#this answer was honestly not supposed to be this long

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[sage-nebula]

I've been suicidal many times in my life, and while I could talk about those experiences, given what this post is about, I'd rather talk about something else.

My boss at my previous job was not just my boss. He was my friend, my mentor. I'd met him as a student employee; I still remember the day I went in for my interview, and I asked to speak with "Mr [name]," and the other student employee who answered the door made a face and said, "Hey, Mr [Name], this girl is here to see you" when he let me in because my boss never wanted us to be so formal with him. We were on a first-name basis with him, always. I was nineteen, and super nervous interviewing for my first job that wasn't retail or food service, but he cracked jokes and made me feel welcome. He treated all of us like that.

He was just a really good man. He always stood up for us, every time the university tried to do something that would make our lives harder or less safe. I made a Facebook status once about how I was harassed by a gas station employee near the university, and he commented telling me he'd bring his bat if I needed it. When one of the supervisors ended up overstepping boundaries in a big way with us student employees, he worked overtime to make sure that we would all be safe. When I got promoted to a supervisor position after graduation, and took it upon myself to oversea the yearly Secret Santa tradition for the students (meaning I didn't participate because otherwise I would know who my Secret Santa was), he decided he wasn't letting me go without a present and got me one anyway, despite my insistence that it wasn't necessary.

Unfortunately, he had his own demons to fight. He was going through difficult stuff in his personal life. He told me a lot about it; I was a confidant for him, and at one point he told me I was the only person he could speak to about any of it. More unfortunately still, as much as I wanted to be there for him, I was also struggling to keep my own mental health on track. It was around this time that I was looking into starting antidepressants / anti-anxiety medication for the first time because of how much I was struggling, and I was really focused on getting all of that sorted so that I could stop being tempted by the trains I heard pass by my home every night. Because of this, I didn't check in on him regularly. And so, when his boss called me one morning before my shift was supposed to start and told me that he had taken his own life, I was consumed by more than just shock and grief; I was crushed by guilt.

You see, I blamed myself. Largely because he had told me I was the only one who could confide in, I couldn't help but think that if I had checked in on him more regularly, if I had been there, this wouldn't have happened. I could have prevented it. I could have saved him. He wouldn't have taken his own life, and it wouldn't have been one of his young daughters who found him like that. Not only had I lost a friend of nine years, but I felt like I failed him.

I know now that isn't the case. There were many factors involved, not the least of which being it turns out I wasn't the only one he confided in after all. But it took me a long time to reach that point—a long time until I could honestly say that I didn't feel like it was my fault.

In the midst of depression and suicidal ideation, it can be incredibly hard to see the importance that you have in other people's lives—the place that you have there, that no one else can fill. I know this intimately, because it is something that I struggle with regularly. But even if you can't see it, you have to hold in the forefront of your mind that the importance is there. The impact will be felt. Not only do people care about you, but those closest to you will hold the weight of responsibility for your life on their shoulders for a long time. If nothing else, you don't want that for the people you care about, do you? You don't want to do that to them, do you?

You are not the only one harmed by your suicide. In fact, you're the one who will feel the impact the least. Death doesn't hurt the deceased; it only wounds the living. That's why we have funerals: it's for the sake of those left behind. But no amount of funerals or celebrations of life can assuage the pain left by a suicide. It doesn't help. Notes don't either.

If you're in a place where you're ideating, reconsider. Reach out to someone close to you. Tell them where you are, mentally, and have them come be with you. Believe me when I say that they would much rather sit awake with you all night, than wake up the next morning to a message that you're gone.

Give us the chance to be there for you. It's all we ask.

periodic reminder that your death by your own hand will wreak more havoc on the lives of those you know than you are ever capable of imagining and if you need a sign not to kill yourself this is it. people care more than you know & i am one of them

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

sorry if this is weird or hyperspecfic but uh....

lates 90s/early 2000s dilf Dave and he has you bent over, back arched arched, ass in the air, face in the bed and is RAMMING into you and like you're supposed to stay quiet and he hears you whine or mumble something and he tanks you by your hair and asks what you said and degrades you and just uhhh yeah

is that too freaky

A/n: never too freaky

Warnings: smut, degradation, rough sex, edging, spanking, angst, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Whilst trying to find a picture to put here I remembered how fucking hot he is so expect more Davie soon 😘

Dave was having a bad week, every night he came home and had a drink on the couch and watched TV. You tried to help but there wasn’t much that was helping, not even blowjobs.

It was Friday night and Dave came home in an especially bad mood. He didn’t grab a drink or sit in the living room, he went straight to bed and didn’t move.

You let him have some time to himself but you didn’t want to stay away for too long before heading up to see him.

He was laying on his side, eyes open so he wasn’t sleeping. He was just thinking and didn’t look at you as you came into the room.

“Davie?” You started. “Are you alright?” You asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine… just tired.” You didn’t believe him, hell, he didn’t believe it either.

You reached out and started rubbing his side through the sheets. “Is there anything I can do?” Dave inhaled deeply, he was about to send you away but then he got a better idea.

He looked up at you. “I love you, you know that?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, you nodded nonetheless. “Yes, of course, and I love you too.”

He smiled, a small chuckle leaving him. “Good.” He said, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “Don’t forget that, because I need you to do something for me.”

At this point you were willing to do anything if it would make him feel better. You weren’t new to Dave taking out some anger on you, you didn’t mind honestly because at the end he held you close and told you nothing but praise and that he loved you. Besides, you loved when he was rough with you.

He hadn’t let you cum yet, his hand was on your back and keeping it arched, face shoved in the pillows and making it hard to breathe. Your ass was red and stinging from him spanking you, eyes and cheeks a similar shade from crying.

Dave’s hips snapped into yours at a brutal pace, if there was a thrash genre of sex this was definitely it. He fucked you so deep and hard your eyes were rolling into the back of your head, but you refused to make a sound.

“Fuck, you love this don’t you? Love being used you fucking whore, my own little cocksleeve.” He grunted, groaning lowly into the room, the gruff sound of it mixing with skin slapping and the creaking of the bed as it rocked.

You’d been doing so good, not making a single sound, but it was getting harder with every high he ruined for you, pulling out completely or refusing to move. Your clit was neglected and hurt, cunt abused and puffy, you thought the pillows would be enough to hide the whine you couldn’t keep down.

Dave’s hand came to the back of your head, clutching a handful of your hair and yanking you up. “Come again, doll?” He asked, bringing your ear right to his lips.

You hoped keeping quiet would settle this but you just couldn’t do it, another whine leaving you as tears rolled down your cheeks.

“Fucking bitch.” He grunted, tightening his hold on your hair as his thrusts somehow quickened. His free hand held your hip, gripping it so tight it was sure to leave bruises the next morning. “Can’t do the one thing I asked of you? Are you that fucking useless?” More whines left you, coming out more as soft sobs. “Answer me!” His hand on your hip came down hard on your ass.

