so many years ago.

Sometimes in the quiet, Mary remembered the incident from 40 years ago, the gunman that almost took the stars from her sky. It was a miracle that the bullet merely grazed its target. What remained was a scar on weathered skin that left a notch in a hairline that now had more gray hair than brown. She traced and kissed that scar countless times while thanking God that it, and a scary memory, were all that were left behind that day. She did it again now, just the lightest touch of her lips against his marred skin so as not to rouse her beloved husband from his slumber.

The thoughts weren’t exactly sad, but they held enough of a somber edge that Mary couldn’t get back to sleep despite the early hour. Usually she and Joseph slept in late ever since they retired and the kids left for college, but not this morning. These were the sort of thoughts that she knew by now could fester if she remained idle.

It was a shame to leave the warmth of their bed and the big, strong arms that held her so close, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to wake Joseph. He looked so tranquil, the wrinkles on his face just a little smoother. His breaths came slow and steady, a gentle background noise to the otherwise quiet morning.

With some regret, Mary slipped free of her husband’s arms with practiced ease. The hardest part was stretching out the stiffness in her muscles without making a noise. It seemed like every year she found a new ache that slowed her down and made it even harder to get started in the morning.

Yet, there was an undercurrent of triumph in observing evidence of the passage of time. Every wrinkle and silver hair and ache that showed her age was a reminder that she was still living far beyond that damned expiration date she had been given so many years ago.

Take that, Dr. Wheiz! Mary thought with a vindictive smile. She would outlive that stupid pediatrician yet!

Still, Mary tried to redirect her thoughts away from the shadow of death that had so nearly taken her or her beloved husband. They were alive, and she wanted to focus on living.

What better way to do that than by making a nice, tasty breakfast?

The kitchen was far enough away from their bedroom that Mary could risk playing some music at a low volume, a nice jaunty tune to help her wake up. It was a shame that the radio stations’ definition of “oldies” was pop songs from the start of the millennium, but the tablet her eldest gifted her for her birthday had plenty of her favorite music loaded up and ready to let her relive a little nostalgia.

Mary let herself get lost in her work, idly humming along to the chorus as she swayed her hips a little from side to side. Measuring, mixing, and watching the little disks turn a beautiful golden brown in the sizzling pan recentered her thoughts to focus on the delicious meal she would soon be enjoying with the best company she could ever ask for.

A pair of large hands stilled her swaying hips, and Mary jumped, just a little, before a wry chuckle escaped her. She allowed herself to be pulled back into the broad chest she knew so well. Joseph was softer than he was in his prime, especially around the middle, but that just made him the perfect pillow to snuggle into.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Joseph said around a yawn as he nuzzled into his wife’s shoulder. His voice was thick with sleep and deeper than usual, sending a shiver down her spine when he spoke so close to her ear.

“Good morning, Starlight,” Mary said as she turned her head to plant a kiss on her husband’s cheek. His stubble lightly scratched her skin where he brushed against her, a bit ticklish and a bit sharp, but not an unpleasant sensation.

“What’s for breakfast?” Joseph asked before he gave a kiss in return on her neck. He smiled against her skin as he felt her shiver a little, and he kissed her again to enjoy another.

“Pancakes,” Mary said. “And maybe some eggs and bacon while I’ve got the skillet out.”

Joseph nuzzled into his wife’s mostly silver hair, planting kisses among the soft strands. He wasn’t quite awake yet, still clinging to the sweet dreamy haze he woke up in. “Mmm… sounds good. Blueberry?”

“Maybe,” Mary said with a teasing note to her voice. “Or maybe we can change things up a little. How do chocolate chip pancakes sound?”

A quiet grunt escaped Joseph, and Mary could easily imagine his pouty look from the way he grumbled into her hair. “Not as good as blueberry.”

Mary giggled as she slid the pancake she had just finished onto a plate. “Now, now, you don’t need to sound so disappointed. Sometimes it’s good to switch things up a little.”

Joseph made a wordless sound of disapproval at the back of his throat as he slid his arms around her middle and rested his chin atop her head. It was a toothless protest, and Mary knew it.

