#to get you thinking in the right direction

[daycourtofficial]

You two are dancing in a snow globe round and round

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 8.2k | warnings: needles/requiring stitches

Summary: four times a trope fails to bring you and Azriel together, one time it prevails. This is my submission for @sjmromanceweek day 5: favorite tropes (and yes these are all elite tropes, argue with the wall 😤)

Author’s note: this is for my You Are in Love by Taylor Swift girlies. Also on the fence about the ending but ya know it felt right and @ninthcircleofprythian loved it so her opinion is the correct one

Fake dating

The streets of Velaris are quiet. A sleepy morning after the holiday excitement of Starfall has died down. A week past it and the fae are still holed up in their homes, only going out when necessary. The cobblestone streets are mostly empty, you, Nyx, and Azriel passing the occasional fae as they move in the opposite direction. They would nod or wave at the three of you, but never linger to talk, eager to get on their way. 

A light tugging on your scarf brings you out of your daze. Looking down to find Nyx’s blue eyes looking up at you, his tiny hands pulling on your scarf. “Az, can you help undo my scarf?”

The two of you stop, moving over to the side of the street to avoid being in anyone’s way. Azriel’s scarred fingers reach out, unwrapping the scarf from your neck, and rewrapping it to include Nyx. The babe has been doing this all week to anyone wearing a scarf - tugging incessantly until he was also tucked into the scarf. If he was after the scent or the warmth, nobody knew. Cassian had even bought him a scarf, a little thin knitted piece of black wool, thinking the boy would be delighted. Nyx cried and pulled on the scarf when Cassian wrapped it around his neck before spitting up on it. 

The princeling is still holding a slight grudge against Cassian, in turn causing the general to try desperately to get Nyx’s affections back - holding him constantly, playing with him, trying to slip him some sweet treats. Cassian’s antics have led the three of you here, walking the streets of town instead of being in the River House. 

You usually watched Nyx in the afternoons and after a week of Cassian’s antics you had quickly grown tired of his need to get back in the heir’s good graces. As soon as Azriel returned from training and bathed, you had rushed the two of them out of the house with you before Cassian could come looking for Nyx.

Nyx settles in your arms, enjoying the comfort the scarf brings him. His head rests against your shoulder, the slightest bit of drool permeating your jacket. You sigh, cursing yourself for wearing your favorite coat when you know just how messy Nyx is.

“He’s quite fond of you,” Azriel’s deep voice is laced with affection. You look down at Nyx, finding it difficult not to coo over how cute he looks snuggled up to you.

“He better be - I spend more time with him than anyone save for Rhys and Feyre. Hopefully he remembers that when I begin my plans to take over the world.”

Nyx’s little giggle comes from underneath the scarf, immediately bringing a smile to your face. One of Azriel’s hands lingers around the small of your back, gently helping guide you down the near empty street. 

“When you take over, will you spare me? I hear a shadowsinger could be very useful in world domination.” He leans into your ear, his voice soft as to not disturb the silence of the road.

You start moving down the street again, Azriel just a half step behind you. His left wing was open around your back, offering protection to you and the princeling. You wanted to sink into it, let his wing envelop you fully.

“You'll have to submit an application, I already have quite a few offers.”

“I’d expect nothing less, but I am hoping some favoritism can move my application forward.”

“Mm, does favoritism come with perks?”

“I’ll buy your lunch and any pretty things you find on the way back to the house.”

“Oh, I like your methods of persuasion, shadowsinger.”

The two of you walk into the bakery, Azriel holding the door open for you and Nyx to walk through first.

“I’m just saying, but if Cassian really expects to keep disrupting my plans with Nyx, the least he could do is make me a smoothie.”

Nyx babbles in your arms, and you look into his violet eyes, the same color as Rhys’s, but they held the same twinkle to them as Feyre’s eyes, “yes, that’s right. I’m right.”

You all get in line, five fae in line ahead of you. Azriel unwraps the scarf from around Nyx, the warmth of the bakery causing him to want to be out of the confines of the fabric.

“But if you woke up a little earlier, you could make one yourself without Nyx there to watch over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You ask, your finger tickling Nyx’s side to get him to giggle with you.

Azriel rolls his eyes at your obvious tactics to get the toddler to agree with you, but he can’t help the soft smile he has as Nyx giggles at your poking and flaps his tiny wings.

The older female in front of the two of you turns and gasps at Nyx, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Well, if this isn’t the cutest babe in all of Prythian.” Her face lights up as Nyx flaps his wings harder at the attention he’s getting, hiding his face in your shoulder, hiding his big grin.

“He’s just darling, you two must be thrilled to have such a sweet babe.”

“Oh we’re not-“ Before you can disagree with her, Nyx has made his own decision.

“Mama!” He calls to you, putting his chubby little hands on your face, squishing your cheeks together. You move one of your hands back towards Azriel’s stomach, stopping him from speaking further, deciding to just roll with it.

You crinkle your eyes, “He’s just darling, isn’t he?”

Nyx gives you a toothless grin, and you shoot him a look he mistakes for pure affection, preening under your withering gaze. It is nearly impossible to stay mad at him, his chubby cheeks the ultimate ‘I can do no wrong’.

“How old is he?” You pale, having a hard time keeping track of Nyx’s age. You dig through your mind, trying to remember when Nyx was born. Azriel answers much quicker than your brain could. “He’s fourteen months old.” The female squeals at Azriel’s words, the shadowsinger slightly wincing.

“Wow, what a great age! My boys were little monsters by then, each of them would love walking around at night, they’d always manage to escape their cribs somehow. I can’t imagine how I’d deal with one of them with wings!” She continues, her eyes lit up talking about her kids when they were young. You find it incredibly sweet, until she continues on and on until it’s her turn to order.

Her back to you both, you turn toward Azriel, widening your eyes slightly and looking at her. He shrugs, a soft “what can you do” coming from him. After she orders, the two of you step up, ordering your sandwiches and something sweet for Nyx. The woman gets her sandwich right after you pay, telling you, “it was nice to speak to you - you and your family are beautiful.”

Nodding and smiling, the two of you find a table and sit, Nyx still in your arms. You lightly kick Azriel’s foot underneath the table. “Thanks for paying.”

He sips his coffee, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t want her to think I was a poor father.”

You laugh, the sound causing Nyx to laugh too. The light hit the pair of you, giving the two of you a sort of glow. If Azriel squinted, he could feel the edges of fantasy grasp hold of the image - you holding a winged babe, laughing at something he had said. He wished he had some way to capture this moment, knowing he would return to it over and over in his mind when he couldn’t sleep. He smiled, unable to keep your joy from infecting him. 

One bed

“That’s not funny,” Cassian pouts, looking to you for support. You shrug, taking a sip of your wine to avoid speaking, opting to look towards the portraits on the wall rather than meet his gaze.

“You’re right - it’s hilarious,” Feyre responds, looking at her mate, seeing the comparison. “The last female you hooked up with looked just like Rhys.”

“She did not!” Cassian bellows, slamming his hand on the table. All of you howl in laughter, the revelation of Cassian’s recent hook up bearing quite the resemblance to his brother an endless source of amusement.

Cassian, Mor, Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and yourself were all nestled into the dining room of the townhouse. The fae light in the room produces an incandescence that provides a stark contrast to the brutal snow storm outside.

You’re all trapped here, none of you brave enough to step far enough outside of the wards to winnow away. The six of you piled into the townhouse earlier in the evening, where you lovingly made a three course meal. It was a monthly tradition - you liked getting everyone together, you loved cooking for your friends, and they loved eating your food. It was a win all around. 

Dinner was just starting to be served when the snowfall took a turn for the worst, coming down in massive heaps of white. 

“Good thing we have a feast right here - I was starting to eye Azriel’s legs.”

Mor rolls her eyes at Cassian, “you were eyeing his legs because you can’t keep your eyes to yourself.”

Cassian smirks at her, a charming grin many females have fallen victim to. “You’re just upset it wasn’t your legs I was looking at.”

“Can we stop discussing my legs?” Azriel grumbles, passing the bowl of mixed vegetables to you. You nod in thanks, scooping a serving for yourself. “At least they’re being kind to you - last week Cassian was making fun of my arms.”

You pout your lip dramatically, but Azriel ignores it, his scowl still on his brother. “I wouldn’t call being the first to be eaten a kindness.”

“It’s not my fault you have short arms. How do you reach anything?” Cassian’s mouth was somehow already full of food, despite one of the platters just making its way to him.

“I believe she reaches things by scaling countertops and climbing shelves,” Rhys adds, plating himself some dumplings before serving some to Feyre’s plate.

“Hey! We were not talking about me, we were discussing Azriel’s delicious thighs!”

“He didn’t specify thigh.” Rhys points out, his fork pointing toward you.

“Oh, but I meant his thighs.” Cassian chimes in, his arm outstretched for another serving of potatoes.

“I’d start with his arms - he has a lot of meat on his bicep.” Mor doesn’t look up from her plate as she states it so casually.

“This conversation has taken a turn for the worse,” Azriel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. You rub his arm soothingly, and he softens a bit at the feel of your touch.

Until you start squeezing the muscle beneath your hand. He immediately glances at you from the side of his eye, a stony and cold look.

“Flex for me, please.”

“I will not indulge this!” He starts trying to pull his arm away, but your fingers are surprisingly strong.

“Hmmm,” you hum, your hands still wrapped around his bicep, squeezing as you contemplate. “They’re a decent contender, but my vote is the thigh.”

“Not you too!”

You squeeze his arm lightly, “I’m sorry, this is a worst case scenario! I promise I’ll only eat you if you were already dead from like a freak accident.”

“What are our thoughts on someone being run through with my sword as a freak accident?” Cassian muses, licking his fingers dramatically. Azriel scowls at him as everyone around the table giggles.

Azriel turns back to you, “you only picked my legs because you wouldn’t be able to reach my arms.”

You drop your hands from his bicep, mock exasperation on your face. “How dare you! I was complimenting you. Being able to feed a family from your lifeless body is a compliment!”

“I can think of many families more deserving of my meat than you lot.”

He huffs, rotating his body to look at his brother before adding, “don’t you dare, Cassian.” 

Cassian scoffs at the finger pointed in his direction. “You’re the one who said you can feed a village with your cock.”

“That is not what I said! And it was a family, not a village.”

“Whatever.”

The two keep bickering until Cassian throws a green bean at Azriel, who quickly moves his head. A shadow comes and quickly pushes the leftover food on Cassian’s plate into his lap in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Rhys looks equal parts amused and equal parts annoyed, likely at the mess that was made of his chair lining. He looks towards the window, the snow coming down even heavier than before. He sighs.

“I’m assuming we’ll all be staying here tonight?”

Everyone nods, no one wanting to brave the cold, wet snow. Not even Cassian or Azriel volunteer to leave, their bodies tailor made for this kind of weather.

“Right,” he nods, looking at Feyre. “Feyre and I will stay in the big room. You two,” he points to you and Azriel, “can stay in the room with the mirrors. You two,” now pointing to Cassian and Mor, “can stay in the room with some of Feyre’s paintings.”

Your heart picks up, its beat erratic and echoing through your ears. This would hardly be the first time you and Azriel shared a bed, but each time turned you into a bundle of nerves. You spent the entire night doubting each movement you made, uncertain if you were making Azriel uncomfortable until your brain eventually shut down, allowing for sleep to overtake you. 

Every time your worry was for nothing - each night full of nerves brought forth a morning of tangled limbs and warm cuddling. Waking up in his arms did nothing but cause your feelings for Azriel to soar, spending several extra minutes in bed pretending to be asleep, trying to imprint the feel of his arm around your waist to memory.

“No,” Cassian bellows, “she has that painting of Bryaxis in there. Creeps me out. I won’t be able to sleep.”

Rhys breathes through his nose, uncertain when becoming High Lord meant delegating his friend’s fears. “Put it in the closet.”