“Yes, I am, m’useless, Davie!” You cried, weakly reaching for the sheets. He scoffed at your admission and threw you down onto the bed, watching you crumble as he continued to spit insults at you, emphasizing his words with more hits to your ass.

All you could do was take it and cry, hope he’d be done soon and let you cum, at the very least just stop. All you could do was wait for your hugs and kisses, for him to hold you and tell you he loved you, that he didn’t mean any of it.

“Can’t do fucking shit! I told you to shut up and you couldn’t even do that!” He yelled. “Worthless cunt, doesn’t deserve shit.” He grunted.

Where was your Davie?

[darlingletters]

moth to flame lh44

lewis hamilton x fem!reader

in which y/n y/l/n has a new boyfriend and lewis hamilton can’t help but want to remind her how he knows her better.

warnings: cheating, kissing, intimate touching (like cheek touching and stuff), allusions to the devil’s tango, lemme know if there’s any that I missed please.

an: so I haven’t posted in a while but I am back!! hope everyone is doing well. this is my first time writing something like this so if anyone has any tips on how to make it better please let me know. also sorry for any bad grammar/spelling.

should I make a part 2?

anyway this is based on the song moth to flame by the weeknd & swedish house mafia!! absolutely love this song and honestly I was listening to it the other day and got the idea to write to this. I don’t know if anyone else has done, but if so lemme know.

driver list navigation

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it was 3:45 in the morning.

y/n was supposed be asleep but instead she was wide awake sitting on the sofa on the phone talking to her ex boyfriend whilst her current one slept in the next room.

“come y/n/n, you don’t wanna be with this guy. he doesn’t know you like I do baby.” lewis’ voice almost pleads as he talks.

“this needs to stop. I’ve moved on. you should have too.” she says simply, picking at the blanket that covered her.

“please baby-”

“you have to stop calling me that.” she cuts him off “I ain’t your baby anymore. I stopped being that a long time ago.”

“y/n, he doesn’t know what you need. doesn’t know what to give you. I do.” his pleading continues.

she stays silent. she doesn’t even know how to respond to that. it was true. her boyfriend hadn’t been able to please her in the two years they’d been together. and although she’d never admit it out loud, it was driving her insane.

“I bet he even knows he can’t please you because he knows he can never give you what I gave you.” he says smugly. “because he knows, he can never be better than me.”

“arrogance doesn’t suit you.” she mutters loud enough for him to hear.

“I am not being arrogant. I am being honest.” he responds quickly.

“what do you want from me lewis?” she asks slightly frustrated.

“you. I want you. I want you to admit you want me too.” he states like it’s obvious

“I don’t want you.” lies. but he didn’t need to know that.

“just come cover.” he says simply.

“I can’t.” she whispers.

“why? cause your with him?” he says annoyed, “just leave now. you’ll be back in the morning. I just need to see you baby.” he pleads.

“lewis-”

“come on y/n. just lemme be near you. touch you. that’s all i need.” lewis says almost desperately, hints of desire in his words.

“one hour. I’ll come to you.” she says after a moment of silence.

although she should of felt guilty or even hesitated to answer, she didn’t. she wanted to see lewis. needed to see him. lewis was her first love, probably the only man she would ever truly love.

“I’ll send you the address.” he says, his voice completely lustful as he ends the call and sends the address of a hotel.

- 20 minutes later -

she knocks on his door. her mind filled with guilt and hesitation as she waited for the door to open. however, once the door opened and she caught sight of lewis, those thoughts had quietened.

“lewis.” she says breathily.

in response, lewis smirks and makes space for her to enter.

“you said you wanted to see me, you’ve seen me.” she whispers as she enters the room.

“I also said I wanted to touch you and I haven’t done that yet.” he flirts as he shuts the door and locks it.

“lewis-” she mutters as she closes her eyes.

“come on baby, just let me touch you.” he responds, taking off her jacket as he stands behind her.

“I have a boyfriend.” she says firmly, not turning to face him.

“then why are here? hm?” he whispers in her ear as he stays behind her.

“I- I don’t know.” she mutters.

“you still want me.” he responds as she shakes her head. “yes you do, you still love me y/n. I know you do baby, don’t deny it.” he says turning her around to face him only to see her eyes closed.

they stay in silence for a few moments as lewis looks at her, assessing every detail on her face. memorising her features like he used to when they once shared a bed.

“open your eyes.” he says softly. “lemme see those gorgeous eyes I’ve missed to much.” he speaks again stroking her cheek.

she takes a deep breath as she keeps her eyes closed, determined not to fall for him all over again.

“come on baby, just look at me.” he whispers, brushing his lips against her cheek. “just need you to look at me again.” he repeats, kissing her cheek.

“lewis-” she starts but was quickly interrupted when she felt a kiss on her jaw forcing her to open her eyes.

the sight before her made her wish she had never answered his phone call.

there he was cradling her face like she was a precious piece of art as he looked down at her with pure affection and warmth at finally seeing her looking at him.

“there we go baby, there’s those pretty eyes.” he whispers as he rubs his thumb on her cheek. “god i missed you.” he mutters as he leans his forehead against hers.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” she mumbles as she shakes her head, pulling away from him and forming distance making his smile drop while he reaches out for her.

“leave that guy. come back to me.” he states firmly, his expression almost desperate.

“we are toxic lewis. we fought all the time, we barely saw each other expect to use each other in bed.” she argues back, putting her hands on her hips.

“it’s been three years y/n. we’ve changed. I’ve changed. that guy doesn’t deserve you.” he says simply taking a step forward towards her which makes her step back.

“and you think you deserve me?” she scoffs.

“no I don’t deserve you. no one fucking deserves you y/n/n. but I love you. more then that guy can.” he takes a step forward. she takes a step back. “I care for you more then him.” step forward. step back. “I touch you better then he does.” he whispers, taking a final step forward until she’s pressed up against the wall. “and you and I both know i can please you better then he does.” he finishes looking at her as she leans back against the wall looking up at him with wide eyes as she breaths heavily.

“lew-” she mumbles out as licks her lips and looks at his lips before quickly looking at his eyes.

“let me kiss you.” he whispers as he leans his head forward and places his hand on her cheek. “please baby let me kiss you.” he pleads, their lips inches away.

she pauses as she keeps her arms planted to her side as she looks at him trying to pull away from him. she looks away from his eyes and back to lips.

“fuck it.” she mutters as she runs her fingers though his hair and kisses him making him immediately return it with a soft groan.

he moves his hands into her hair, “god I missed you.” he says against her lips before going straight back to kissing her.

however, as they kissed, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of regret wash over her as she thought back to her boyfriend peacefully sleeping in their bed whilst she made out with her ex boyfriend.