“No one makes better blueberry pancakes than you do,” Joseph said, his voice a low rumble that Mary could feel run through her entire body due to their closeness. “Remember what I told you? I could eat your blueberry pancakes every day for the rest of my life.”

Mary shivered at the sound of his voice and the way his large hands idly rubbed circles along her stomach. The motion wasn’t intended to be seductive, just an idle appreciation for the softness of her body, but even after all these years Joseph had a way of sparking that special heat inside of her like no one else could.

“You’re in luck then,” Mary said with a slightly shaky breath, dropping the tease from her tone. “Because that’s what I’m making.” With that she made a show of drawing a ladle full of batter, scooping in as many big ripe blueberries as she could, and drizzling it into the pan with a satisfying sizzle.

Joseph blinked before a chuckle escaped him as his sleepy mind caught up with his wife’s little game. He tilted his head to rub his cheek along the top of her head, drawing her just that little bit closer into him. “You really know how to spoil me, Sunshine.” He sighed deeply, his warm breath stirring shiny errant strands of her hair. “Mary… I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Joseph,” Mary said as she reached up to stroke his cheek. She savored the contours of his jawline that had softened with age, the pleasant prickle of stubble that trailed all the way down his neck. Most of all, she enjoyed the pleased hum he made at her touch and the way he tried to nuzzle into both her hand and hair all at the same time. “More than anyone else in the world.”

Joseph sighed, content, as he savored the warmth that radiated from his sunshine nestled so cozy and close in his arms. The music changed from some upbeat tune to something slower, a bit jazzy. He swayed to the easy rhythm, turning their embrace into almost a slow dance.

Mary enjoyed the feeling for a moment, but let out a chuckle when she found it a challenge to flip the pancake neatly. “Starlight, love of my life, apple of my eye, my dearest wish come true… you know I love you, but it’s a bit difficult to cook like this.”

Joseph closed his eyes as he rested his cheek atop his wife’s head, his body still rocking with hers in time to the music. “Mm hmm?”

A small chuckle escaped Mary. “So as much as I love you holding me so close, maybe you should step back for a bit, hmm?”

Joseph let out a thoughtful hum as he took a moment to consider the proposition, before finally burying his face into her hair. “Nah. Let’s stay like this a bit longer.”

Mary couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh come on.”

“I’m staying where it’s nice and cozy,” Joseph said teasingly before burying his face into her neck. “So warm…”

Mary shivered at the feeling of his breath, his lips, and the scruff along his skin brushing along her neck. Though the smell of sweet pancakes filled the air, she couldn’t help but focus on her husband’s scent, a heady musk that still had a bit of smokiness to it even long after he quit smoking before the kids were born. She couldn’t help but turn a little bit more towards him to breathe him in, the scent of home. “Joseph…”

“Five more minutes,” Joseph said, his voice a low, throaty murmur that vibrated through her skin. “Just five more minutes…”

Mary shook her head a little as she let out a wry chuckle, both at her husband’s familiar clinginess and how quickly she always caved to his needy pleas. “Okay, five-”

“No, wait,” Joseph said quickly. “Ten more minutes. I want ten more minutes like this.”

“Oh come on,” Mary mock groaned as she rolled her eyes towards her husband. “You really are spoiled, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” Joseph chuckled before he stole a kiss from his sunshine’s lips. “You’ve thoroughly spoiled me rotten, Sunshine, and this dog is too old to learn any new tricks now.”

“What have I done?” Mary asked with theatrical dismay as she turned her eyes towards the ceiling and made dramatic sweeping gestures in the air with her spatula. “I’ve turned my sweet puppy husband into a koala bear! Now we’re stuck like this forever.”

Joseph couldn’t help but laugh at his wife’s antics and smirked smugly as he rested his chin atop her head again. “That’s right, Sunspot. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever and ever and ever. Nothing’s ever going to pull us apart.”

“Not even… pancakes with chocolate chips?” Mary asked, adding an overly dramatic emphasis to her words.

Joseph let out a sufficiently horrified gasp. When Mary tried to squirm away, reaching for the refrigerator, he snatched her by the wrist and pulled her back towards him. “Oh no you don’t, Sunspot!”