“I’ll know it’s there.”

“Fine, we’ll take the painting out of there.”

“Maybe Cassian will be who we eat if a simple painting puts him on edge this much.” You whisper conspiratorially, Azriel making a soft hum in acknowledgment. If he can hear the loud beating of your heart, he doesn’t let on. 

You look at him, his face not giving any apprehension away. It was hard not to fall further for Azriel with each look he gave you, each night you two shared a bed just sinking you deeper and deeper into your feelings.

He is beautiful, a detail impossible for anyone to ignore. You have heard countless fae mention it over the years. Most of them only see him from a distance - the cold, mysterious front Azriel wanted the world to see him as. But you have the privilege of seeing him up close, getting to take in every small detail about him.

The exact angle of his nose, how his jawline curves. How his shadows move languidly around his face, almost wanting you to pay attention to his eyes. You’re certain you could draw an exact replica of how his tattoos litter his chest, the design close to Cassian’s, but not quite the same. Azriel’s tattoos were looser, as if his shadows acted as stencils when the tattoos were made. 

You can even tell when his hair gets to the length he finds too long, the black curls getting into his face, his shadows sweeping the hair off his forehead when he trains.

You treat knowing him as if you’re a scholar writing an encyclopedia of Azriel, needing to know every little thing about him.

The weather doesn’t leave much lingering, everyone turning in quickly, seeking solace under a warm comforter. You follow behind Azriel, making your way to the room allocated to the two of you.

‘Room with the mirrors’ was an understatement. Mirrors of all sizes surround the both of you - more with ornate frames, intricately carved figures and plants decorating each one. One mirror even had detailed Illyrian wings on the bottom. You could see yourself and Azriel from every angle, every movement meant for observation.

“Why do they have so many mirrors in here?” 

Azriel’s eyes sweep across the room, counting at least two dozen mirrors. He knew exactly what Rhys used them for. It was impossible to know the High Lord for centuries and not know his bedroom preferences. “Do you really wish to know?”

Shivers go down your spine at his whispering voice. You have the whole room to yourselves, but his proximity is difficult to handle knowing exactly how Rhys and Feyre use this room. 

“It’s obviously because Rhys tries out mirrors until one shows him a flaw.” You watch Azriel grimace through a reflection.

“They’re a bit unnerving.” Several of his shadows dance around the mirrors, almost watching themselves as they slither and writhe. They are putting on quite the show, causing you to nearly miss Azriel’s statement.

“I guess.” You shrug, not really caring too much. In truth, you like the mirrors. It meant there was nowhere for Azriel to hide from you in here. 

A shiver ran up at the thought that you couldn’t hide either. 

A room of truths and being seen.

“I could just winnow back home.” You startle from your thoughts, Azriel’s tight lips and tense shoulders giving away just how uncomfortable he is. Is it your shared company? Or is it the thought of staying in his brother’s spare sex room that’s putting him on such edge?

“But that’s not fun. Besides, you can’t leave me here with Cassian. He’s already disaster planning. I need someone to protect me.” You sit down on a settee, unlacing your shoes. A small part of you doesn’t want Azriel to leave, hoping if you get comfortable, it’ll help him relax. 

An even smaller part doesn’t want to recognize how large that part actually is. You don’t want to be left alone tonight, and you certainly don’t want to have to explore exactly why his absence has such an effect on you.

“You were saying I’m dinner earlier and now I’m your protector. Which is it?” His wings are loosening their stiff hold and from the corner of your eye you see a few shadows nestle beneath the duvet.

“Whichever suits my needs. And tonight I need you to protect me from Cassian.”

Azriel shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he sits next to you, unlacing his own boots. He nearly takes up half the settee, but you don’t mind as his wing gently drapes around you. He places them neatly next to yours, the domesticity of it lingering in your mind. 

Shoes at the end of the bed, getting ready for bed.

Romance in its simplest form: routine.

He’s gone much too quickly for your liking, his hands quick as he searches drawers for some kind of nightwear. A few shadows help him in his search, pulling out various folds of silk and lace.

“Would you prefer a shirt or one of Feyre’s nightgowns?”

You’d prefer a nightgown, but knowing Feyre’s taste in clothes you know it’d likely leave little to the imagination. Azriel’s already a bit hesitant to stay, and you don’t want to push him further away. 

“Shirt, please.”

You thought he was offering you one of Rhys’s shirts from the drawers, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he unbuttons the front of his shirt, his shadows undoing the ties at the back, before the dark wisps carry the shirt over to you. He’s half turned away from you as he digs through the drawers, but you can still make out the contours of his body, the muscles in his arms moving with him.

You thank the shadows for their help, slipping away to the attached bathroom to change and get ready for bed. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it feels different. More serious somehow. You slip into Azriel’s shirt, the fabric practically melting onto your skin. 

It smells divine. You want to just drown in the fabric here and now.

Instead you go back into the room, finding Azriel in comfortable sleep pants. 

He turns his back to you, doing a sweep of the room to ensure every crevice is shut and locked. When he turns, you can’t help the squeal that leaves your lips at the sight of the words printed on the rear of the pants. 

Azriel looks back around at you, only to find you pointing and giggling where his ass had been a few seconds before.

“Your pants say juicy!” Sure enough, the purple plush pants had the word ‘juicy’ in rhinestones and all capital letters. “No wonder Cassian wants to eat you, you’re practically advertising it!”

Your laughs are practically bouncing off the mirrors, Azriel’s body surrounded by your joy. He wants to be annoyed at these ridiculous pants Rhys clearly wears, but as your laughs continue, his annoyance is all an act. He tries his best to keep a neutral expression, but he’s certain some forlorn look of longing is in its place.

“Ha ha, very funny. Can we go to bed?” You’re still a ball of giggles as you make your way to the bed, awkwardly shuffling, a bit unsure. This part is always confusing and awkward - the two of you shuffling, waiting to see what the other would do. 

Azriel is well-versed in loving from a distance. He was convinced for so long that if Mor only saw him, acknowledged him, it’d be enough. And then he met you. And Mor became nothing more than she had always been - his friend. 

Tonight. Tonight he would not love you from a distance. His legs carried him to the bed, taking the initiative as his wings spread out against the mattress. He pulls back your side of the duvet, his hand patting the bed. An invitation.

Your cheeks turn a shade of red he wanted to paint the walls with. He could see himself in the mirror behind you, one of his wings twitching in delight that he found himself attractive.

Maybe just being in your gaze did that to him - opened him up to see who he could be. Maybe your gaze made him preen like a male bird, putting his best self on display. Or maybe it was the tattoos of his chest on full display, his sweatpants hidden beneath the duvet already.

“Are you going to hog the blankets?” Your words come out a bit shaky, trying to shift your focus from his warm body as you get in next to him. His wing curls back up, tucking in close to his body to make room for you. You shimmy into bed, pulling the duvet back over your body. For several minutes you lay there, practically stock still trying to avoid moving or disturbing Azriel, until he twitches lightly. You turn and notice his pinched brows, trying to hide the discomfort from his furled wings.

“I could- sleep on top of you? So you can spread out your wings? I just want you to be comfortable.” You add hastily, turning on your side to see him better. The bed was large enough for Illyrian wings, but you’re lying right in the middle of the bed, making it impossible for his wings to stretch out.

He’s silent, clearly thinking you’re question over. He’s taking longer than you expected, hesitance in your words as you speak again.

“Or I could sleep on the floor.” Your last word comes out as a gasp, his fingers quickly wrapping around your hips, pulling you on top of him. One of his hands moves around your head, tucking you into his chest. The other moves to your back, his fingers rubbing soothing strokes down your spine as he adjusts to be laying right in the middle of the bed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His fingers keep moving, not stopping their soothing patterns. His wings drop dramatically onto the bed, practically yelling at you to accept the space you gave away to them.

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.” You let out a breath, finally letting yourself relax and breathe normally again. You burrow your face in his chest, the piney scent of him making your eyes droop. His fingers are soothing against your skin, each movement gently guiding you closer and closer to sleep. 

“Now if Cassian comes looking for a midnight snack he’ll have to get through you first.” You pinch his side, a squeak hitting your ear as a shadow pulls your hand away.

Blind dates and nosey friends

Your hands tear the bread in half once again as you see the waitress heading straight toward you. An awkward smile is on her face as she approaches your table. 

“Miss, are you ready to order?” You sigh through your nose, shredding the roll in your hands. She is just doing her job, you don’t have to take your frustrations on this male out on your server. You start to ask for a menu, when out of the corner of your eye you see large wings you would know anywhere. The shadow that branches off from him, heading in a direct path to you, is the confirmation it was him. 

“One moment, please.” You don’t wait for her response before practically sprinting over, grabbing the shadowsinger’s arm before even thinking about it. He jerks his arm back, a scowl on his face before he realizes who it is. 

Azriel’s defensive stance slackens as he takes you in, his eyes lingering long enough on your dress that heat creeps up your chest. A few shadows start curling around your bare legs.

“What are you doing here, Az?” His eyes finally look back up at your face, something hidden deep in his gaze.

“I was supposed to meet someone, but they never showed.” Your stomach falls at his words, the hypocrisy impossible to ignore. He was supposed to be on a date? But they didn’t show up? 

You take the chance to look at him, his usual leathers exchanged for more formal wear. An all black tunic that shows a glimpse of his chest. It is a gorgeous fabric - a deep black with dark blue embroidery along the edges. His clothes are looser than his leathers, but they still show off his chiseled body.

You were a fool to not take in the back of the outfit when you had the chance earlier, certain he fills out the seat of his pants quite nicely.

Whoever didn’t show up for Azriel was a fool. Your jealousy at that fact is undeterred by remembering you are also supposed to be on a date right now.

“Same here.” Your date not showing up didn’t bother you too much. You were disappointed by how highly Feyre spoke of him, but you hadn’t been too thrilled to be going out anyway. 

“Are you hungry?” Azriel gives you a bewildered look, and you cross your arms feeling so exposed before him. You gesture to the table behind you, hoping Azriel will pick up the hint.

He just continues looking at you blankly.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? I have a table, and the waitress certainly thinks I made up having a guest to eat with.”

He looks down at your outfit once again, goosebumps trailing where his eyes land. Just because you hadn’t been thrilled to come didn’t mean you took picking out your outfit lightly.

“It would be an honor.” He follows you to your table, long legs making it to your chair before you do. He pulls your chair out, helping you sit before he takes his own seat.

“Who were you meeting tonight?” His voice is low, nearly a growl as he asks the question. Before you can answer, your waitress comes back, two menus in her arms. You thank her as she hands them to you both.

“A nice merlot, please.” Az holds up two gloved fingers to her, wanting the same. 

“Feyre wanted to set me up with some male from the Rainbow. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” His eyebrows pinch together, a shadow curling his ear conspicuously before his face softens.

“And he didn’t show up?”

You shake your head, not wanting to voice the disappointment at being stood up. You weren’t giddy about the date, but it still stings of rejection.

“His loss.” Azriel is so sincere as he says it, his face opening in a way that only really happens when you’re alone with him. “Truly.”

You open your menu, unable to linger in his sincerity. “Maybe he was the great love of my life and now I’ll never have that.”

“I truly doubt that.”

The waitress comes back with two glasses of red wine and a fresh basket of breadsticks that she places between you two before heading off again.

“What are you doing here - who were you meeting?”

“Cassian’s been trying to get me to go out with him more. I got tired of waiting for him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he probably got caught up with Nesta and I’d rather not smell them in a public restaurant.” Azriel grimaces, and you remember him telling you last week about finding them on the training grounds and immediately turning around.

“So, did Feyre tell you anything about this guy?” You look up from your menu, a bit confused at him circling the conversation back to a male you’ve never met.