────────────────────────────

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 COULD’VE BEEN aeri uchinaga x reader

❚ ❚ 𓍢 JIHYORURI 106 FM | jihyoruri 106 FM catalog for today brought to you by your very own jihyoruri! new music by aeri uchinaga will follow up next ; idol!au, oc group, fluff, angst, yearning

❝I ain’t just just your friend, no, what’s the point of lying? tryna sell a story ain’t nobody buyin’ look me in my eyes don’t feel nice?❞

❝I could’ve been him, more than your friend❞

now playing : could’ve been by aeri uchinaga 1:35 ━━○───── 3:47 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

when aeri first met yn during her trainee days, she was just the annoying younger girl who always stuck by yizhuo's side.

aeri had only exchanged a few words with her here and there, but honestly, she tried her best to avoid yn altogether. she was immature, and had complete unfiltered qualities. aeri couldn’t wrap her head around, especially in someone aspiring to become an idol.

but aeri couldn’t deny it, yn had this strange way of standing out. even if she annoyed her, aeri often caught herself watching yn interact with others, finding a surprising amount of entertainment in the chaos she brought with her everywhere she went.

she kind of missed the chaos yn used to bring, the way she managed to turn everyone's day upside down with that relentless energy.

that was until about two years after aespa’s debut.

aeri was lounging on the couch, half-watching a movie on the tv, when she heard the front door open. she didn’t even need to glance up to know it was yizhuo, her footsteps were unmistakable. but what stopped her cold was the voice that followed.

her head snapped up, the tv forgotten. eyebrows furrowing, she stared as the person walking in beside yizhuo came into view. they looked so familiar yet so... different.

confident, polished, and undeniably good looking. it took her a second to connect the dots, but when she did, her breath hitched.

yn.

“wha…” she trailed off.

“look who I found!” yizhuo exclaimed with a wide grin as she wrapped an arm around yn’s shoulders. “our yn! she’s still a trainee at sm.”

aeri’s gaze immediately locked onto yn, who gave her that crooked smile she always used to give to her during training.

“yn…” aeri said, sitting up a little straighter. “you look…” she trailed off, her face heating up as yn raised a brow, clearly waiting for aeri to finish.

“sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say,” aeri quickly covered, waving it off. “whoa, dude, I haven’t seen you in so long! and you’re still a trainee? how’s that going?”

“it’s been good,” yn replied smoothly, her voice carrying a more confident tone than aeri remembered. “I’m supposed to debut next year, so you guys can look forward to that.”

yizhuo squealed with excitement while aeri’s eyes widened in surprise. “congratulations! that’s awesome. I remember you were really into songwriting are you working on stuff for the group?”

yn opened her mouth to answer, but yizhuo cut in enthusiastically. “she is! she was just talking about songwriting on the way here, and I told her you’ve been struggling a bit with your own songs. you guys should totally help each other!”

trainee aeri would’ve run for the hills if someone had told her she'd end up working in a studio alone with yn. the thought of spending hours with the loud, unfiltered girl who once wreaked havoc during practice sessions would have been unbearable.

but now?

“that’s a cool idea.”

aeri glanced at yn, who was leaning casually against the desk, her eyes fixed on aeri with quiet patience as she waited for her answer.

this wasn’t the same yn she remembered. there was something calmer about her now, more refined, though the spark in her eyes remained.

“that’s a cool idea,” aeri finally said, her voice steady.

and that’s how it all started.

and it only took four prominent moments for everything to shift completely.

the first session was awkward, to say the least. aeri sat stiffly in the chair, headphones on, scrolling through their tracklist. yn was unusually quiet, sitting across from her and tapping a pen against her notebook. finally , she broke the silence.

“so, uh… how do you usually start these?” yn asked, tilting her head.

aeri sighed, pulling off her headphones. “I don’t know. sometimes I just hum random stuff and see if it sticks.”

“huh,” yn said, her lips curving into a smile. “sounds messy. I like it.”

aeri rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. “what about you? got any lyrics hidden in that notebook of yours?”

yn hesitated before flipping open the notebook, revealing a page covered in scribbles. “It’s kinda rough,” she admitted, handing it over.

aeri read through it, her eyebrows raising. “by rough, do you mean really good?.”

“really?” yn’s eyes lit up, and for a moment, aeri felt a pang in her chest. It was the first time she noticed how sincere yn’s smile could be.

after a couple sessions , the awkwardness had melted away, replaced by easy banter. as they worked on a melody, yn suddenly asked, “do you think I’ll be a good idol?”

aeri paused, looking up from the keyboard. “why would you even ask that?”

yn shrugged, spinning her chair in slow circles. “I don’t know. I’ve always felt like I’m… too much. too loud. too all over the place.”

“that’s ridiculous,” aeri said firmly. “you’re passionate, and you care. and honestly? you’ve grown a lot since we were trainees. I think you’ll be amazing.”

yn’s spinning stopped, and she looked at aeri with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. “thanks,” she said softly.

the room felt heavier during their later sessions. yn would lean in close to adjust something on the screen, and aeri could feel her breath against her skin. they worked late into the night, and the air between them felt charged.

“this is turning out pretty good,” yn said one night, sitting back and listening to their latest track.

“yeah,” aeri murmured, her eyes focused on the screen but her mind elsewhere. yn’s voice had gotten deeper, more confident, and it lingered in aeri thoughts long after their sessions ended.

yn stretched, her shirt riding up slightly, and aeri quickly averted her gaze, her face heating up.

“you okay?” yn asked, her tone teasing but her eyes curious.

“fine,” aeri said quickly, fumbling with her notes

this session was unknowingly their last one and it was filled unspoken emotions. they had just finished writing the bridge of a song , and the energy between them was undeniable.

yn leaned closer, her voice low. “you know… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable with anyone before.”

aeri’s breath caught as yn’s eyes flickered to her lips. she knew what was coming and felt her heart hammering in her chest.

but as yn moved closer, aeri panicked. “don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

yn froze, confusion flashing in her eyes. “what’s wrong?”

“you’re still young, yn,” aeri said, standing up abruptly. “you’re yizhuo’s friend. and with your debut next year… this could never work.”

yn’s expression shifted to one of hurt, but she nodded slowly. “if that’s how you feel…”

“It is,” aeri said, though the crack in her voice betrayed her.