The hold on her was firm, but Mary knew it was still breakable. She could wriggle free if she really wanted. No matter how tightly Joseph held her, he always allowed her to slip away whenever she needed to. No matter how many times he restrained her with his large hands, his bulky body, or even some silk ties, she never felt scared or trapped. He always had a way of making her feel safe, secure, and loved. She knew that if she really wanted him to let her go or step back to give her space, he would, even if he might pout a little doing so.

But she didn’t. In the end, Mary could never resist Joseph when he was clingy and needy like this. She could put up a token resistance, try to escape, but she could never resist the excitement of having him chase after her. The way he pawed at her body as she squirmed against him made her feel like they were in their twenties again, young, in love, and horny as hell for one another.

Mary continued to squirm against her husband, twisting her body around in his grasp as she made for the fridge, before gasping as Joseph kissed the sensitive inside of her wrist. He gazed deeply into her eyes as he took the time to mark a trail down her arm, his tongue occasionally flicking across her soft skin. He took advantage of the way his burning gaze pinned her in place to grind his hips into hers, and she could feel the hardness starting to grow against her.

“Fuck, Mary…,” Joseph groaned against her skin, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine that settled between her legs where he rubbed himself against her, turning into a delicious heat that had her arching into him. “Keep that up, and I’ll be having you for breakfast instead of blueberry pancakes.”

Mary felt a thrill run through her as she saw the hunger in her husband’s eyes. Even after all these years together and all the unflattering ways time had changed her body, the fact that Joseph could still look at her like that always left her breathless.

Time changed Joseph as well, but she enjoyed snuggling into the softness of his once hard edges. The lines at the corners of his eyes were markers of how many times she made him laugh, the ones around his mouth a testament to his countless bright and beautiful smiles.

They made a life together. It wasn’t perfect, and sometimes there were stormy days that cast a shadow over them, but they always managed to find a way to keep each other warm. The fire of love and passion still burned between them, as brilliant and beautiful as it always had been.

Unfortunately, the smell of smoke wound up interrupting the steamy moment. Mary yelped and quickly scrambled to get the burnt pancake onto a plate before it could char further.

“Oops,” Joseph yelped as he straightened up to allow Mary greater ease of movement. “I guess I should’ve stuck with five minutes after all.” He rubbed the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Mary shot Joseph with a reproachful gaze. “How about we save dessert until after breakfast, okay?”

“Right,” Joseph chuckled awkwardly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take that one. Even burnt pancakes still taste good when they’re made with love.” He threw in a wink and a cheeky smile. “That’s why you taste so good after all.”

“Joseph!” Mary squealed as though scandalized. “You’re incorrigible!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Joseph laughed as he held up his hands in mock surrender. His expression softened as he gave her a tender smile and reached out to cup her cheek. “I just can’t help it when I’m with you, Mary.”

Mary leaned into his palm and whatever annoyance she felt melted away like butter on a hot skillet. It was impossible for her to hold onto any negative thoughts or feelings for long when she was with Joseph. With him around, the bad times weren’t as hard to handle, and the good times were even more wonderful. She hardly felt the years that seeped into her bones and made them ache. With him, time didn’t matter. They weren’t lonely children or struggling twenty-somethings lost in a vast world anymore, but she didn’t feel old and withered either. All these years allowed them to grow together like two trees twining together, growing strong enough to weather any storm.

“I feel the same way,” Mary murmured. “I love you, Joseph.”

“I love you too, Mary,” Joseph said before he pulled her back into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. When he drew back, he gave her a bright smile. “How about I help you finish cooking breakfast? Two sets of hands are better than one, you know.”

“Okay,” Mary said before flashing her husband a teasing grin. “But let’s try to keep those hands cooking instead of fondling, okay?”

Joseph reached over to take the spatula from Mary. His touch lingered on her fingers, sliding along them and her palm longer than necessary before he relieved her of the utensil. He flashed her a cheeky grin that she knew all too well and loved more and more as the years went on.