“Not really. Just said he’s good looking and a nice male.” You shrugged, reaching for a breadstick to tear apart, giving your hands something to do.

“She didn’t give you a name?”

You think for a moment, replaying the odd memory over again. How Feyre had come into the room, a crazed look about her as she asked if you had any plans this evening. Details of the restaurant reservation flying from her lips, getting a promise that you'd be there before she ran off again.

“No.” You pop some bread into your mouth, finally able to enjoy the softness of it now that you have Azriel looking at you instead of the waitress.

“Do you always go out with nameless males?”

You stop chewing and throw your balled up straw wrapper at him. A shadow catches it before it can hit his face, a smirk taking root, brightening his face. He looks so boyish, so smug. 

It was one of your favorite faces he wore.

The shadow throws the wad at Azriel’s face anyway, leaving him speechless at the defiance. You try to stifle your giggles, your hand hardly stopping the sound as you watch the shadows around him also appear to be laughing.

“It’s not funny.” Azriel tries to slip his face back into the cool neutrality he wears so well, but it’s nearly impossible as your giggles grow. You have to look away, the absurdity of the evening making you want to laugh harder.

A few fae turn their heads to look at the pair of you, quickly averting their gaze once they see who you were seated with. Your laughter dies down, and you know Azriel won’t let the topic die until you give him all the answers he desires.

“No. I hardly ever go out with males.” Azriel stops his teasing, his whole body going still as if movement could impair his hearing. Even his shadows stay still, watching and waiting over his shoulder. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve only been out a handful of times the past few years, none of them were right.” It’s the truth. Each date felt like a chore, ill-fitting shoes that never quite gave you what you needed. Mor had he annual attempt at setting you up, but you were quite happy to have a quiet love life for the time being. You’re much happier spending your free time with your friends, on your work, or with Nyx than with random males to learn their favorite colors and what they did for a living.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you been seeing anyone?”

“No.” His reply is curt, clearly not wanting to further the discussion. His eyes are cold, the gold not shining how they usually do when he speaks to you.

“Okay.” You’re at a bit of a loss for what to say. Conversation between the two of you is usually so easy.

But the two of you never discuss your love lives with each other. How could you talk about some male to Azriel without saying well he’s not as kind or as attentive as you?

“Come on, Az. Take a breadstick. It won’t kill you.”

You shake the basket at him, trying to get him to splurge a little. His rigorous diet is well known amongst your friends, teasing comments accompanied most meals about Azriel’s strict dietary choices.

That’s all it is when you say it - a deflection, a joke to ease the slight awkwardness that accompanies your question. To your utter delight, he picks one up, taking small bites, savoring each taste. 

It’s nearly sinful how he eats it.

Once it’s gone, he pats around his chest, looking around the room.

“Look at that.”

“What?”

“I am still alive.”

“Oh shut up.”

“All these years, I thought bread would kill me.”

You roll your eyes at him, picking the menu up to finally look over what you want for dinner.

Who did this to you?

It’s easy to forget Mor is first and foremost a warrior. Her chosen wardrobe is curated to draw attention to her other assets, but her muscles still shine.

“Ow.” Mor’s hand is quick as she jostles your face, clutching your jaw tight. Her grip gives away her true strength - focusing all of it on your face. 

You pity anyone who comes in her way on a battlefield.

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying, you’re hurting me.”

“Shush. You’re fine.” 

A lone shadow creeps through the crack beneath the door, making its way over to you. It slinks through the shadows of the room, slithering from the shadow of the bed to the shadows beneath the dresser. 

You notice it halfway through its journey, but Mor remains ignorant. It moves up your leg, gently swirling your hand in comfort. It works almost instantly, the cool touch of it enough to distract you from Mor’s ministrations.

For a moment you almost forgot where you were.

“Ow!” It comes out louder than you intend, scaring off the shadow. The disappointment of losing your shadow friend took your mind off the pain momentarily before scowling at your friend again.

“Are you sure you don’t want Madja?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop complaining.”

You groan, unable to stop yourself despite Mor’s withering look. You suck in a breath through your teeth, nearly biting your tongue as she continues stitching your face.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t hear Azriel come in, didn’t hear a sound from him. But now he’s impossible to ignore. His shadows swarm you, their soft caresses welcome and wanted. They brush against any open skin they can, a few tickling against the open wound on your face. A few find the bruises littering your legs and hips, their cool caress not stinging like pressure would.

Mor merely rolls her eyes at him, annoyance flickering in her brown eyes as she looks to him. “I’m playing healer because I thought it would be fun, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Several of the shadows leave you, circling around Azriel’s ears conspiratorially. His wings flare out, almost casting a wall between you and the rest of the world. One of the shadows tries to swat Mor away, a huff of annoyance leaving her.

Azriel has been different ever since your dinner together. The two of you are spending more time together than ever - now you see him at most meals, he gives you his weekly schedule and warns you whenever he’ll be gone, and the two of you always slink off and spend the evenings together.

It’s been strange lately.

Despite the shadows whispers, his scowl only deepens. His eyes assess your face, scanning for every injury. Hazel eyes go straight to the bruise covered by your shirt, as if he can see beneath the fabric to the purple skin beneath. Azriel’s face tightens, disapproval clearly evident.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is deeper, some deep anger taking over his face.

Mor is quick to step in, to calm the shadows that are swirling around you, making it difficult for her to continue her stitching.

“Calm down, she fell down the stairs.” 

His breathing starts slowing again. Catching Mor’s eye, she tries not to laugh at the intense display. She even mouths his words back to you, an impish look on her face before she focuses again on your cheek, purposefully ignoring the Illyrian practically breathing down her neck.

You try to laugh but wince as she brings up the needle to your cheek, threading it through skin, slowly closing the wound. An intake of air gives away your true discomfort, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“You’re being too harsh.” Mor groans at Azriel’s admonishment before reaching for his hand, gently handing over the needle to him before standing. She dusts off her dress before getting to her full height. Azriel bends down, trying to keep the needle from pulling too far, allowing Mor to slightly tower over him.

“If my stitching isn’t up to your standard, you may finish it.” She huffs, waiting for his response. Hands meet her hips waiting until he concedes, nodding silently. She’s quick to turn on her heel, muttering about overprotective males before shutting the door behind her.

“She should have taken you to Madja.” Azriel clicks his tongue as if Mor could hear his complaints through the wall. His shadows seem to nod in agreement poking out over his shoulder before making their way back to you. 

“I didn’t want to go to Madja.”

“Why not?” 

It took a moment to find the words, to vocalize it out loud. It was silly - your arms were full, trying to carry too much at once. Foolishly you thought the stairs were a few feet away, missing the top step and falling face down the stairs. 

You had hit the walls with each tumble, causing a loud enough raucous to startle Mor, who immediately helped you up and fussed over you.

“I was embarrassed.” Your arms cross over your chest, trying to hide into yourself. Azriel gently cups your face in his hand, bringing the threaded needle back up. You wince, shutting your eyes tight to avoid seeing it. 

Azriel was right - Mor had been a bit rough in her stitching, but not enough for you to say anything. 

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, the delicacy enough to have you slowly crack open an eye only to find him looking right back at you.

“Why were you embarrassed?” His voice is softer now, less amusement as he holds your gaze. His gaze is strong, impossible to turn or hide away from. 

Maybe that’s why you open up completely, the cowardly parts of you on full display.

“I didn’t want to bother Madja with something I got because I tripped over my own feet.” You watch his face, waiting for him to understand how silly this situation is and to drop it completely. To continue his stitching and leave you with a bruised ego.

That understanding never comes, his face nearly shriveling in confusion.

“I’ve watched Cassian go to Madja for paper cuts.” 

“Yes, but-“

“Do you think Cassian’s pain is more deserving of healing?” Azriel is quick to cut you off, his words fast to stop the shame spiral you were gearing up to begin. His gaze is hard and unflinching, pinning you in place. 

Truth-Teller isn’t a weapon, it’s a title you feel he deserves. One look from him unspooling all of your secrets.

“It’s different.” Your shoulders slump a bit, finding it hard to find the right words for how you feel. Embarrassing is the best one, but it still feels light. 

“How?”

“I’m not… fighting the good fight. I’m not a warrior.” A few shadows wrap around your shoulders in a comforting embrace, almost as if they are holding you up. “Cassian deserves to be babied a bit when he’s constantly throwing himself into danger.”

A more cross look overcomes his features, a hint of agitation lingering.

“I didn’t realize civilians didn’t have healers.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then tell me what you mean.”

“Madja has more important things than tending to my falling down the stairs.” 

“I think you’re right. She does have better things to do.” You blink. You’ve never heard Azriel concede in an argument so easily. You’ve watched him argue with Cassian until he was blue in the face just to win.

“But I don’t. So if you’re done…” he trails off, his hand that holds the needle going a bit higher to get into your eyeline. A reminder to both of you that he needs to finish the job Mor started.

You nod, accepting his kindness. The fight eases out of you, slowly leeching from your pores, unable to stand against the softness in his face. Your eyes close more gently this time, the weight of the shadows easing your nerves a bit.

“Just don’t tell me when you’re going to do it, please.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He rubs his thumb along the scar, not applying any pressure. You lean into his touch, unable to stop yourself. The stitch Mor made prickles a bit, but the two of you continue to sit there in a calming silence. Both of his hands now cradle your cheeks, his large palms so comforting you nearly muzzle into them. 

“Azriel, are you ever going to stitch up my face?”

“I’m already done.” 

Your eyes relax, blinking at him. You bring a hand up to your face, touching where the long gash was to find it stitched. 

“I guess that tonic Mor gave me did stop the feeling. Thanks, Az.”

One of his hands gently grabs yours, pulling it from your cheek. He holds it delicately in his own, his thumb swiping across the back of it.

“Stop messing with it. You’ll undo my hard work.” 

“It’s like picking at a scab.”

“Don’t do that either.”

Friends to lovers

A fire crackles in the library, casting a warm glow over the room. Of all the libraries in Night, none of them compare to the one nestled in the Townhouse. It’s smaller than the others, allowing for a more quaint and cozy feel.

The shelves are a bit haphazard, you and Azriel using it as a personal library most of the time. Most books continue notes in the margins from either or both of you - quick scrawl to dictate something for the other or something one of you enjoyed.

The Townhouse is where the two of you spend most of your time - the tighter quarters being enough space for the two of you.

The last few weeks were a blur of Azriel - spending most nights in each other’s beds, 

A blanket’s folded behind your head. You’re tempted to cover your legs with it, but you lean a bit closer into Azriel instead. You are practically draped against his lap, your torso half over his body, a book perched in your hands. He’s using your back as a rest for his book, one hand woven in your hair, the other one making circles in your lower back. 

His shadows flip his pages for him, allowing his hands to lazily wander on their own. It was so domestic and easy, each movement a thrill.

You’re trying to read your book, but if Azriel even asked what it was about you wouldn’t be able to answer. An earlier conversation with Cassian keeps replaying in your mind over and over again, each return to it an attempt to further your resolve.

“Going so soon?” Nesta had pouted, her gray eyes turning pitiful trying to get you to stay longer. “I’ve hardly seen you the past few weeks.”

You started to answer, telling her you hadn’t become that unavailable, when Cassian’s voice boomed through the living room.

“She has to get back to her boyfriend, Nes. He’ll be upset if she’s gone too long. He’ll get broody.”

You had scoffed, nearly jumping at his voice.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know who I’m talking about? I didn’t say a name.” Cassian came into the room now, amusement on his face as he wiped his hands with a dish rag. 

“Shut up, Cass.”

“He’s not her boyfriend.” Nesta spoke up from the couch. 

“Thank you!”

“You just spend every minute with him, you reek of his scent, and you’re always considering what to do next for him.”

Cassian rounded the couch, plopping down next to Nesta.

“You're his girlfriend without the title.”

“Am not.”

“You sleep in his bed.”