“okay, cool.” yn replied she look down at her phone and saw the time, it was pretty late, she gathered her things and left not without muttering a quick bye.

aeri sat back down, her hands trembling and that’s when she got the feeling that this was their last session.

she couldn’t believe how far they’d come or how much she was already starting to miss her.

but it was for the best, for both her and yn.

aeri and yn hadn’t talked since that night. yizhuo asked a few times what had happened, but aeri always brushed it off, saying yn was getting closer to her debut and was too busy.

but that wasn’t true.

yn had always made time for her.

if there was one thing aeri knew she would always regret, it was that night. months had passed almost a year and she couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that came with it. sometimes, it felt like she was forgetting yn entirely, her voice, her laugh, the way her presence could fill a room.

that was until one early summer morning.

utopia.

that was the groups name.

aeri curled up in her bed, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her face as she replayed the music video over and over again. yn looked so good.

the internet was already going wild over the group. they were a surprise debut, sm had dropped hints here and there, there was even an instagram account with the groups name that had little secret promotions but no one had pieced it together.

now, utopia was all anyone could talk about and it’s only been a couple hours since they debuted and it was clear they were destined for massive success.

aeri felt a bittersweet ache in her chest as she watched. she was proud, so proud, that yn had finally debuted with three other girls who seemed to care about her deeply. but there was also a selfish part of her that couldn’t ignore the sting of jealousy.

the whole world knew yn now. they’d see her the way aeri did, cherish her the way she always had. and aeri wasn’t sure how to handle that.

this was awkward.

aeri and jimin stood across from yn and sooyoung, utopia’s leader. aeri recognized sooyoung immediately, she was a former member of loona, someone aeri had always respected from afar.

one of utopia’s managers stepped in after the brief greetings. “okay, yn, you’ll be teaching aeri the choreography, and sooyoung, you’ll work with karina. we need to move quickly since there’s an interview right after this, so let’s keep it efficient.”

aeri shifted on her feet, stealing a glance at yn, who was already watching her with an unreadable expression. this was going to be interesting.

jimin had already walked over to sooyoung, eager to learn her small part of the dance, leaving aeri standing there, unsure of what to do next.

yn squinted at her for a moment, as if sizing her up, before she walked closer, her steps confident. “let’s start.” she said, her tone calm but direct.

aeri felt a flutter in her chest at the proximity, but she quickly shook it off. “right. let’s get to it,” she replied, trying to sound casual, though her nerves were starting to show.

yn didn’t say anything more, just motioned for aeri to stand in the center of the room. “okay, watch closely.”

as yn demonstrated the first few steps, aeri couldn’t help but notice how fluid and natural her movements were. there was no hesitation, no self doubt. just pure confidence.

aeri tried to focus, but the heat in her chest was hard to ignore, she doesn’t know how ended up learning the dance properly but she thankfully followed yn’s moves smoothly.

after the four of them finished filming the dance challenge, yn and sooyoung’s managers were already ushering the girls out of the room, leaving aeri and jimin to gather their things.

jimin glanced at aeri,“so, that’s her?”

aeri froze for a moment before looking at jimin. “huh?”

“the girl.”

“yeah, that’s her.”

“she’s cute.”

"she is," aeri sighed, the words slipping out before she could stop them. seeing yn again stirred up emotions she’d been burying for months, feelings she thought she’d finally gotten under control.

but now, with yn so close yet so out of reach, it felt impossible to keep pretending. aeri wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up.

aeri hadn’t been wrong when she said utopia was destined for success. in just a few months, the group was everywhere, on billboards, variety shows, and music charts. it felt impossible to avoid them.

impossible to avoid yn.

it was overwhelming. every time she saw yn, every time they crossed paths or exchanged even the smallest interaction, the feelings aeri had been desperately trying to bury came rushing back, stronger than ever. no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they always found their way back to her.

she kept her expression neutral as she watched the four juniors deliver their thank you speech. glancing around, she noticed the way all the other groups were looking at them, faces full of awe, especially when yn stepped up to the mic.

just seeing yn on that big stage, accepting a well earned award, made aeri’s heart ache. soon, countless idols would approach yn to congratulate her, offer their praise and admiration.

and she wouldn’t be one of them.

but she had to be.

she couldn’t keep going on like this.

the show was over before aeri even realized it, her mind racing as she slipped away from her group, ignoring their confused looks.

she wandered through the backstage hallways, her heart pounding as she searched for any sign of yn. it took a while, but eventually, she found them, utopia standing in front of their dressing room, proudly chatting as they waited for their manager to unlock the door.

aeri’s eyes landed on yn, who was wrapped in april’s arms, laughing softly as they waited. for a moment, she just stood there, unsure of what to do. finally, she cleared her throat, the sound breaking through their conversation.

all four girls turned to look at her, their expressions shifting to polite surprise as they bowed immediately.

“hi, I actually just wanted to talk to yn,” aeri said, her voice awkward as the door to the dressing room swung open.

april unwrapped her arms from around yn and stepped inside, offering aeri a small smile. aihan followed without sparing a glance, while sooyoung lingered for a moment. she gave aeri a look that sent chills down her spine before disappearing into the room.

the door closed and yn turned to fully look aeri in the eyes, “hey…”

“hi, I just wanted to say congratulations, on everything, utopia is so successful, I’m so happy for you.”

“hi,” aeri began, her voice a little shaky. “I just wanted to say congratulations on everything. utopia is so successful. I’m... I’m so happy for you.”

"thank you," yn said softly, her tone calm. "is that it?"

"no, actually," aeri replied, letting out a nervous sigh. "yn, I’m sorry about—"

"it’s okay," yn interrupted, her voice even but firm. "I can’t force you to like me. I completely misread the situation, and... you’re right."

"what?" aeri’s voice cracked, the weight of yn’s words hitting her like a punch to the chest.

"you’re right," yn continued, her gaze steady but distant. "I’m younger, I’m just starting my career, and it’s off to a good start. I shouldn’t have even thought we could’ve been something. that was my mistake."

"no, I—" aeri tried to protest, but yn wasn’t finished.

"it’s okay," yn said again, though her voice wavered at the edges, betraying a crack in her composure. "let’s just not talk about it anymore and be cool. we’re cool, right?"

the slight break in yn’s voice at the end nearly broke aeri completely, but she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. "I... yeah. we’re cool

"good." yn offered her that classic crooked smile, one that used to make aeri’s heart race, before she turned and opened the door to the dressing room. "thanks. see you around."

the door shut softly behind her, leaving aeri alone in the hallway.

aeri stood there for a moment, the lump in her throat growing heavier by the second.

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

[spirk-trek]

Hey so, it's me. The debbie-downer vaguing you in the spirk tag. I didn't mention you directly because my post wasn't directed at you, although it was made in response to checking some of your posts because I do have Unification in my filtered list (content and tag), so those fanworks? Behind a button, so my choice to look is all my own. (I didn't send the anon, though. That was someone else, sorry to say.) It sucks that that's how tumblr's system works but yay content filtering! Tumblr didn't always have that.

I didn't make that post to start drama, and I'm not the sort to get my kicks by being a contrarian for opposition's sake (like. I'm a Shatner fan. In a lot of online Star Trek spaces, I might as well say I hate K/S or Leonard Nimoy or kick puppies in my spare time, you know?), but I did make it in anger and for that I apologize. I should have waited longer on it to phrase things better or simply have deleted it from my drafts after typing it out. (But it's out there now and I'll live with it.)