“No promises~”

[readthephible]

smosh fics appreciation post 📚✨

( will keep updating this! also, send me fics! )

last updated: mar 24, 2024

fluff recs 🧸

spommy ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

he said baby (that’s what he called me) — @jovenshires

we can leave the christmas lights up ‘til january — @jovenshires

everywhere i go (leads me to you) — @lilac-hecox

shaymien ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

right where you left me — @jovenshires

start of something new — @shaynetopps

the more i get of you (the stranger it feels) — @sardinespooks

dog tired in puppy love — @tommybowefuneralattendee

car lights — @slutfors8n

take away (everything) — @thimblees

i don’t wanna be your friend (i wanna kiss your lips) — @punk-gremlin

i fall in love (just a little more) — @picassowithapencil (amangela)

paint night — @punk-gremlin (ianthony)

nobody gets me (you do) — @punk-gremlin (shaymanda)

the other way around — @tommybowefuneralattendee (tommien)

i had a fever until i met you — @feral-teeth (courtgela)

chaptered ⏰

‘till apathy do us part — anon (action, lil ianthony)

i can feel you in my blood — @santaslittleslut (action, lil ianthony)

come over (again) — @punk-gremlin (ianthony)

donut galaxy — @funeralroast (action/shaymien)

cough syrup — @quyinn (shaymien)

angst recs 🩹

the kintsugi kid — @kileykao (ianthony)

seeker — chutea (ianthony)

somewhere only we know — @kileykao (shaymien)

angel dust — @shaynetopps (shaymien)

summer sun for you forever — @lilac-hecox (jackmien)

everywhere i go (leads me to you) — @lilac-hecox (spommy)

i want you to hold me (please never let go) — @legalespeon (spommy)

running and she’s running again — @lilac-hecox (amangela)

smut recs 🌶️

shaymien ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

kiss and make up — @watchthequeenconquer

and i watched a change in you — @wispmother

the sum of your broken parts — @quyinn

make me — @bluebirdrules

protecting what’s mine — @bluebirdrules

do not open before christmas — @tommybowefuneralattendee

off the cuff — pixenpixels

say so — amongtheshallows

fellowship of shame — @notthatalex (nintendogs augustus/chosen)

shaynse ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

that peanut’s looking real good — orphaned

i can drive you to football practice — orphaned

shayne x [person b] ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

perfect fit — @lilac-hecox (shaymanda)

no body, no crime — @lilac-hecox (shaynthony)

anything you want — @howtomflirts (shaynthony)

forgive my lying eyes — @tommybowefuneralattendee (shayncer)

just dive right in (third time’s a charm) — @tommybowefuneralattendee (shayncer)

what happens on the games stage, stays on the games stage (i hope) — @gay-nonderogatory (shrevor)

show and tell — @punk-gremlin (polysmosh)

it’s fine, it’s okay (i’ll die anyway) — @jaxthejester (antmien)

my crush with eyeliner — @blondeforyou (spommy)

miscellaneous / AU ✏️🌎

loveless — @ashesember (shayne character study)

i’ve been having revelations — @ifearimlosingtheroom (courtmangela)

a field of yellow flowers — @unknownteapot (amangela)

womanhood — @ancientvamp (baf legacy)

[sirfrogsworth]

There is this need from people on the left to discredit Elon's contributions to Tesla and SpaceX. This notion "he just pays smart people to do everything and then he takes all the credit" is mentioned just about any time Tesla or SpaceX does something cool.

If you weren't aware, SpaceX caught a rocket booster this morning and it might be one of the biggest engineering achievements in recent history.

I haven't been able to find much about his technical contributions to Tesla. It does seem like in the early days he was quite involved with the engineering. His most recent contributions to Tesla have been nothing short of disasters. But I don't think he really cares much about Tesla anymore. His obsession with colonizing Mars has taken priority and so he just hands his Tesla engineers a picture of a Dorito and says, "Make this a truck" and fucks off to do space shit.

But every bit of research I've done regarding SpaceX shows that he knows his shit. His "Chief Engineer" status is not just ceremonial. His tours of SpaceX with Everyday Astronaut show him speaking in depth and off the cuff about every aspect of the rocket program.

And then I saw this interview with a former NASA and SpaceX engineer, and she pretty much confirmed that Elon knows his shit.

[Starts at 20:16]

She wasn't pressured to say that. I think it is pretty clear that was her honest opinion.

I don't think SpaceX is only successful because of Elon. She even complains that the billionaire owners tend to get the bulk of the credit when there are thousands of talented people working together to do these amazing things.