“Not every night.”

Nesta and Cassian looked at each other before turning back to you, almost in unison saying, “or he sleeps in your bed.”

Heat began creeping up your neck, your emotions feeling so violated. You knew the two of you had been close, but was it really so obvious to Cassian of all people?

 “Fine, if you two aren’t dating, I’m sure you won’t mind in two years when Azriel’s dating someone else.”

The words clank through your mind like a dropped bell, the same notes hitting over and over again. Someone else.

“Az?” His name comes out as a whisper, your fear only half wanting him to hear you, the other half begging to be heard.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, his attention still mostly on his book as he tries to finish the paragraph he’s reading.

“Are we dating?”

Azriel looks away from his book, looking down at you in his lap. Even his shadows drop the book onto your back, their attention moving toward their master’s response. He takes a moment, clearly thinking over your question, giving you his full attention. You turn slightly, angling your body to fully see him.

“I suppose we are.” He answers you so nonchalantly, as if this was a well known fact. You sit up now, taking the spot next to him, your book falling off the couch but you don’t care enough to even look at it. His book falls as well, a soft thump onto the carpet. 

“Are you… happy about it?” A million questions race through your mind, but that’s what comes out first. His hands had followed you as you moved, one of them still resting on your hip, lazily dragging his thumb in languid strokes.

“Delighted.” You take the moment to really look at Azriel, his face mere inches from your own. You hadn’t noticed the gradual change over the weeks, but sitting here now, it is impossible to ignore. His face is brighter, eye bags having shrunk to a regular size. He’s been smiling more, a few laugh lines making their ways onto his cheeks. 

Even his clothes are different - looser, more casual attire covered his body, his leathers getting worn only for training and official duties.

Azriel looks like Azriel. Not the spymaster, not the shadowsinger. Not a thing of legend.

But the male you love.

Your hand reaches out, softly cupping his jaw. Your other hand pushes some of his hair off his forehead, the soft curls bouncing back into place after the attempt to tame them. The smile on his face matches your own: full of possibility, love, and hope. A shadow glides across your lips before moving across your whole face, as if imprinting this moment to their memory.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Your mouth is splitting your face in two, too large to contain your smile to just your lips, it reaches the corners of your eyes.

“Once your questions end, I would like to.”

“Do you love me?”

“So much.” You feel how much he does in his gaze, in his hands, in his words. Everything about him - every interaction, every touch, every moment, it all led you here. You’re grateful for every moment of it as his hands gently pull your face to his, his lips warm and gentle as they meld into yours.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-angst @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl @quiet-loser @thegreyjoyed @paankhaleyaaar @acoazlove

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

[illogicallylogicalthoughts]

That 12 year old sat down and made something they earnestly, honestly wanted somebody else to see, and they made it because it was something they wanted to see and do.

Flaw, contradiction, inexperience and all, this was something somebody, somewhere, somewhy, wanted me to see.

AI and generative chat bots do not want me to see them or what they make.

The only thing behind them are a series of corporate incentives and code directives.

I talk to it, a server buzzes somewhere, sets our world on fire just a little bit more, the server tracks the foot traffic, website owners pocket the cash, and it spits out a line of text at me, over, and over, and over again.

It's not even that it's soulless. It's cutting out the middle man.

Artists are inconvenient to the industry beyond what they produce. You have to pay them. This, to a person running a company, is unconscionable. They want to make money. They don't want to hear about wants, needs, unions, worker's rights, healthy workspaces. They want money.

Any and call corners that can be cut on the path to not having to put up with that, will.

That twelve year old remains more true to the spirit of writing than any kind of AI or learning machine could ever be, but the people trying to pawn AI off to you don't care, they're just trying to make a mint off of all the CEO's across the world attempting to strangle their workforces out of the industry so they don't have to pay anybody.

AI is consumerism incarnate because it's not made to make anything. It is made to replace. The people behind AI desperately want artists to shut up and be quiet because they want this market, this source of unending cash that they've imagined exists somehow, to become real, so they market it as Art made easy and accessible! You can do it yourself now!

Art is desirable. Not the work and genuine rigor behind it, but the popularity.

People see the numbers, the talk, the engagement, and think that what gives artists the ability to create is some kind of nameless eighth quality you have to be born and imbued with in the crib and after that crucial moment, you can never learn how to ever do it, ever, so they don't learn.

They don't try. They don't put themselves out there. They don't want to do something new. They don't want to create something because they want to share it, to talk about it, to engage with somebody through it.

They don't see it as a craft, something you have to dedicate time to, apply yourself to, learn how to do.

It's a business major's viewpoint. It's not something made to engage with and communicate concepts through. It's a product.

People fire up the website, throw a couple of keywords in a box, stare into the generated slop mish mash of stolen mixed assets, maybe throw a couple of settings over it in Photoshop, nod their heads and say, there, art!

Because, to them, art doesn't mean anything beyond a kind of ephemeral concept that people do sometimes, it means thing you make if you want people to look at you and give you money for.

It's the same people who flock to NFT's and cryptocurrency. It's the same people who cannot engage with and genuinely think of art because they're so emotionally divorced from the concept of creation by the kind of stripped-bare outlook capitalism encourages that it just doesn't click.

It's the same people who get indignant when you confront them when they steal your art. How dare you! I'm just like you! I input a keyword or two, pour my blood sweat and tears out over pressing a single button and smear some lighting layers over it in an image editor, and you say I stole this?

Because they think artists are insignificant. They don't see the people behind what they consume, because they only consume.

It's all they know.

They don't want to create, and they don't want to learn, because they're so far away from the process, so ignorant of what actually goes in to any given piece of art, that they just see it somebody throwing a couple of colors together in a visually pleasing way.

It's the kind of fundamentally incurious nihilism that's been bred so hard into corporate America, and it sickens me to my core.

That twelve year old writing wattpad zero punctuation plothole OOC fic will always be better than character AI, and I love them for it, because they want to make and create and they want ME to see it, and they aren't trying to butcher an entire class of people or kill the planet to do it.

Actually that no punctuation plot hole ooc wattpad fanfic written by that 12 year old will ALWAYS be better than character ai. And I love that 12 year old btw

[cowgirlvi]

mdni. sub-bottom vi. fem-top reader. strap-on usage. fwb. vaginal sex. degradation.

wc; 1,160

thinking about being friends with benefits with vi. despite the casualness of your relationship, she’s always so needy for you, and you love how addicted your own best friend has become to your touch—to the way your hands and mouth and cock can reduce the tough, headstrong woman to a desperate, mewling mess. it’s a heady feeling, knowing that vi can't get enough of you.

she texts you at odd hours, short and direct—you free?—as if you’d ever say no. and when you show up at her place, she’s already waiting by the door like an overeager puppy, hair messy, lips red and parted, pupils wide as if she’s been thinking about this all day—and you know she has been. she’s always desperate for cock, but it’s not her fault; with how well you take care of her sweet hole, of course she’s become dependent on you for her pleasure.

she needs you to be rough with her, to be mean, and you’re the only one who knows how to use her exactly as she craves, how to put her in her place. no matter how much she tries to hide it, you’re completely aware that vi gets off on the roughness, the dominance, the sheer ownership in your touch, and you’re more than happy to give it to her—to use her strong body for your own twisted pleasure.

tonight, she’s laying on her stomach, atop her bedsheets, while you ride her ass. in this position, her pussy is so much tighter than usual, it’s almost hard for you to fuck in and out of her, and her glistening cream is obscenely glazing your strap.

your hands grip her hips bruisingly, guiding her onto your cock as she buries her face in her pillow, stifling the sounds of how desperate and whiny she is. her body shudders beneath your touch, trembling because you’re filling her just the way she needs, and she’s clawing against her bedsheets like a misbehaving cat.

”you love it when—mmf, i fuck you like a bitch?” you murmur against her ear, and she gasps as if she’s been burned, like your words have struck a cord deep inside her.

she doesn’t answer right away, too caught up in the way you’re using her little pussy for your own entertainment, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven bursts—but eventually, she blubbers, ”yes, yes, i love it so much—mghff!”

”what are you, then?” you press, breathlessly.

you pull your hips back until only the tip of your cock is being gripped within her tight heat, before slamming back inside her in a single, harsh thrust, keeping her hips pinned to the bed so she has nowhere to run. vi keens like a wounded soldier.

”a bitch—aghh! i’m your bitch!” vi sobs, and she’s trying to fuck back against your strap—trying to feel you as deep inside her gummy, pink walls as she possibly can—but you won’t allow her to.

you admire the way her ass ripples every time your pelvis bounces off of her, the firm globes of muscle jiggling, and it’s hypnotizing. the lewd sound of skin smacking against skin echoes throughout her obsolete bedroom, mingling with the obscene wet noise of vi’s creamy pussy being fucked into submission.

you press kisses to her shoulder blades, licking over her tattoos, before groaning, ”yeahhh, that’s right, fuck—ahh, guess you’re not so dumb after all.”

vi whines louder than before, as if she’s agreeing that your cock always fucks her stupid without fail.

she has no choice but to clench down around your thick strap stretching her open, relishing in the way it kisses her cervix with each punishing drive of your hips. vi’s arousal is dripping down her thighs now, the dirty sound of her juices squelching plays in your ears like music. you’re using her as if she’s a cocksleeve, as if she’s nothing more to you than a toy for you to fuck, and it’s making her eyes cross with irrevocable pleasure.

you continue your relentless pace, hips grinding forward with a brutal intensity that rocks vi’s entire body with each thrust. you swear you can feel her pussy clenching and fluttering around your strap, gripping it like a vice; a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey.

the dirty view only spurs you on, pushing you to fuck into vi’s tight heat with even more animalistic fervor, determined to make her come undone until she can’t even speak, until static fills her ears and her brain melts out of her head.

”unghh—! you’re fucking me, you’re fucking me,” vi slurs mindlessly. she sounds like a desperate whore that’s been fucked stupid. you know she’s getting close, that her tongue has probably lolled out like a dumb dog by now, that her chin is most likely drenched in her own drool.

yeah. she’s your bitch, alright.

snickering, you dig your nails into her ass, spreading her cheeks apart so you can see the nasty way her pussy is gripping onto your cock with added clarity, and then you deliver harsh smacks to each globe. vi squeals—as you expected her to—and her pale skin blossoms red like roses in the spring.

she tries to get up onto her knees, but you’re sitting on the back of her thighs. she tries to fuck back onto your cock, but you harshly press her hips to the bed. she can’t run from the pleasure, she can’t find relief, all she can do is take it.

with newfound ferocity, you pound away at her ass as if it personally offended you. the flesh of your hips is clap, clap, clapping against vi’s rear perhaps faster than the speed of light, and it’s exhausting, it takes immense strength and determination—but you’re determined to make vi come so hard she cries.

you spit onto your fingers and then slip your hand underneath vi’s muscular body, rubbing two of the digits against her clit with the precision of a brain surgeon. you know exactly how much pressure to apply to her clit, how fast she likes it to be, which side of the little nub is more sensitive than the other—and vi orgasms then, intense and sudden.

milky white cream leaks from her cunt in splotches around your shaft and it almost looks like you, yourself, came inside her. you groan at the sight, unabashedly, and rub your fingers harsher against vi’s clit, until she’s flinching away from your touch and sobbing. 

you remove your fingers from her clit and trace up the length of her spine with your tongue, before pressing soft kisses to her shoulder blades, feeling the way her skin is buzzing beneath your lips. and vi’s panting harshly against her pillow but not saying a word, so you know you successfully fucked all thoughts from her head.

gently, you pull your cock out of your best friend’s pussy, while she can only lay there trembling.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings, @thatgrlnany @blackdykegirlblogger, @imfckngfantastic

(2/13/25)

[slapmeshigaraki]

: •̩̩͙ ໋ "let me take care of you, hm?" •̩̩͙ ໋:

Every bone in your body ached, throat stinging as you swallowed. Your eyes squinted, the brightness of the overhead light stinging them. It was too warm, your thighs sticking together underneath a thick blanket with a familiar scent. You shifted in place, willing your body to move slowly, but before you could sit up, a voice cut through the silence.