I do understand where the joy of connecting the past to the present comes from (as a lot of your posts do with connecting old and new fanworks together), and that a lot of people are celebrating the Unification short as a culmination of 50+ years of K/S despite their initial separation according to the initial story, but for me (personally! I want to stress that. It's just me and my own opinion here), I keep seeing it as a valuing of what a company is finally offering fans rather than the celebration of fans who saw where K/S's story ended at the time, rejected that ending that was offered by the corporation, and made their own ending for K/S, without looking towards any official channels as a guide for their visions. That's what my post was about, where my anger was from, those questions--what becomes lost in fandom if we accept canon from the corporation that holds the copyright? What does it say if we look towards that same canon as being above what fandom has already envisioned? In a fandom as old as Star Trek's, one that laid so much groundwork that we take for granted, to overlook that worries me.

I suppose the biggest issue here is it's too similar, like a reflection in a mirror: on one side, Unification stands as the canonization of what the fandom has envisioned all along. It culminates. On the other, Unification appears as a bone tossed to finally appease fans who have seen K/S from the start and it feels too little, too late. Ironically enough, the short has seemingly managed to divide people, but it's too early to tell how lasting such a division could be.

Hopefully I've cleared the air by this. Unification clearly is not my cup of tea and I'm honestly not trying to ruin anyone's fun (most of my posts have gone untagged for a reason but I forget tumblr still parses for post content to index. Yikes. That post was tagged, though, because it was a snap decision made in anger and I wanted my thoughts to be seen). One could argue the short wasn't even made for me as I've long wondered if I will watch Generations because I've read the summary and didn't like it. But that's the joy of fandom and transformative works. We can look at the story and pick our favorite parts and rewrite the ones we don't like. If we didn't do that, fandom wouldn't exist, or it would but it wouldn't be as much fun.

Sorry for the essay in your inbox and for causing any confusion and hurt. I hope you've had a great day 💛

i'm not going to lie, it does hurt a little. i wasn't going to answer this publicly but i don't have the time today to have a private convo and i don't want you to think i deleted it or ignored it, so here we are.

i don't think unification made spirk any more canon than tmp did. i don't think the short was made with k/s in mind at all, even as a bone to toss starving shippers. star trek at large was never intended as a love story between them, but people have always seen it anyway. 

i'm conflicted about the use of nimoy's likeness too. despite that, i think that they did it as respectfully as they could have and involved the right people. it was a goodbye, not using him for a cheap cameo or advertising purposes (yes i know it was an "ad" like everything is, but it's not like spock holds up a coke at the end). you can disagree with me, and i understand your point of view. that's why i said i understood where that anon was coming from. 

what i see is william shatner and others taking a story that ended in a way that was disrespectful to both characters, one of which he himself has been playing for the majority of his life, and trying to fix that. it doesn't mean there's no corporate greed involved. both can be true. at least they posted it on youtube, they didn't premiere it or put it behind a paywall. it was just eight minutes, and less than a quarter of that had nimoy's face in it. my favorite part of the whole thing was seeing tos kirk meet his future selves. i love that even though they both die out of their times, they find each other in the end. 

i don't want to be an activist or defend or endorse anything, i just... 

those zines i tagged were 1) a poem by della van hise that was so accurate to the short that others were already reblogging it (i posted it weeks ago). i found it super interesting that she wrote a poem about them meeting again in death before tmp/wok even came out, let alone this short. 2) i was gushing about unification in the tags. 3) another poem about being side by side, which again, i found incredibly relevant. the other one i posted was because it went well with the others visually. it has nothing to do with unification other than the fact that spock is laying down. 

this has just made me sad tbh. i'm not angry and i love your analysis/fan work so much, so :( idk, i don't want anything i post to be divisive or disrespectful. i wasn't even worried about that before. i just really needed a win and maybe i clung to that a little too hard :/

[psychic-refugee]

What I love about this scene is that I think it implies that Chad was her soulmate, and it's what allows him to see and feel Aubrey!Elliott.

And Aubrey Plaza's acting is so on point here. We don't know when Chad died or how long they were together, but it's so visceral and clear how much she loved him.

There was also a part in the beginning when Aubrey!Elliott tells Maisey!Elliott she doesn't want to reveal too much for fear of wrecking the timeline or whatever.

But once she sees Chad, all of that goes out the door and she HAS to give him one last hug. One last time to feel him in her arms and take in a scent she hasn't experienced since he died. How many of us would kill to have that chance with someone we've lost?

I think it also shows why Chad is Elliott's soulmate. She is so erratic and impulsive, and he just goes along with it.

Like, he says it all when he asks "Am I not supposed to?" because honestly, who asks "You can see her?" What scenario exists where that's a reasonable question?

Neither Elliott answer and he just goes with it. He even lets this women he literally just met give him a very extended hug and is clearly going through something. It's really sweet, but it's got to be so effing weird, especially after being asked if he could see her. lol

I've never met an uncle named Michelle. My Old Ass dir. Megan Park

[vigilvntes]

anyway i have been thinking about how much i want adrian to fuck me (this would fix me i know it would) but like specifically i really want to make out with him. i wanna feel his whole tongue in my mouth while he holds me (cause im horny but also i a softie dammnit).

i get the vibe that he hooks up regularly as vigilante so hes experienced in bed more than people would think, but since he keeps the mask on he doesnt kiss much. but when hes close enough with someone he can take off? with be ALL over you with his mouth. will be kissing you nonstop.

OKAYYYY FUCKBOY VIG AND TOUCH STARVED ADRIAN I SEE THE VISION

but yes i definitely agree that he's a dark horse when it comes down to it. i mean maybe im delusional maybe im fucked in the head but you can't convince me that absolutely no one in that town has fucked around with vig because let me tell you i would be FIRST IN LINE!!! he's been running around for years, and it seems that at this point people have just kinda made peace with him being there?? so no doubt he has hookups like he's charming and confident when he's in the suit and we see that a lot in the show. so yes. he probably fucks a lot as vig.

but adrian???? out of the suit???? touch starved. it's all well and good when there's a barrier between him and whoever he's sleeping with (literally), but warm fingertips brushing his hair from his face??? clinging on to his bare back while he fucks you??? soft, breathless kisses while the two of you moan into each others mouths???? he's a sucker for it. all the hookups in the world, all the people that throw themselves at him after he saves them from being mugged will never, ever compare to just being himself, just being adrian, around someone who accepts him for who he is and what he does and someone he trusts enough to keep that secret.

as soon as he comes home he'd rip the mask straight off and his lips would be straight on yours. doesn't matter if he's had a good night or a bad night, touching you, kissing you, his tongue in your mouth and the little surprised noise you make when he bites down on your bottom lip is enough to make him feel like he's on cloud nine. he'd kiss you until you literally can't breathe, and if you pulled away from him to catch your breath the most pathetic whine would leave his throat and he'd turn his attention to your neck instead. the whole time he's inside of you, his lips are on yours. missionary?? he's kissing you until your lips are blue. from behind?? he's leaning over, grabbing your chin and making you turn your head so he can slip his tongue into your mouth.

and his affinity for kisses doesn't just apply to sex!!!! he'll wrap his arms around your waist when the two of you are cooking dinner just to plant the sloppiest, wettest kisses on your cheek just so you'll giggle and playfully slap him away. before you leave the apartment you have to swipe the AKM (adrian kissing machine). he'll probably get moody if he doesn't get a kiss in the morning.

if you're both feeling nasty he'll spit in your mouth, or he'll let you spit in his mouth. he probably prefers the latter.

🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

[iamthepulta]

i did it u_u

[searchingforserendipity25]

For the Silm Phrase Prompts, any character(a) + Ossiriand + without wish or purpose?

Thank you @polutrope! It took a while but it's here. A more whimsical approach to one of the most heartbreaking line about Túrin, now with Finrod and his problematic cousins on their famous road trip. 

-

Tourist Traps 

Finrod rose, tottering a little on his feet, and grasped a helpful bough with one hand.

“No, hearken to me. There is no danger of us being eaten, therefore we should go. We are, indeed, obligated to go on. For are we not hunters, we are scholars, and, most of all, we are princes of the Noldor. We are, seekers and inquirers of every wonder in the great kingdoms of Beleriand -” 

“Speak for yourself. The flesh-eating begonia was enough. If I wanted to chat with deceitful creatures set on dominating my spirit and eating the remains, I would have stayed at home and hosted the dragons, or invited my brothers for a visit.”

Maedhros did not need to open his eyes to tug at his brother’s plait. 

“I did not wish to use the Ice as such petty leverage,” Finrod said. “But.” 

“But,” Maedhros said, not bothering with inflections, nor to open his eyelashes from his doze.

Maglor at least had the grace to stop braiding his damp hair to look at him with a vaguely solemn look. He had drunk too much cider for it to be very convincing - like Curvu and their esteemed father, he went terribly pink all around the ears after three glasses - but he did try. 

Finrod lifted his nose. “I am surprised at you, cousin. The journey was your notion. It is a diplomac endeavour. We are on a hunting trip, as is the way of noble princes, and restablishing ties of kinship, and the like.”

“Methinks Finrod has had enough reestablishment,” commented Maglor slyly. That could not be blamed on the drink. “With us, at least. Really we are very easy and steady people, and very boring; it has to be the poisonous flowers for Felagund to enjoy his holidays, and nothing else will do.” 

“This orchid is not said to be malicious,” Finrod says, coaxingly. “It merely makes forceful osanwë contact on very rare occasions, by all accounts.” 

“I am not following you into the maw of a ravenous plant because of remorse,” Maglor told Finrod, very seriously. “You get a sorrowful song about it, and you have already said you do not want the song.”

“No one wants the song,” Finrod reiterated with feeling. Turukáno had been very clear about that. 

“And that is fair! But it does not mean I am willing to abase myself merely to please you, or please myself into feeling better about past errors; therefore, I am regretful, Ingoldo, but not enough for ravenous plants. I do not think this is unreasonable.” 

“Children, please,” Maedhros said, from somewhere underneath his impressive straw hat. “You are both too bony and, frankly, stringy to an unappetizing degree. No self-respecting flora, or fauna, or uruk would take a bite out of you.” 

“See,” Finrod said, quite pleased. Maedhros’ say-so was powerful leverage, among the grandchildren of Finwë; it was said to have a powerful effect even upon king Fingolfin. “Maedhros is an expert in his field, and he agrees with me.”

 Maglor wrinkled his nose, in very much the same way he always did when Maedhros agreed with someone that was not him. 

“Besides all else,” Maedhros added. “The Laiquendi have given us leave on condition of our best conduct, and we all known Finrod’s naturalist efforts do not always mind such things as local legislature.” 

Finrod splashed his feet in the water, just at the right angle to dampen Maglor’s hems. “Bah. Spoilsport. The two of you!“

“Cowards,” Maedhros said dryly. “Dreadful faint hearts, truly.”

Maglor tied off his hair and bend down with the wooden comb to start brushing his brother’s, not without tugging at him in retaliation.

“Poor Felagund, stuck in such wretched company. I am most sorry, of course; your quest is high-hearted, but there is nought in this world that would urge me to go into the mazes of caves under the wood for the pleasure of inquiring into the mind of a sentient plant.”

“Nought,” Maedhros agreed, in a tone that was like the closing of a door.  

There was silence, for a little time, such as there was ever silence in the sweet green light of the glen. A dragonfly wove its way between the reeds; the wild doves spoke earnestly at each other above their eyes. 

Maedhros deigned at last to turn his head and open one eye of burning white. “Shall you go alone, if we do not follow?”

“Oh, very likely,” said Finrod, quite unembarrassed.  “Tis a patrolled land, safe as much as any in Beleriand, and safer than most.” 

The trick of getting his cousin to do anything, Finrod knew, and Maglor knew, and Fingon knew, was to be cheerfully self-interested, and tug him along into his own enjoyment. The fact that Maedhros tended to know when it was happening did not make it any less effective. 

They did, of course, go with him. 

-

Finrod, he felt, could be excused some complacent smugness; for all things had gone quite as well as he had contrived them to be. Art, lore, and culinary pleasure: half-way through a long trek down the talan road and the charming road by the high canopies, he started entertained the notion of writing a little travel guide when he returned to Nargothrond, for truly there was a great deal to be said of the beauty of Ossiriand, and all that one might do and see in it.

 It was a hunting journey, even, in the sense that they had followed both orc tracks and harts on the way to the forest, before entering it properly. 

The peace the Green-elves kept was quite perfect, however, and the herds of deer were only to be hunted a few scant times a year; for they were friends of the trees and friends of the beasts, the singers of the forest, and even their diet was mostly of those untended plants and fruits that grew in plenty out in the wild, carefully stewarded over long, long years. 

They had pledged solemnly to respect the peace of the Green-elves, and even mostly done it - Maedhros had a talent for interrupting whenever Finrod’s inquiries and interviews on the lore of the Avari grew wearisome, and as Maglor would as much talk to the streams as those who kept them clear, he fit in quite well with the people of Ossiriand. 