But I do think Elon's aggressive strategy of "blow shit up until it works" has helped SpaceX leapfrog pretty much every other rocket manufacturer trying to do things in space. From what I can tell, the competition is laughably behind.

And I guess I really don't care if Elon gets credit for his rocket engineering skills or not. But I do always prefer to start from the truth. And so when people say he doesn't know anything, I have this frustrating need to push back despite how I feel about Elon.

It's similar to how I defend Apple sometimes. I don't like Apple very much as a company. But I think they are better than Google and Samsung (especially when it comes to privacy) and I do like some of their products. I'm not going to say something is bad when it isn't.

Elon is a terrible person. And there is evidence that he creates a lot of headaches for his employees. And his politics have become intolerable.

He is an awful piece of shit.

But he is also a legit rocket engineer.

Sometimes shitty people are good at stuff.

I don't think he is the *best* rocket engineer. He is probably quite mediocre in comparison to most of the people at SpaceX. But he is not doing astronaut cosplay like the other billionaires.

Personally, I think maybe it is more frustrating that Elon isn't actually a giant idiot in all things. He is capable of intelligence when he wants to be. And I think that is worse than Trump who is just genuinely ignorant. Elon can learn extremely complicated systems and understand them. He has that capability. And he often just chooses not to and then wields his ignorance in a way that hurts others.

When he is passionate and determined he will read every textbook and learn every schematic. But he is so narcissistic that he thinks intelligence just... transfers.

And I think this is a problem with a lot of people who excel in some kind of academic context. They think because they are smart about one thing, they are smart about everything. And they believe they don't actually have to put in the work and truly learn and understand it.

Or they will look at other things that are less complicated than the thing they know and believe they can intuit knowledge about it because it is simpler.

Like... learning rocket science is harder than learning to run a McDonald's. But I am willing to bet Elon thinks he could be plopped into the middle of a McDonald's with no training and not only do a good job, but run a McDonald's better than any person ever in the history of McDonald's.

When in reality, a person with years of experience competently running a McDonald's would do a much better job. Elon would most likely be a disaster.

But in his mind... "It's not like it is rocket science."

Is it easier or more comforting to just write Elon off as an idiot in all things?

Or would it be more useful to understand he doesn't have to be an idiot, but he just does not care enough to relieve himself of ignorance?

I sometimes wonder if the truth even matters in this case. My need to be truthful isn't helpful. "Elon is an idiot" is simpler. And it is usually true.

I dunno.

I just hate that he is involved in something I love. And that if I want to follow space shit, I have to acknowledge Elon's existence.

[biteofcherry]

Ransom + bondage please?

Your arms were stretched above your head; your wrists locked in brown leather cuffs. Your fingers wiggled, helplessly trying to seek support.

Wide, leather cuffs were buckled around your ankles, as well. A shiny spreader bar keeping your legs apart.

Ransom had you bound and displayed in front of him, while he sat in a comfortable armchair, sinking his full weight onto buttersoft cushions like the lord and master he felt himself to be.

"You look good in my cuffs," his gaze raked over every inch of your exposed body.

"Though there's something imperfect yet." A small frown marred Ransom's forehead as he studied you.

He stood up and picked up a glass of whiskey, before approaching you in slow, measured steps.

He lifted the glass to his lips, while trailing his other hand up your bare side. Hooking his index finger into the black lace of your bralette, he pulled it down, until your nipple was exposed. He repeated the same with your other breast.

Your nipples were already stiff, but under Ransom's heated gaze they tightened more.

Still, Ransom's pretty face displayed discontent.

He took a sip of his drink then stepped back. His eyes focused on your hardened peaks and sudden spark lightened his blue eyes.

When he took another gulp of whiskey, you saw the curve of a smirk over the rim of his glass.

He returned to the big pool table, setting his glass on the pristine, classic green felt. There was a black box set on it; one from which Ransom took out the custom made cuffs.

Your heart rate picked up as you saw his slender fingers pick up a mesh of leather stripes with gold rings.

Something told you there were more parts in the set.

When Ransom returned to you, he first unclasped your bra (straps, too) and eased it off your chest. Then you felt the soft caress of leather around your throat; a cool lightness of metal ring setting in the hollow right below your neck.