“No no no, be still.” The silver haired boy spoke at a volume slightly louder than usual. He wasted no time rushing over to where you laid on the couch, the fabric making indents in your skin from how long you’d been laying there.

“Xavier, I can’t feel my legs. I have to get up,” He shook his head.

“You’re weak. You need to eat before you try to move around too much.” You scrunched your nose as he sat on the coffee table beside me, a bowl of an ambiguous substance tucked in between his hands. He stirred it slowly, steam pooling off of the spoon. He blew on it once or twice before extending it for you to try.

“Xavier, who made that?”

“I did,” Your stomach turned at the thought. Xavier couldn’t boil an egg properly. The thought of a meal prepared by him had you feeling worse than before.

“I’m not hungry, really. I’m fine. I think I just need some water and-“

“Baby, please. I just want you to feel better. Try one bite for me, yeah?” His face softened, eyes wide as he stared at you, the spoon still pointed in your direction, taunting you, daring you to take it into your mouth. You took a deep breath, unable to deny him when he pleaded so sweetly, before leaning up and taking the metal spoon between your lips. You chewed it slowly, waiting for a foul flavor to attack your tastebuds, but it never came.

“Do you want some more?” You nodded hesitantly, curious to taste the flavor again.

“Is it good?” You took another bite, the warm broth of the soup soothing your throat and coating your insides. You nodded once more, leaning in.

“You know you don’t have to feed me, right? I can do it myself.”

“I know, but I want to. Is that okay?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper as your eyes locked.

“Yes.” A faint smile crept across his face at the admission before he reached the spoon out again and you let the warm liquid caress your tongue.

“Sweet girl, always so strong. I love getting to be here for you like this. Taking care of you when you need me makes me so happy. You know that?” He said, picking the towel up from beside him and wiping it against the corner of your mouth, your lips almost touching from the close proximity. He put the bowl behind him, his soft fingers resting against your face, before lifting your back up slightly and sitting on the cushion beside you. You laid your head against his lap, finally closing the gap between your bodies.

“You worked so hard in the battle yesterday. I knew your body wouldn’t be able to handle all of that stress. Why didn’t you let me just do all of the work, hm?” he asked, as his skin made small, rhythmic circles against yours.

“I want to help you whenever I can. I don’t want to see you get hurt while trying to watch out for me.”

“Do you not think I can multitask?” There was a hint of laughter hidden in his tone.

“I do, but I just don’t want to burden you by making you do so.” The humor in his expression was gone as his gaze searched yours.

“Taking care of you is not a burden to me, in any capacity. You get that, right?”

“Yes…” His eyebrows scrunched together at the response before his palm found the back of your head. He slowly brought your faces closer together. Your heartbeat seemed to stop in your chest as your lips met his. You closed your eyes, melting against his touch before he pulled back without any warning.

“Let me take care of you, hm?” Suddenly, you felt a cool touch beneath the warmth of the blanket as his fingertips danced across your chest, making the hairs on your skin stand up as he trailed them from your collarbones and underneath the fabric of your shirt. His light eyes never left yours, studying every contortion of your face as he continued touching you.

“All you have to do is ask for help, pretty girl.” The words caught in your throat as his fingers tenderly massaged your nipple, twisting it softly back and forth between his fingers nonchalantly. The heat beneath the blanket only grew as you fought against the desire to rub your thighs together.

“I want you to help me, Xavier.” As the words left your mouth, his fingers moved to the other nipple, pinching lightly before continuing the same pattern.

“Aw, do you? You might have to be more specific. How will I know what you need from me unless you say it directly?” Your legs seemed to spread on their own at his words, knees falling apart as your pussy ached from his voice.

“Touch me,” You said, no, whined.

“I’m already touching you, silly girl. Do you not want me to touch you here?” His fingers stilled completely against your heaving chest before they found their way toward your face again.

“Open,” His tone was dark now as his index finger gently tapped against your bottom lip. You immediately let your jaw hang open, sticking your tongue out a little. He slid two of his fingers against your flesh, collecting your spit onto them until they glistened with the wetness as he pulled them back out.

“Tell me where you want my fingers.”

“On my pussy, please.”

“Aw, please?” he said, his tone mocking yours, “My sweet girl, you don’t have to beg. I’ll help you anytime you ask.” Without wasting another second, he slid his hand under the fabric once again, sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Poor baby, you’re so wet already. Were you too scared to ask for me to take care of you like this?” Your eyes rolled back as his slick fingers ran up and down between your lips.

“You don’t have to be nervous to ask for my help baby. I just want to take care of what belongs to me.” The pad of his thumb made slow small circles on your clit, the wetness causing it to slide around beneath his touch.

“Even this little clit is scared to ask for help, she keeps running away from me.” A low moan fell from your lips, your back arching as you tried to push your hips into his touch.

“Xavier…”

“What is it, princess?”

“I- I need you to make me cum.”

“Aw, what a big girl for me saying what she needs so directly, so cute,” he said before sliding his middle finger inside of you. His thumb continued its movements as he slowly pushed himself in and out, curving his finger slightly, causing even more whines to spill from your lips.

“Is that the spot? Is moving my fingers like that gonna make this tight little pussy cum?” His pace quickened.

“Answer me baby.”

“Yes, yes I’m going to cum.”

“Whose pussy is this?” Your thighs started to clamp together around his arm the faster he slammed into you. His slender digits curled inside of you deeper than you’d felt before.

“Yours Xavier. It’s your pussy.” Another finger forced its way into your hole.

“Aw, pretty girl. Don’t tense up, relax. Let me inside, c’mon princess. Thought you were gonna let me help you, hm?” He stalled his movements, giving your walls time to stretch around him.

“That’s it, calm down. Let that pussy open up a little for me, yeah?” You nodded slowly, lost in anything that he said, the heat between your legs the only things that you could focus on any longer. He began moving his fingers again, hitting that same sweet spot inside of you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Xavier, I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl, cum for me. Give it to me. I want you to let go all over my fingers, baby.” You moaned his name, hands reaching to stop his movements as his fingers continued to fuck you through your orgasm, every twitch of his digits overstimulating you.

“Xavier please, I can’t take it anymore.” He slid his other hand beneath the blanket, forcing your thighs apart.

“But I thought you needed me baby? This pussy is still drooling all over my fingers. I have to keep taking care of you until you aren’t scared to ask for my help anymore, hm?” he whispered. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as that same sinister smile stained his face.

♡ a/n: super busy week tragically, senior year of college is kicking my ass smhhhh. sooo since i won't have time to write anything fresh i thought i would post some of my older fics here :))) they are heavily unedited ngl. i'll probably do two others this week since valentine's day is coming up and i won't have anything better to do lmao,, there's one's for the meanie! series for caleb and sylus. anywayyy lotta yapping this time mb,, have a good day angels !!

[bbrissonn]

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 - 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which luke has some plans for the two of you during the 4 nations tournament break

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wc: 3.1k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: reader is a nail tech !!! slight swearing,nsfw content read at your own risk, not proofread

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ started listening to old money by lana del rey about half way through writing this, im sure you'll be able to figure out what part...

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ reader's instagram is public !!!

"so, you talked to mom for next week?" jack asked luke from besides him on the plane. the team was currently on their way back from pittsburgh after a short two game roadtrip. the 4 nations tournament was less than a week away, meaning luke had 2 weeks where he could finally get his mind off of hockey for a while.

more importantly, he got two spend 2 whole weeks with you and only you. he had been looking forward to february since the announcement of the tournament, having a feeling he wouldn't get picked for team usa because it was only his second year in the league. meaning he had had almost a whole year to plan these two weeks he'd get with you.

luke had almost forced to take your two weeks of vacation off during those specific weeks, and you were quick to alert your boss about it. the two of you had been together for a year and a half now, having met during luke's short stay in new jersey at the end of the 2022-2023 season. you had decided not to go to university, opting to attending cosmetology school. you eventually focused nails, your parents letting set up a small salon in their garage. you had met luke when you were shopping for supplies, the boy looking lost as he looked around himself and down at his phone constantly.

as a native new yorker, it pained you to see someone looking as clueless as he did. most people covered it up well, walking with confidence but having no clue where they were going. him on the other hand, he looked like a lost puppy. you decided to approach him, hoping you could help him.

𓇢𓆸

"lost?" you asked as you approached the stranger, a couple of bags in your hands. the stranger turned his head slightly, looking down at his phone quickly, before his head snapped up towards you. his eyes stared into your for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly before snapping back to reality.

"y-yeah, a bit." he mumbled, suddenly finding himself pushing his shoulders back, fixing his posture slightly. you tried your best to hold in a giggle as he then ran his hand through his hair a couple of times.

"where you going?" you asked, stepping a little closer trying to take a peak at his phone. luke leaned his hand towards you, letting you get a better view, but all he could focus on was you.

"meeting some friends... and my brother."

"visiting?"

"uh... just moved. i actually live in new jersey, we all do, but they insisted we come here so..." he explained, his soft gentle as his eyes stayed glued on you. you looked up at him as you figured out mentally where to send the boy. you hadn't noticed just how much taller than you he was.

"work?"

"something like that, yeah."

"head up that way, about three streets down turn left, you'll see it right away. its got a bright neon sign, hard to miss." you instructed him with a smile.

"you'd think phones would be better at directions by now." he joked awkwardly, making you smile slightly. you finally took a good look at his face. he was cute, a lot cuter than any boys you had seen in a while. "i'm luke, by the way."

"y/n." you smiled at him.

𓇢𓆸

luke had kindly asked for your number before making his way to meet his friends. the two of soon started talking almost everyday, luke had been glued to his phone all summer, making everyone around him a little curious by his sudden change. his brothers eventually figured that he had been talking to you the whole time, but failed to convince him to let them meet you.

when luke had gotten back in new jersey in september, he was quick to asked you to be his girlfriend. you didn't have to think twice as the word "yes" slipped from your mouth before your brain even registered what he had said. you were now nearing your year and a half mark, and luke couldn't be anymore in love with you than he already was.

"oh, uhm. i made plans with y/n/n." luke answered his brother, making jack looking over him.

"she can come too, you know. ma would love for her to be there too."

"the uh, plans, their not plans in new jersey."

"make a detour to montreal?"

"i mean, we'll be there for the games in boston, but we're uh, going away before." jack was now very confused as to what luke was saying. never had his brother, or you, mentioned the two of you taking a trip. for all he knew, you had been talking about how excited you were to explore montreal.

"what do you mean?"

"just, i planned a little something special for her, that's all. non-refundable and all."

"where you guys going?"

"i'm not telling you." luke scoffed, making jack look at him with a fake hurt expression.

"why not?"

"'cause your shit a keeping a secret. and she doesn't know yet, so i'm not telling you." luke explained, making jack scoff slightly before putting in his headphones. luke shook his head at his older brother's childish behaviour before texting you. the two of you had agreed to meet up for lunch between two of your clients, and he wanted to make sure there was no delay within your schedule.

𓇢𓆸

"so, baby, i know you're excited and all about montreal-"

"oh, luke, it's gonna be amazing! we're gonna shop, we're gonna explore. go to that cool thing cole keeps talking about." you said with a smile before taking another bit of your plate. you had met cole the previous summer, when you had flew to michigan to visit luke and his family for a couple of weeks. thankfully you had met his brothers and parents, so the only knew people were their friends.

"about that... we're not going to montreal, babe." luke watched as your smile dropped, and he cursed himself for his words.

"what do you mean? what about jack, and quinn, and all your family?"