Dutifully - his itinerary notes, Finrod had noted, were quite strictly planned and unpleaseantly reminiscent to his maps of war - his cousin had lead them from sight-seeing landmark to landmark: Tatië’s Parlour, the beautiful caves with remarkable drawings left behind during the Journey, and the the great salmon-leaping competition down the Legolin and the great singing circles of celebration afterwards, and even, at Finrod’s insistence, timed their trip to coincide with the famous Laiquendi Bicentennial Berry Tour. 

 (Fifty different kinds of blackberries in a single biosphere was really quite remarkable. Finrod had a number of interesting conversations with the bush-stewards all throughout, while Maedhros stood tall and grim beside him, with his pale mouth juice-stained and his great arms holding a growing number of baskets whenever Maglor came back from his mercenary wanderings from stall to stall.) 

 He was very thorough, Maedhros, enough to become a little more at ease: and when all dramatic waterfalls and interesting ancient trees were met, he went about the high grass and the wildflowers with the fierce determination of an elf looking for optimal levels of sun-dappled sunshine and healthful photosynthesis. At which point, when it was found, he laid down his very, very long self, arranged his hair charmingly about himself, and fell asleep into a stillness greater than the stillness of the boulders by the water. 

Maglor liked to complain, and to make his yielding cost a great deal to everyone involved if it could be arranged, but he had been the one to connive with Finrod to decide upon the times and the places of their escape.

Between his cunning references and Finrod’s insistent offers, they had gained a slow victory in the long work of convincing Maedhros that Himring would not be attacked by surprise or fall into rubble if her lord went to the forest for his health for a year only, not even that long.

 It had been a great effort top prepare for such a journey. It was only afterwards, when they rode idly under the green leaves of Ossiriand, that they came to find all the planned excursions paled before the plain pleasure of swimming in the clear rivers and fishing trout to eat when hungry, with no hurry and no duties to attend. For a time it was a little like a return to the Noontide, when all was joy, at least never so great a trouble a journey through Aman could no diminish out of sight. 

Finrod had known the peace of green Ossiriand would do Maedhros good, and it did. Maedhros, who had little chance for warmth in Himring, shed his furs only when it proved untenable, and went about the endeavor of enjoying himself with a steady vigilance that was more unnerving for being so constant. 

It was not an arrangement without self-interest, and Finrod was not sorry to admit it. He had so long wished for such a journey, and set about elaborating all his collecting of stories and specimens with care. 

And he suspected Maglor had only been half-jesting, when he wrote saying he was to be exiled for the year out of command; he became ever more impossible to bear, the less time he had for his art; a little time to retreat from the Gap was a considerable benefit to all his loyal riders.

After the first fortnight of discourses and re-acquaintance, and all the great events and views had been sharply scratched out of the list, Maglor had gained a distracted look in his eyes, and started giving the strong impression he would far rather be left to his devices and his harp for a short eternity, without having to speak to anyone, and be perfectly content in this way. 

Finrod enjoyed the opportunity for collaborations, when they came; but this was not that. Mostly they laid about in the shade drinking cider and eating a dozen variety of nuts, hunting for the best place riverside rock to sun-bath on.

It was not, it had to be said, particularly exciting stuff. Finrod started to grow a little mad by the second fortnight of peaceable, thorough journeying - there was, after all, so much wisdom found only in the hidden wonders of the wild, and his own list of places that must absolutely be perused at length.

 In all fairness, the orchid did blossom fully into mind-contact very rarely. It made its displeasure known in more straightforwardly most of the time. There was, perhaps, a reason why the land around it was kept so secure.

(And then Maglor put his foot down and decided he really did need to finish his composition, and bullied Maedhros’ into taking an appointment in the hot springs while he was occupied, quite well-deserved after he was through with the grueling work of explaining matters to the local ranging authorities; and Finrod did go on alone, in the end.

Singing as he went, he sought beauty with no aim but to seek it, well-inclined to find a new marvel under every canopy, finding it indeed in the least expected of guises - thought his cousins never did cease to tease him for his hankering for strange specimens, begonias and orchids and slumbering Aftercomers all.)

[forthewinn]

He was frozen, as he looked up at his dad. Living, breathing, and okay all things considered. Honestly Winn didn't know what he was supposed to say, or if there was anything for him to do besides apologize about a million times. If he wasn't so lost in his own head maybe he'd think about the fact that Sarah moved from his bedside to the corner of the room.

Winn took in a breath as his father started talking. About how relieved he was that Winn was okay, and how worried they all were. He couldn't help the way his eyes fell towards his lap as he was reminded of just how long he had been missing. Three weeks. He had his suspicions but this was the first time someone had confirmed it. Three weeks of being forced into something he didn't want to do. Designing something that was later used against him, and the worst moments of his life were on display.

And then there was the million dollar question. Why Winn did what he had done in the first place. Went against everyone's advisement and went to find Sarah on his own. "I had to, she would have done it for me." Winn spoke as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "I didn't think Shaw was going to ditch me." His hands were a little shaky as he remembered anything. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had been in on it, the passports were very convincing and there had been cars left on the route for us to switch into."

"It's probably for the best that you don't." She doesn't even want to know the media coverage this is currently catching. She doesn't want to see the smear articles and the newly born conspiracy theories. She's sure the press office is already trying to run damage control. She knows most people won't so easily be able to separate Winn's biological father from Winn himself. But that doesn't mean it has to define Winn.

She looks up at the sound of the door opening and meets Carlos's eye. When he says that the President has arrived, Sarah feels like she's just had a bucket of iced water dumped over her head. It jolts her back into her skin. Reminds her of her place, reminds her that this, sitting by his bedside, in and of itself is far too familiar for an agent on Winn's security detail.

She scrambles up from her chair, immediately preparing to give them some time alone. But then Winn asks her to stay, and how is she supposed to say no that? "Yeah. I'll stay." But then, in an attempt at professional and self preservation, she moves to a further corner of the room. Away from his bedside. The kind of position someone of her job description should be keeping.

[to-the-batcomputer]

something about the medium of comics... the stories just do not stay in my head

[kindahoping4forever]

I miss your fics. I hope you’re doing well tho

I appreciate this, thank you 🥹

For the record, I miss my fics too! This unofficial hiatus has been out of necessity rather than choice, and I can honestly say there hasn't been a day where I don't fantasize about A Grand Return. 💙

[confinesofmy]

getting home from my first easter without my mom after spending 12 hours with the fam and eating a hot pocket as a late dinner bc i didn't feel comfortable bringing home a plate earlier... something needs to change.