More stripes were weaved around your breasts, small buckles being pulled closed on your back. The stripes were attached to three more rings. One landing between your breasts. The other two...

Right over your nipples.

Metal rings pressed gently into your skin, framing your hardened nipples and drawing attention to them.

"Perfect." Ransom's satisfied smile broadened when he flicked one of your buds with his thumb and you arched, gasping.

Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XVIII

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds /

Lucien adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, wanting to look his absolute best during the dinner his father had decided to personally invite him to. 

The corridor was empty and quiet, Eris was his only company as they both waited for Elain to finish getting ready for the evening. Lucien could sense she was equally as nervous to be spending more time with his family. 

He bit the inside of his cheek as he straightened his jacket. 

“Stop worrying,” Eris snapped, voice cold and uncaring, as if he could not be bothered to reassure his youngest brother. Lucien thought It sounded more like an order than an attempt to settle him. 

He sighed as he faced the High Lord’s heir. “Are we late?” 

Eris rolled his eyes, the torches along the walls flashing momentarily. “Take a breath and stop fidgeting, this dinner is a peace offering.” 

While his brother had not actually answered his question, Lucien was almost sure Eris would have made an effort to rush them if they were at risk of upsetting their father. He had once believed wholeheartedly that Eris would not let any harm come to him. After Jesminda’s death, he had come to the conclusion that Eris only had his own best interests in mind. 

Lucien looked at Eris as they continued to wait for Elain, questioning if his eldest brother fell somewhere in the middle of his assumptions. Eris had gone out of his way to ensure Lucien had been released from the dungeons, and had proven himself an ally to Elain. 

Lucien’s golden eye clicked into place and Eris turned to face him. 

Eris frowned as their eyes met, almost as though he knew exactly what Lucien was thinking about. The torches flared once more as he opened his mouth to speak, but the doors to the chambers opened suddenly and they both turned to face Elain and Cora. 

All of Lucien’s thoughts about what Eris might have said had they not been interrupted quickly left his mind as Elain walked elegantly into the corridor.

Lucien straightened as she approached, her dress was lovely, the material fading from black to orange, her skirts looking like the forest floor as they dragged along the stone ground. Like most dresses in Autumn, it was modest, and very little of her skin showed. Elain had pinned her hair up with the comb of pearls Eris had gifted her, and Lucien’s eyes fell to the pale column of her throat. 

Elain Archeron was stunning, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and Lucien suddenly became very aware of the scars that marred his face.

Elain looked at him and blushed, she paused, skirts in her hands as she spoke. “Sorry to make you both wait, it took Cora ages to figure out the ties,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the corridor, echoing loudly in Lucien’s mind. 

“Did it?” Eris raised a brow at Cora as she shut the doors to the suite and walked to Elain’s side. 

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she said, “I hate Autumn Court gowns.” 

“Some lady’s maid you are,” Eris replied with a scoff, clearly intending to annoy her.

“Do all the clothes really need so many laces and buttons?” Cora clipped, gesturing to the back of Elain’s dress. “Hardly my fault the females here have to suffer in such a fashion.” 

Eris waved a hand lazily and Lucien watched with great interest as his brother’s lips tilted up at the corners, flames in his eyes. “You should have stayed in Night, where the nobles have much simpler tastes.” 

Cora looked prepared to bite back a response, but Lucien pitied the poor female for having to put up with Eris’s moods and spoke before the situation could escalate.

“You look beautiful, Elain.” 

His mate blushed an even darker shade of red. “Thank you,” she said softly, trailing her eyes from his booted feet to the high neckline of his jacket. “You look nice, too.” 

Lucien bowed his head, keeping their gazes locked. It felt as if just the two of them were in the dark space, that no one else existed beyond them. 

Lovely. 

Elain was breathtakingly beautiful, and Lucien questioned the cauldron’s decision to make them mates. 

Eris cleared his throat, shattering the silence between them along with the illusion that only Lucien and Elain were present. 

“You also look very handsome, Eris.” Elain added as she reached for Lucien’s arm. He offered it to her without hesitation, and she grabbed onto him with no consideration. If it were not for the amusement ringing in her tone, Lucien might have been irrationally jealous at the statement. 