"we'll go see them, in boston. i was, uh, hoping you'd wanna take a trip with me. get away from everyone, just you and me. and i'm really hoping you say because it's not refundable, so..." he muttered, scratching the back of his neck slightly.

"o-okay, yeah, that's... that's fine. where are we going?" you were glad you had decided not to schedule any clients during luke's two week break, seeing as he had been talking about this moment since the beginning of the season.

"a lot of places, places you're gonna like. took of everything, housing, transport, it's gonna be amazing, love." the boy said with a grin on his face.

"where?"

"europe."

𓇢𓆸

"oh, my gosh, this place is amazing!" you gasped as you walked the streets of london. your plane had arrived early in the morning, and the two of you waisted no time explore the city. your hand was holding on tightly to luke's, his smile matching yours.

"i'm glad your enjoying this, love." the boy spoke as your eyes looked over at him. you bit your bottom lip as luke softly smiled down at you.

"you're amazing, you know that?" you asked the boy as he threw his arm over your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. he chuckled slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple before answering your question.

"i try." he whispered sweetly before the two of you entered a shop. you spent the rest of day walking around london, getting snacks from almost every food place luke's eyes landed on, eventually sitting down for dinner, and finally making your way to your hotel room.

"we got an early morning tomorrow, babe, get some sleep." the boy mumbled as your mouth trailed down his neck. luke was laying on his back, with you snuggled to his side.

"what are we doing?"

"we're getting on a train." his answer made you look up at him, your mouth leaving his skin as you gave him a weird look.

"a... train?"

"yes, y/n/n, a train." he giggled.

"where to?"

"france." he shrugged with a proud grin as a gasp left your mouth.

"we're going to paris?" you exclaimed, fully pushing yourself so you were straddling luke's lap.

"we are."

"oh my god, luke!" you said before throwing your arms around him. you had been dying to visit paris since you were a little kid, and the want grew even stronger over the summer as you watched the olympics.

16 hours later, you found yourself sitting in a restaurant near the eiffel tower. the night had set, the tower lighted up, people roaming the busy streets of the city, people were talking, laughing, yelling, so much was going. but all you could focus and think about was the boy in front of you.

"you're starring."

"i am." you answered with a smile. luke flashed you his lopsided grin before taking another bit of his food.

"your food's gonna get cold."

"i don't care." you answered, making luke sigh slightly before placing his fork down.

"alright, what is it?"

"nothing... nothing i just, i love you, you know. a lot. this trip... it means a lot." you stuttered, suddenly feeling like a school girl again. luke's hand reached for yours across the table, rubbing you skin softly with his thumb.

"i know, and i love you." he answered, making you blush as you looked down at your lap. you nodded slightly before finally starting to eat your dinner. the two of you ended your night by the eiffel tower, your camera roll getting filled with pictures of the tower itself, you in front of it, luke in front of it, selfies taken together, and pictures a kind stranger took for the two of you. you then made your way back to a hotel near by, the two being seen from your window.

"baby... baby, slow down." luke mumbled as your hands attacked his button up the second the door closed behind the two of you. your lips quickly connected with his neck, making him throw his head back with a groan. luke's hand found their way to your waist, before pushing you up against the wall. you pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a grin as you arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"no." you answered sweetly before connecting your lips together. luke felt like he was floating up in the clouds at this moment, your hands pushing his button up off of his body before you hands started touching every single part of his upper body.

"you drive me crazy, you know." the boy stated as your hands squeezed his biceps, which were flexed from his grasp on your waist. they quickly moved to find the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving you topless in your lace bra. another groan left his mouth as his lips attached themselves to your neck.

"i know." you said, smirking as your hands now found luke's belt. another groan. just as you were about to undo his belt, you felt luke's strong arms pick you up, and suddenly you were over his shoulder. your giggle echoed through the room as luke dropped you softly on the bed, before crawling over to you.

"i'm so in love with you." he mumbled as he approached you slowly. you were resting on your forearms barely holding yourself up as luke's large figure towered over you. his hands were resting right next to your arms, his forehead inches away from you.

"i'm crazy in love with you, lukey." you mumbled before the boy quickly reached down and connected your lips together, the two of you smiling into the kiss as luke softly pushed you down on the bed.

"luke..." you whispered as his lips slowly trailed down your neck to your chest, his hands locking with yours next to your head.

"yeah, baby?"

"please." you begged as luke pulled your bra down, his lips quickly attacking your boobs as you bit your lips. it had been so long, too long, since the two of you had been completely alone without jack being in the room next to you. it had been so long since the two of you had been able to take your time and truly enjoy yourselves.

"i got you, m'love. don't worry, just wanna take my time with you, show you how much i love you." he whispered as his lips moved further down your body. as he approached your waist, his hands found your skirt, pulling it down along with your panties. you were now fully bare underneath him.

luke pushed himself back on his knees. his eyes admiring your body as he rid himself of his belt and pants, leaving him in only his underwear. "you're so perfect, y/n/n." he whispered as he kneeled back down, his lips kissing your inner thighs softly as he came closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

the rest of the night was filled with soft i love yous, passionate kisses, intense eye contact, your bodies tangled as one, the night was filled of love. luke had fallen asleep first, his arms holding you close to his chest as his chin rested on your head. your face was stuffed into his neck, his cologne being the only thing you could focus on.

it had taken you almost an hour to fall asleep, not because you weren't tired, but because your brain couldn't stop thinking. thinking about how lucky you were, how happy you were, and how grateful you were to have luke in your life. he was the man of your dream.

you still couldn't wrap your head around the fact that you were currently laying in a hotel bed in the middle of the city you had been wanting to visit since you were a kid. that you were laying next you the man who made your dream come true, laying the man who had completely stolen your heart.

and you honestly could not believe this was your life. never in a million years did you think that approaching who stranger who looked completely lost in the middle of new york lead to you laying in his arms in the city of love. it felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from. luke was everything you ever wanted in a man. he was caring, always want out of his way to make you happy, even if it meant just stopping by your salon to give you coffee in the morning, or just to see you for a short 10 minute before your client came. he was perfect. you never had to worry about if he was out cheating, simply because he could never stop texting you and sending you pictures of his teammates blackout drunk when he was out. you were all he could think about, and he was all you could think about.

it was almost like you were scared you'd fall asleep, and wake up all alone in your bed back in new york, and there was no way you wanted that. but the loud snore coming from luke quickly brought you back to reality. this was real, this was your life now, and you couldn't be happier about it.

𓇢𓆸

it was now wednesday, you had taken a flight to barcelona, where you arrived in the early afternoon. you spent your day exploring the city, it wasn't the hottest, but compared to the weather you were having back home, this was way better. the two of you had decided to stop by a couple of local shops, finding the objects perfect to bring back as souvenirs. after your dinner, the two of you had taken a walk on the beach, after you begged luke for the whole dinner to go. he was going to say yes, of course he was, but the way you would always pass pity comments about it always made him laugh. so, he pretended to be hesitant the whole time, but he knew even before you landed in the city this how your night would end.

then early on thursday morning, the two of you flew to rome. you repeated the same process as always, spend the day exploring the city. only this time the two of you got onto another flight that evening, landing in split in croatia. you knew this city. you had been seeing tons of videos on tiktok about it lately. sadly, it wasn't exactly peak beach season, but luke had promised you that you'd eventually come back the summer.

the two had gone to bed right when you arrived to the hotel, the clock nearing morning hours. and when you woke up the next morning, you were all alone in bed. your eyes wondered around the room, only to land on luke standing at the small round table in your room. you let out a groan as you stretched your arms, making your boyfriend look over at you.

"good morning, baby." the boy mumbled as he walked over to you with a smile. he was wearing a robe, and his hair was slightly damped, and you could only guess he had taken a shower recently. he sat down on the bed next to you, his hand reaching for you.

"hi." you smiled, your eyes struggling to stay open. this was probably one of the comfiest bed you had ever slept on, and you did not want to get up right now.

"how'd you sleep?"

"amazing!" you exclaimed, trying to shove yourself deeper into the mattress. luke smiled at you before leaning down and pecking your lips.

"breakfast." he whispered, his head nodding over to the table. his words quickly made you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. just as you were about to pull aways, luke's hands, which were laying on your back, made their way to your thighs and picked you up, standing up from the bed. you squealed as he walked over to the table before placing you down, but keeping his arms around you.

"happy valentine's day, my love." he whispered before kissing your lips. you had completely forgotten that was today. all you had been thinking about was this trip, and the days started just blending one into the other. you smiled as you pulled the boy down, kissing him harder.

"you're amazing!" you exclaimed, bringing the boy into a thigh hug as your lips parted, luke chuckled as he let his head rest on yours.

"when i saw that we had a break this week, knew i had to make it the best valentine's day ever."

"you're amazing!" you repeated, and luke took it as an answer that you loved it. "this is amazing, luke!"

"i'm glad you like it-

"i love it! almost as much as i love you."

"sap."

"shut up." you whispered before connecting your lips again. "i don't ever wanna stop loving you."

"good, 'cause i plan on loving you forever."

𓇢𓆸

- feb 11, 2025 -

youruser

📍 london, uk

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes and other

youruser yesterday💗💗

👥 lhughes_06

view all 273 comments

lhughes_06 🩵

lhughes_06 obsessed with you

user485 he brought her to london omg 🥹🥹

jackhughes so this is where you two snuck off to

friendsuser so so cute

user5459 may a love like this find me

user234 the booth photos omg

_quinnhughes where was my invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey said no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser woah now don't make me the bad guy

load more...

- feb 12, 2025 -

youruser

📍 paris, france

liked by _quinnhughes, friendsuser and others

youruser dream come true 🩵

👥 lhughes_06

view all 403 comments

lhughes_06 anything for you 🩵

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 oh ew 🤣

user869 WERE THEY NOT IN LONDON YESTERDAY??

user927 @/user869 man said "i got a week and im making the most of it"

_quinnhughes still no invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey is still saying no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser do you really want him here after last night 🤣 jackhughes @/lhughes_06 OKAY THAT'S JUST GROSS

load more...

- feb 14, 2025 -

youruser

🎵 call it what you want - taylor swift

liked by lhughes_06, _quinnhughes and others

youruser so in love with you 🩵

view all 649 comments

lhughes_06 my girl 🩵

lhughes_06 i love youuuu

jackhughes GROSS GROSS GROSS

friendsuser im so obsessed with you guys

user0194 oh.my.gaush. 😭

user847 she won the lottery frfr

_quinnhughes i would've lovedddd to go to europe to

youruser @/_quinnhughes no.

_quinnhughes so much kissing 🙄

user6749 when is it my turn...

load more...

[yandere-sins]

You trying to run away from Caleb and him using his gravity manipulation Evol 😍😍

Omg, and it's not even just when you run away... You have such a good point, anon ♥

❥ Imagine finally outsmarting him and getting a chance to run. Caleb could simply put you down with a sweep of his hands, but instead, he makes your surroundings work against you. The gravel beneath your feet rolls back towards him, making you trip over yourself as you can't get away from the spot. Leaves and branches fall down on you/hitting you in the face and obscuring your sight, so you stumble, lose your direction, and run right back into his arms. He has them open for you, always. But his grip is iron-tight now that you showed him your desire to get away. Caleb can't have you try that again, you understand that, right?

❥ But, of course, after your second attempt, even he gets frustrated with you. It's child's play to slam you onto the ground, even if it hurts you. You didn't want to listen, so maybe the cuts and bruises will teach you. But you aren't the only one who learns because Caleb quickly realizes how devilishly fun it is to see you struggle. He just needs to soften his evol for a moment, so you think you can get up and run again before he breaks your spirits by applying the pressure of gravity again, bringing you down and dragging you towards him slowly. Your pain doesn't even concern him, not when he still sees you willing to fight him. You, never giving up, is like a drug that goes straight to his brain. He'll let you fight against the pull, lets you think you have a fair fighting chance as he taunts you with deliberate, slow steps in your direction, his shoes clicking menacingly on the floor. You're so cute—feisty and hopeful as you still are, and Caleb experiences the most sadistic pleasure to see your will bend and break, snap right into pieces as he grabs you by the neck and licks your bloody, swollen lips. He's like a kid licking his pancakes to keep his siblings from eating them, but the notion is the same: You're his.