[kamipyre]

@lovlorne sent in: let's hear aboutttt... ray :} || the paper machine's gossip session ( ft. talk about meme )

send “talk about-” and a name for my muse to talk about that person!

scorched verse:

“He needs to broaden his HORIZONS.” And she’s not just talking from one shore…for one thing, he ( @bloodxhound ) still hasn’t budged ( and probably will never ) on his cruelty towards crocs. But that’s a long-term goal- for now, she can settle with the one that gives her a bit more flexibility! “He says he doesn’t mind seaweed, which I think is more than a start!” After all, seaweed is the lettuce of the ocean…if Ray can digest that then bonito flakes are more than doable. That being said, she is getting off-topic and needs to talk about the detective himself- “…He’s weird. He’s all for wrecking stuff and making Mister Godot write reports about it, but then he’s all orderly about like, his stuff. And schedule.” Like how he drags her to the gym with him at least two times every month and unless there’s a case going on, he visits the gym almost every day. “He gives me free paper. And food! Even if his opinions there are wrong half of the time- but it’s okay! We have TIME to convince him otherwise!”

embers verse:

Eyes widen ever so slightly. Well that’s a name she hasn’t heard in a while- where did they hear that name? One that was once at the center of the biggest scandals within LAPD has now become a relic of an old era. A name that is only whispered in passing as if the owner himself has died. But really, it’s been what, a year or two since he resigned? Her fingers fold. “…He said he’d be back.” Her voice is firm, eyes steady. That’s why he gave her Paper Moozy and its city, didn’t he? Ray’s not the kind of break his promises anyway. “If he were here, we wouldn’t be dealing with half of these problems. He wouldn’t stand for it.” Of course that could be said about the others too- the ones who care more about the truth than a spotless record. If they were here, perhaps the public wouldn’t have lost faith in the LAPD either. Her fingers keep moving. “He’ll be back. I know it.” 

In her hands, there’s a paper replica of MOOZILLA.

[luke-shywalker]

let me know if you need anything

“Hey, Solo!”

Ben looked up. The sudden motion triggered a dull ache in his right eye—he winced.

“Uh—sorry.” Amalia came to a halt in front of him in the grass. The tall, bulky Togruta girl always looked like she was going to barrel right into you, but always managed to stop a few inches short. Back when they’d hated each other, Ben had thought this was some kind of intimidation tactic. But now that they were something like friends, he realized that she was just…well…awkward as heck.

Amalia peered at him and at his covered eye, then tapped her own cheek. “You look like one of the deep space pirates.”

“Wow,” said Ben, deadpan. “I’ve only heard that about five hundred times since I came back to Jedi school.”

“What’d they do to you, huh?”

Ben juggled the air with his hands, trying to figure out how much detail to go into. “Uh…they cut my eyeball open, and sewed a synthetic band into it to hold it together and make it stop falling apart. Basically.”

“Whoa. Sounds gnarly, dude.” Amalia paused. “…Can I see?”

Ben laughed. “Bro. Do you want to see?”

“I mean? Kinda? Will you like, die if it’s exposed to air?”

“Listen, I’ll show you, if you want to freaking see so bad.” He lifted the patch. He had to manually pry his eyelids apart—they were still swollen. He closed his left eye, just to see how well he could see her—everything was sort of a bright, slanted blur.

Amalia made a face. “Ew. It’s all red. Is that blood? Nasty. I see a coagulated mass of—something. There is straight-up slime in your eye, dude.”

Ben put the patch back on. “Yeah—I’ve been trying to, like—cry it out, but I can’t think of anything sad enough to make me cry. I dunno. I’ve had a hard time feeling emotion lately, in general.”

He said it, and then realized he hadn’t wanted to say it. He backtracked as quickly as he could.

“But now that you’re here, Mal, all I gotta do is look at your ugly mug,” he quipped.

Amalia rolled her eyes so hard she pretty much just rolled her whole head. “Hardee har har. Have you looked in a mirror? Geez, Solo, you can’t say shit like that to girls.”

“Oh—you’re a girl? Oh my Force, I didn’t realize. Sorry, miss.”

She wound up and punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Bruh. I’m already injured.”

“Well, you weren’t injured enough,” Amalia huffed. “Fixed it for you.”

“I’m telling Uncle Luke.”

“Yeah, go run and tell your Uncle Luke. Pissbaby.”

Ben tried to think of something clever to retort, but then his eye started hurting again, and he felt kind of sick. He hissed and lowered himself down into the grass, which seemed to initiate a truce.

Amalia leaned down. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah—fine.”

“Are you still allowed to train and stuff?”

“I’m not supposed to do any ‘strenuous activity’ for four weeks.”

“Well, you were never getting any, anyway,” Amalia snickered. “Now you just have an excuse.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “Ew. No, I mean…”

“Does lifting rocks with the Force count as strenuous activity? You’re not technically lifting them physically.”

“Eh. I always give myself headaches when I do that normally, anyway, so…maybe just littler rocks.”

“When are you gonna be able to see again?”

“Out of this eye?”

“Yeah, well, which eye do you think I’m kriffin’ talking about, dumbass—“

“I don’t know.”

“…Damn.” Amalia sat down next to him. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, I mean…I know it’s gonna be months. Maybe a year. And I don’t even know if it’ll ever be the same. Probably not.”

Amalia twitched her lips to one side. “Does it bother you?”

“Like, what, the pain? Or…”

“No, like…losing your vision. Like, coping with the loss.”

Ben shrugged. “…I dunno. Sure ain’t the biggest thing I’ve lost. It’s hard, I guess, knowing you’ll never be the same, but…I was already never gonna be the same, so…” He trailed off.

Amalia nodded at the horizon, picking a blade of grass apart with her fingers. “Yeah…I get how that is.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. A low breeze came and rustled the grass.

“…Maybe I’ll gain some kind of extra Force sensitivity,” Ben said hopefully. “To compensate. Or something.”

“Yeah,” said Amalia. “Or…maybe you won’t, and you’ll just be half-blind.”

Ben threw her a tired glance. “Thanks, Mal. You’re a real pal.”

“What can I say? I try to offer a realistic outlook on life.”

“Hm.”

“But, for real though…let me know if you need anything. Okay, Solo?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Another punch in the arm?”

“Well, yeah, if you need that, I’m your girl. But, uh, seriously. Like if you need to talk, or…” She gestured vaguely at nothing.

“No offense, Mal? But you are not great at talking.”

“Hey. Never said I was. Just said that I would. Or if you wanna, like, just go throw rocks in the pond together, or something. Go look for weird bugs. Climb that cliffside Luke said not to climb. You know?”

Ben smirked. “Ha. Okay. Yeah. Gotcha. And then I’ll bang my head real hard, and knock out my other eye.”

“Exactly. You get me.” Amalia stood up and dusted the grass off her tunic. “Well…I’m on kitchen prep with Fannie and Meliko tonight, so…guess I gotta go. Do an extra meditation for me, will ya? Fannie drives me nuts.”

“Really? She’s so nice.”

“Yeah,” Amalia scoffed. “That’s what drives me nuts.”

Ben snorted. “Well, okay, Mal. See ya at dinner, then, I guess.”

“Will you see me though?”

“Dude, shut up!”