Cora hummed in agreement, and Lucien could have sworn a flicker of shock flashed across his brother’s features as he glanced at the Night Court female. “Are family dinners always so… formal?” She asked none of them in particular. 

Eris merely shrugged in response, “It’s not every night you welcome back an exiled son.” 

Lucien nodded, keeping his expression serious. “I’m so flattered.” 

Elain giggled at his side and Lucien caught himself genuinely smiling. 

“Wish your lady’s maid a goodnight,” Eris interrupted, “we should be going.” 

“I’ll find you in the morning,” Elain promised, waving at her friend as Eris began to walk away.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Cora called after them and Lucien almost snorted, knowing the evening would probably be torturous. 

Elain was comfortable as she loosely held onto his arm, her heartbeat steady, nothing negative making its way down the bond. Eris slowed his steps, letting them catch up, and he walked next to Elain. 

As soon as they walked up a flight of stairs, ensuring there was enough distance between them and Cora, Elain used the hand that was not holding onto Lucien to swat his older brother. 

“You could use her name,” she scolded, "it's not as if you don’t know it.” 

Lucien’s mouth fell open in silent shock. He wondered when his eldest brother might have last been chastised, who might have been brave enough to dare. 

“Whose?” Eris said, disdain dripping from the one word, although it was obvious he knew who Elain was referring to.  

Elain hit him again, this time with more force. “You could be nice,” she suggested, disappointment lining her lovely features.

“Being nice might actually kill him,” Lucien mumbled, but they both seemed content to ignore his presence. 

“Stop hitting me,” Eris said, sounding unbothered.

As Elain raised her gloved hand one more time, Eris did not miss a single step as he winnowed to Lucien’s side, maintaining their pace effortlessly. 

Elain attempted to get through to him one last time, leaning past Lucien so she could frown at him. “It’s rude, Eris,” she observed. “You ought to know as much.”  

Lucien could have told her that arguing with Eris was akin to arguing with a stone wall, but he watched as they interacted, surprised at how comfortable they seemed to be with each other.

“Remember yourself at dinner,” Eris warned, “I’m not too sure that the rest of my brothers will appreciate your more violent side.” 

While Lucien could tell Eris was not being serious, he felt as Elain tensed, clearly worried by the words. 

Lucien shot Eris a glare, but his brother had already begun to speak, paying attention only to his mate.  

“You’ve managed to charm even my father, Elain Archeron,” Eris added, having noticed her change in demeanour, and Lucien was grateful as she straightened her shoulders back. She already looked more confident as Eris gave her a final piece of advice. “So keep at it.” 

Eris’s praise was enough for Elain to maintain an attitude that made her seem entirely at ease among the most important family in the Autumn Court. While the High Lord sat at the head of the rectangular table, no one else faced him from across the other side. 

Lucien’s mother was at his father’s left side, and Eris was on his right. Elain had quickly found her place sitting between Lucien and the Lady of Autumn, who she spoke with softly, answering all of his mother’s pleasantly worded questions while everyone else ate their perfectly cooked meal. 

Lucien was surprised with how well-behaved his brothers were, considering how he had witnessed more than enough brawls during their family dinners before he had been exiled. Beron watched with observant eyes, paying attention to the conversation between Elain and his wife. 

Eris had said very little, just like Lucien remembered, choosing to eat slowly and avoid meaningless small talk. Callum was expectedly next to their eldest brother, looking at the very least like he was carefully listening to Elain as she spoke. Ronan had drunk so much wine Lucien was wondering if he would be able to walk out of the dining room on his own, which seemed a bit unusual. Felix had his elbows on the table, head resting on his fist, decidedly choosing to be disrespectful. Lucien was surprised that their father had yet to say anything, knowing how much the High Lord valued appearances. 

“I was thinking of sending invitations out in the next couple of days,” Lucien heard his mother say, a repressed excitement in her voice. She placed her napkin next to her full plate. “Of course, Night will be receiving theirs first.” 

“Thank you,” Elain added, “We’d been planning a smaller affair, very few knew about it outside our little circle of friends.” She glanced to Lucien shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear endearingly before turning her attention back to the Lady of Autumn. 