❥ Caleb also uses it to disarm you in case you ever get your hands on something you really shouldn't. It's fun to see you struggle while you try to keep the weapon and yourself from being dragged towards him. And it almost drives him crazy to hear your surprised gasp when you accidentally let go of the object, and it almost does get close to hurting him. A second ago, you were all big and threatening, and suddenly, you feel bad for him, it's amusing. Next thing you know, you are on his lap, getting playfully chided for trying to get rid of him, and how you need to do better than that since you didn't even come close. If the weapon is reachable, you almost have a chance of getting to it again and trying to hurt him. Still, it's all just a game for him, and he might let himself get cut just so he can punish you properly while trying to deny how happy he is about playing with you.

❥ However, he draws the line at you trying to hurt yourself. See, it's all fun and game until your life is on the line. You are pulled into his arms with the weapon immediately slapped, ripped, or, if he has to, broken from your hand. The only one allowed to hurt you is Caleb, and he makes no laughing matter out of your attempt to blackmail him with your life. You don't know how much harm you can do to yourself while his actions are always calculated. Even when it seems like his slamming you to the floor is cruel, unless you give him a real reason (like hurting yourself), he won't actually mess you up. Caleb will even help you stabilize your wounds after he seriously hurt you, trying to disarm you, but it's all just to show you not to mess with him. Show you that his evol can do way more than throw you around and hurt your ego and will to fight. You don't get to argue with him on your security, not even for a second. Caleb simply won't entertain these kinds of threats, and it will make it harder for you to get close to dangerous items in the future. Also, he will be pouting and ignoring you for a while, you really hurt him with your actions. Maybe try apologizing. Please! :(

❥ Despite everything, Caleb does a few nice things with his evol. You might be forced to watch movies and cuddle with him, but he'll draw the blanket you like so much closer or fetch you your drink if it's out of reach. You won't have to leave the comfort he provides (albeit unwillingly). He also saved you from things falling on you by pulling them and (much preferred) you out of the way and into his hold. Sometimes, he catches food before it lands on your newly worn shirt. Yeah, he's that kind of nice (even though he likes to laugh at how upset you are when it does happen). The more you are on his good side, the more he'll do nice things for you, and his evol will be an exclusive power for you to use. He likes to tease you endlessly, and his psychotic behavior worries you sometimes, but you will learn that Caleb would do anything to keep you by his side, preferably happy and in love with him. Even if it means he'll become the weapon you can use to set the world on flames if only you play your cards right.

[yois2aki]

wc. 1k

remember when caleb straight up said "what if i told you i was always like this?"... well. this is my take on how high school caleb dealt with his possessiveness. when he still managed to keep some of his rationality leading.

caleb wasn’t used to feeling this way. at least, not when it came to you. he had always been the quiet, composed type, the one who didn’t let his emotions show too much, especially not in public. but now? now, every time he saw you laughing with jayden, the guy from your maths class, something in him twisted uncomfortably.

he tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. but today, watching you and jayden walk down the hallway together, side by side, laughing over some stupid inside joke, caleb felt that familiar knot in his stomach tightening. jayden had his hand on your back, a touch so casual, so natural, and it made caleb’s blood boil.

he leaned against the wall, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes kept flickering to you. you didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, too caught up in your conversation with jayden, your eyes bright, your laughter filling the air. caleb swallowed hard, trying to calm himself, but he couldn’t. his chest tightened with a possessiveness he wasn’t used to feeling.

he noticed jayden get a little too close to you—too close for caleb’s liking. the way jayden’s shoulder brushed against yours as they walked side by side, the way his hand lingered on your arm when he pointed something out. it was enough to make caleb’s teeth clench, his grip on his phone tightening until his fingers ached.

he wanted to say something. to go up to jayden and shove him away from you, tell him to back off, but he couldn’t. he didn’t have the guts to confront you. he wasn’t sure what was going on inside him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just stood there, feeling the anger building up inside him, a storm he couldn’t control.

when you finally noticed him standing there, watching the two of you, you smiled and waved. “hey, caleb!” you called, your voice light and cheerful, completely unaware of the tension building in him.

he tried to smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “hey,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward you. his steps were deliberate, but his heart was racing.

as he got closer, he could feel the anger in his chest, simmering just below the surface. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way jayden had touched you, the way he had been so comfortable around you. he hated it. hated the way he couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was losing control.

you, still oblivious, were talking to jayden about something. caleb’s gaze flickered to jayden again, and for a brief moment, he could feel his jaw tightening. jayden had that smug smile on his face, the one that caleb couldn’t stand, and it was directed right at you.

he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to keep his cool, but it was getting harder and harder. “so, what’s going on?” caleb asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended.

you looked at him, the concern flashing across your face. “oh, nothing. just talking about the math homework,” you said with a smile. “jayden’s been helping me out with it.”

caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenching in his pockets. “yeah, i can see that,” he muttered under his breath.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, the worry in your voice now. you had noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, the way he was standing so stiffly.

“nothing,” caleb lied, his eyes flickering to jayden for a moment before he quickly looked away. “it’s fine. just… didn’t know you were spending so much time with him.”

you furrowed your brow, now sensing something was off. “caleb, you’re acting weird.”

caleb’s heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t know how to explain it. he didn’t want to admit how jealous he was, how angry it made him to see jayden so comfortable with you. he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just gave a small shrug, avoiding your gaze. “i’m not acting weird.”

you didn’t buy it. you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t press him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. jayden, however, seemed to pick up on the tension in the air, and with a small smile, he clapped caleb on the shoulder. “hey, man, you good?”

caleb stiffened at the touch, his whole body going rigid. he didn’t like it. he didn’t like jayden’s casualness, his closeness to you. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. instead, he simply nodded, trying to force a smile.

“yeah, i’m good,” caleb said, his voice tight, his words clipped. “just… just tired.”

you studied his face for a moment, the concern still clear in your expression, but you didn’t push him further. jayden, sensing the discomfort, finally decided to take his leave. “alright, i’ll catch you later,” he said to you, giving you a small wave before walking away.

as soon as jayden was out of earshot, caleb let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

you turned to caleb, your voice softer now. “caleb, what’s going on? you’ve been acting off all day.”

caleb’s eyes flickered to you, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze. he didn’t know how to explain the rush of emotions inside him, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the anger he couldn’t control. it was all too much.

“i’m fine,” he said, his voice a little too rough, the words coming out with more frustration than he intended.

you didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his arm, the simple touch grounding him in the moment. “caleb,” you said softly, “you can talk to me, you know.”

he swallowed hard, his throat tight. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. the words were stuck, and the emotions were too overwhelming. instead, he just nodded, letting you pull him into a silence that felt heavy and thick with unspoken words.

[carriesthewind]

When I first read this post, before I decided to dig in and try to find the sources for these claims, I intended this response to be a gentle correction of a very common misunderstanding about an aspect of the U.S. legal system.

And I’m still going to do that; we’re going to start with some general education about Miranda warnings – what they are, what they mean, and under what circumstances should you talk to the cops? (Spoiler: Don’t talk to the cops.) But let me do a quick skip to where we are going to end up, to hit the main points before a way-too-long post (and to just go ahead and let the conspiracy theorists block me in advance):

Don’t talk to the cops.

The cops have to give you the Miranda warnings before they interrogate you (ask you questions related to a criminal investigation/case) in a custodial setting (a situation where you are not free to leave.

If they don’t do that, you may be able to ask the court to prevent the prosecutor in your criminal case from using any of those statements at your criminal trial. (The judge cannot and will not do this on their own.)

Even if the court agrees with you and stops the prosecutor from using your statements, the case doesn’t just go away. The prosecutor can still use other evidence to try to convict you. This can include other statements you made.

The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) did not recently say that you no longer need to be read your rights, or that you don’t have your Miranda rights, or you only have to be read your rights under certain circumstances that are somehow different from #2 above. SCOTUS ruled in Vega v. Tekoh that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct. However, it does not affect the application of the Miranda rule in criminal cases.

There is literally no evidence, zero, nada, none, that Mr. Mangione “was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation," nor that his lawyer claimed this to be the case. @saint-luigi-of-fiji just literally made this claim up. Didn’t misunderstand, didn’t make a mistake, just straight up lied.

And on that point: fuck you, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, you lying asshole. How fucking dare you. How dare you farm people’s real pain, real outrage, and instead of directing it somewhere real, somewhere meaningful - instead of giving people real information about how fucked up the criminal injustice system is for the individuals - including Mr. Mangione - caught in it, or even just keeping your fanfic to yourself and your ao3 account, you decided to fucking lie, to deliberately spread misinformation both about his case and the legal system.

Right. Okay: let’s loop back to what I originally wanted this post to be about. Looking at OP’s original posts, there are three problems with them:

There is no source, and it is not true. They do give a “source” in the reblogs, and we will fucking get to that in full, trust me. But in short: there is simply no evidence at this time that Mr. Mangione’s Miranda rights were violated, much less that he hadn’t been read them at all, or that his attorney ever made that claim. This is just a straight-up fantasy made up by OP to spread conspiracy thinking. This is why I strongly advise not reblogging posts purporting to contain real-life information unless they both have a source and you have personally checked that source. It’s hard to do consistently (I know I’ve accidentally spread misinformation before!), but this post is a really good example about why you need to do both. Especially because:

This post is spreading a common misconception about what your Miranda rights are, when they apply, and what they mean. And people in the notes are really, really confused, in a way that – speaking from experience – can do real harm.

(And disclaimer up top: This post is about U.S. law. As such, I’m going to be addressing the parts talking about the law to folks living in the U.S. None of discussion about the law here applies outside of the U.S.)

(Second disclaimer: I am an attorney, but I am not your attorney. I outline some theoretical situations below purely as illustrative examples to make some of the explanations more accessible. Every factual situation is different, the law in every jurisdiction is different. Please do not avoid getting legal advice about your specific situation because you think this post is enough - this is information, not legal advice. If you are arrested and you begin a sentence to your attorney with, “I read on tumblr…,” I will personally come and haunt your dreams.)

Let’s start with a basic question: what are your Miranda rights?

(And I know, you know what your Miranda rights are! You've seen it on TV a dozen times! They're that speech the cops give you when they arrest you!...and if you just agreed with that last statement: please keep reading. Because the cops don't need to read them to you when you are being arrested, unless they are about to start questioning you right then and there.)

This post by the ACLU has a good, simple summary of what are commonly referred to as your Miranda rights, or Miranda warning:

“The Miranda rule, which the Supreme Court recognized as a constitutional right in its 1966 decision Miranda v. Arizona, requires that suspects be informed of their Fifth and Sixth Amendment rights "prior to interrogation" if their statements are to be used against them in court.”

I think it is helpful to think of your Miranda rights as two overlapping things:

The right to be informed of your rights before being asked questions.

The substantive rights you are being informed of.

That is, you have the right:

To remain silent, because anything you say can (and likely will) be used against you in a court of law.

To the presence of an attorney during law enforcement questioning.

And if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you prior to any questioning.

These rights derive directly from the constitution of the United States. They exist independently, regardless of whether you are told about them.

In Miranda v. Arizona, SCOTUS held, “without proper safeguards, the process of in-custody interrogation of persons suspected or accused of crime contains inherently compelling pressures which work to undermine the individual's will to resist and to compel him to speak where he would not otherwise do so freely. In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436, 467 (1966).