“We could send Spring an invitation,” Beron added, voice quiet but authoritative. He looked at Lucien with a raised brow, “We wouldn't want to offend Tamlin.” 

“How considerate,” Lucien said, feeling his teeth grit in annoyance. 

“And we must invite the human queen and her general,” his father continued.

“I don’t expect them to travel into our court.” Lucien responded, wanting his friends to stay far away from the Forest House. 

“Why not?” Felix asked. “We have such a lovely court,” he flashed Lucien a grin daring him to argue. 

Lucien set his cutlery down with a loud sound as it hit against the side of his plate. 

“I don’t care much for Queen Vassa,” Elain interrupted before Lucien could say anything. There was honesty in her words, he could tell, perhaps even a hint of jealousy, but he knew she was only saying it for his benefit, 

Elain had come to his defence in the hopes that Beron would leave his friends alone, and the respect he had for his mate only soared at the thought.

Ronan chuckled, raising his glass in a salute towards Elain, which she returned elegantly despite her clear discomfort at being addressed directly. “I like your mate’s honesty, little brother,” he confessed before drinking deeply.

Beron hummed in response, placing his hand, palm up, onto the table. Lucien watched as his mother laced their fingers together, the gesture coming to them naturally. His much larger hand engulfed her smaller one, and Lucien had to fight the urge to wince.   

Everyone went back to eating in silence, and Lucien recalled the countless family dinners he had silently sat through. With Beron present, his brothers were achingly careful with their words and their actions, not wanting to upset him. It was like trying to walk in the woods without snapping a branch, nearly impossible without practice, but each of them had learned to read their father’s moods. 

As though Elain could sense the troublesome direction of Lucien’s thoughts, she placed a comforting hand on his knee. Covered by the table, no one else noticed the startlingly soft gesture. 

Lucien realised quickly that Elain’s action had not been for show, that it had not been a part of their roles, it was simply a moment shared between the two of them.

[childotkw]

Omg that CS snippet 😭 im dying inside, comooon amazon or whoever, deliver her new laptop! And should be on the house as well! Haha

Btw that healer!Tom, criminal/activist!Harry fic would be amazing 😍 it gives a little hannibal/will vibes to me, would u have any snippets of them meeting for the first time? Or like riddles first impression of him? Arg im in a fanfic drought and need something to keep my life source coming 🥲 love u loads ❤️

I meant to reply to this aaagggeeess ago!! Sorry!!

As for healer!Tom / activist!Harry - don't mind if I do!

--- -- --- -- --- -- ---

“Tilt your head back,” Tom ordered, his voice dropping low in a wholly inappropriate manner for a healer.

The auror next to the door didn’t hear, didn’t know, but Potter certainly did.

Green eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide and ravenous as he did as he was told, tipping his head back and revealing the tantalising stretch of his neck. Tom skimmed his wand along it, watching as the other swallowed and how it made his throat bob, before tapping the tip against the hinge of Potter’s jaw. He pressed hard, revelling in the quiet hiss it got him, and allowed his magic to coat the livid bruise that peeked out from beneath the stubble marring the man’s jawline.

There was a second, illuminated by the soft white of the healing spell, where they just stared at each other.

Potter was a handsome man, he could admit. Rugged and unkempt, with a hint of wildness to his features that reminded Tom of the orphanage. A type of hunger that was all too familiar to him. Hunger for safety, for power, for change.

This one’s dangerous, Tom realised with a spark of delight as he cancelled the spell a touch too early. His gaze darted down, fixing on the fading yellow that remained of the bruise. It would still be tender, and a part of him desperately wanted to press his fingers to the spot, to rake a nail over it and see what other sounds he could tease out from this caged beast.

Speaking of -

“Do they know those aren’t doing anything to contain you?” he asked under his breath, swaying forward an inch under the guise of checking the welt on Potter’s mouth.

He wanted to bite into the wound. Cut it fresh and suck the bead of blood that would well up.

Potter smiled, a quick little thing that broke the scab and had Tom’s attention riveted to the hint of red.

“No,” he whispered back, amused and enjoying it. He shifted his wrists, showing off the warded cuffs. “But they put in so much effort to arrest me, I figured I’d let them have this one.”