Essentially, SCOTUS said, look. These rights exist on paper. But if there aren’t procedural protections in place, including and especially telling people that they have these rights, the cops can and will just steamroll over people.

And this is true. Even with Miranda, cops pressure people into false confessions.

So you also have the right to be informed that you have the right to remain silent and you have a right to an attorney before you are questioned by the police while you are in custody.

This is a good place to pause and look at the dependent clauses in that last sentence.

First: You need to be informed of your Miranda rights before you are questioned by the police. Like most rights in the U.S., your Miranda rights exist to protect you from government action. There is not a loophole where you can scream confessions to any crime you want and then when the police come to silently arrest you, they can’t do it because they didn’t read you your rights before you started talking. You always have the right to remain silent (don't talk to the cops, even before they read you your rights); before you are questioned by the police, it is up to you to exercise that right (or not).

Second: While you are in police custody. Again, to quote from Miranda, “An understanding of the nature and setting of this in-custody interrogation is essential to our decisions today.” Miranda 384 U.S., at 445. This doesn’t mean you have to be arrested, but, you do need to be "not free to leave." (This is also why you should also clarify, if you have not already been arrested, "am I free to leave." Because you can be "in custody" before you are arrested. Asking this question puts the burden on the police to either let you leave or trigger your Miranda rights.) For example, this is why if your new buddy Bob in your direct action group asks you all sorts of questions about your protest activities and plans, and then Bob turns out to be an undercover fed, your statements to Bob can be used against you in trial when the government says you were committing crimes. Bob, in fact, did not need to tell you he was a cop, and he did not need to inform you of your rights.

Finally, let’s talk about what happens if your Miranda rights are violated: either because the police didn’t read you your rights and obtain a waiver, or because they did not fully honor the execution of those rights. (For example, you said, “I am invoking my right to remain silent. I am revoking my right to an attorney,” and they locked you in to a room and badgered you with questions until you talked.)  

Again, from Miranda: “Our holding will be spelled out with some specificity in the pages which follow, but, briefly stated, it is this: the prosecution may not use statements, whether exculpatory or inculpatory, stemming from custodial interrogation of the defendant unless it demonstrates the use of procedural safeguards effective to secure the privilege against self-incrimination.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 444 (1966).

That is: if your Miranda rights were violated, any statement you made as a result of that violation can’t be used against you in your criminal trial. Those statements would be “suppressed,” which means the jury would not be allowed to hear that you made them.

What could this look like in practice?

Let’s say you are arrested for "possessing illegal drugs" and brought to the police station. You walk into the interrogation room, and before the police say anything, you say, "I didn’t know possessing testosterone was illegal!” (Statement 1) The officer then asks, “Where did you get the testosterone?” And you reply, “I bought it on the internet.” (Statement 2).

If I was being asked to analyze this scenario on a law school exam, I would say that Statement 2 probably couldn’t be introduced at trial. You were in custody, and your statement was in response to a direct question by a police officer, asked before you were read your Miranda warnings.

So, your attorney could file a motion, asking the court to “suppress” the statement. And, assuming the court agreed, the jury at your trial would not hear that you said you bought the testosterone on the internet.

But what about Statement 1? Your attorney could still try to suppress the statement, but there is a strong chance they would lose, because when you said you didn't know possessing testosterone was illegal, it wasn't in response any question. So technically, your rights were (probably) not violated, according to the law.

Shorter version of what this means in practice: Don’t talk to the cops! Ever! Invoke your rights and say nothing else!

This is especially true because if you read Miranda, you may have noticed this line:

“If the interrogation continues without the presence of an attorney and a statement is taken, a heavy burden rests on the government to demonstrate that the defendant knowingly and intelligently waived his privilege against self-incrimination and his right to retained or appointed counsel.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 475.

This “heavy burden” element of Miranda has been, in my opinion, nearly completely whittled away. It is, in observed practice, normally sufficient merely for an officer to testify that of course he read the suspect his Miranda rights, and then the guy just kept talking after making some weird statement about a “lawyer dog.” And the courts will agree that yep, that’s a sufficient waiver! (For more, if you are interested, this publication by a California DA’s office is a bit old, but includes examples of a bunch of circumstances in which courts have found someone waived their rights. Don't talk to the cops. Invoke your rights and then shut the fuck up and keep shutting the fuck up.)

If you can’t tell from my tone, I think this is a horrendous miscarriage of justice that is both baked into our system and that is enacted against far too many people every day. It is something I care, very deeply, about. I think you should care too – as a citizen, because you should know what is going on in your country, what is being done to other people here; and because you may one day be on a jury – and because someday it may be done to you.

And spreading conspiracies about how unusual all this is, how this one saintly man is being targeted – this doesn’t spread awareness of the real problems with the legal system. It allows the impression that the system is otherwise working fine, justice is being done and the only people being treated this badly are the really really bad ones,* and the ones that are being targeted by Them.

*This is not be reading between the lines and extrapolating. OP literally straight up make this claim in another post. We will go into more detail on that later.

And if you want this all in a shorter and more digestible form: this tumblr post has a good breakdown, and I specifically recommend the video at the end.

_________________________________________________________

Right. So. Now that you have read over a thousand words of background, read a legal decision from the 1960s, read several articles and another tumblr post, and watched a 45 minute video, let’s return to OP’s posts, and the misconception they are spreading.

We are going to put aside for the moment the lie that Mr. Mangione's lawyer said he was angry “because he was never read his miranda rights, etc.” – again, we will get back to that. The underlying idea of these posts is that because Mr. Mangione supposedly wasn’t read his rights, 1) the police didn’t follow basic procedure and 2) therefore, the entire case must get thrown out.

I hope that after reading all of the above, you understand why this is incorrect. But just in case:

The police did not need to read him his rights unless they conducted a custodial interrogation. We have no idea if they did so or not (as OP admits elswhere).

Even if his rights were violated, there is nothing “defacto null and void” about any interrogation. His attorney would have to file a motion to suppress any statements that resulted from that interrogation.

Even upon motion by his attorneys, the judge would not and could not throw out “this entire case.” If he made statements during a custodial interrogation after the police failed to advise him of his Miranda rights, his attorney could file a motion to suppress those statements, and the judge would decide if those statements could be used at trial. Other evidence could still be introduced, including other statements he may have made in other contexts. The posts gesture in the direction of this reality – (“any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court”) – but this gesturing is overwhelmed by the rest of the posts (“they have failed to follow basic procedure”; “This is a major red flag of police corruption”; “that alone can get this entire case thrown out”; “[the interrogation is] defacto null and void”).

And indeed, looking through the notes, a large number of people do have this misunderstanding. For example:

 “#They quite literally have to throw your case out if they don’t read you your Mirandas”

“#any 12 year old kid can tell you that the first thing that happens whene you get arrested is your rights!”

(I generally don’t recommend taking legal advice from 12 year olds, especially since most of their experience with the criminal legal system should be coming from media. That said, unfortunately there are far too many 12 years old who do have real life experience with the criminal legal system. That is one of the many fucked up things about the criminal injustice system.)

And I care, because this misunderstanding can do real harm!

I want to return to a sentence I quoted from Miranda earlier: “In order to combat these pressures and to permit a full opportunity to exercise the privilege against self-incrimination, the accused must be adequately and effectively apprised of his rights, and the exercise of those rights must be fully honored.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 467.

When people don’t have full information about their rights, when they misunderstand them, it makes it much less likely that they will be able to fully and effectively exercise those rights.

For example, someone may feel like it’s okay to talk to the police as long as they haven’t been charged, or their Miranda rights haven’t been read to them – because before the police use your words against you, they have to read you your Miranda rights! This may not even reach the level of a conscious thought, but exist as a general impression that your right to remain silent only matters, is only important, after the police read you your rights.

Or they may, like many people reblogging this post, think hey, wait, isn't it true that if you're arrested and the police never read you your Miranda rights, your case needs to be thrown out!? I was never read my rights, and so my case needs to be thrown out!

And then have to find out they are wrong.

(And if you don’t think that is a real harm – I can tell you, from being on the other side of that conversation as a defense attorney – yes. Yes it is. Part of why I’m being so vitriolic in this response is my knowledge that the spreading of this misinformation makes it more likely that more of those conversations will happen.)

Speaking of the notes: several people in the notes are repeating some variation of the claim that SCOTUS decided that “Miranda rights aren’t required anymore.” This is a misunderstanding of Vega v. Tekoh, 597 U.S. ___ (2022). As I stated up at the top of this post (remember the top of this post? I swear to god this was supposed to be a short response), SCOTUS ruled in Vega that if the police do not read you your rights, you cannot file a civil lawsuit (aka a lawsuit where you are asking for money) against the police. This case is a travesty against the idea of justice, rights, and the rule of law, because it makes it much harder to hold the police accountable for their misconduct.

Multiple people in the notes cited to an ACLU article about the case, including some who actually quoted the article.

And almost every single one of them misunderstood it.

This decision had zero legal effect on how failing to inform someone of their Miranda rights would impact that person’s criminal trial. It has to do with whether the person has any civil remedies. 

And. I think everyone who did this honestly meant well. And I know that understanding the law is really hard – there is a reason law school takes three years and rewires your brain in the process. But. It’s in the article: “While the court’s decision does not as a formal matter reduce the police officer’s obligation to issue Miranda warnings — or what individuals in police custody should do or say (or not do and not say) — it cuts off a critical means by which people whose rights have been violated can actually vindicate the promise of those rights.” (I'm keeping the link from the original because it's a very helpful know your rights article.)

My best guess is that this misunderstanding (to the extent it’s not just people remembering poorly-reported news, or other misinformed social media posts) comes from reading the quoted bit of Kagan’s dissent, where she said, “The majority observes that defendants may still seek ‘the suppression at trial of statements obtained’ in violation of Miranda’s procedures. But sometimes, such a statement will not be suppressed.” And they thought this meant that the case means that statements wouldn’t be suppressed? But that’s just no true: Kagan is just describing a thing that sometimes happens. As in, it is the thing that literally happened to Tekoh, the guy who tried to sue the officer who violated his rights. The statements should have been suppressed, but they weren’t, and so the jury heard the statements.

And, look. There is nothing wrong with not understanding the law. Or even articles talking about the law. The problem is that you need to recognize when you might not understand something, and don’t make claims about the thing you don’t understand.

Because. Again, going back to the bit of Miranda that I keep quoting: you don’t meaningfully have a right if you don’t know about and understand that right. When you go on the internet and spread misinformation about the state of people’s rights, you, in effect, are helping perpetrate the denial of those rights. 

________________________________________________

Alright.

So that is where I originally meant to end this response. But I wanted to know what OP’s source was, so I dug through the notes.

And I found this reply by OP confirming that someone else had found their source in this post.

And. Well.

I normally would give credit to someone for actually having a source. In this case, I’m not even going to credit them with this actually being their source at the time of their original post – their post begins, “Update!," but this article is from early December, and they don't mention it until someone else links to it. But this is what they are claiming as their source.  

And: The article and the attached video interview don’t say what OP says they say. They just. Literally don’t say that. So why does OP claim they do? Let’s look at their post. It begins:

“Some clarification: Miranda rights are the right to know that you have access to legal representation and that any police questioning and interrogation they subject you to are optional, that you are a willing participant of any police questioning and interrogation, that you are not being forced to speak to police or otherwise being interrogated under duress, that you confirm you are not being coerced or threatened by police into providing incriminating information, and that the interrogation can be ended at any time at your request by asking to speak with the legal representation you have the right to call upon. They also detail that if you don't have a private attorney to request, they have to appoint you a public one.”

Now, this is not a terrible description of the *contents* of your Miranda rights. But as we went through above, Miranda held that you have the right to be informed of these rights, which themselves derive from the U.S. Constitution, before being questioned. In fact, the Court in Miranda specifically held, “The Fifth Amendment privilege is so fundamental to our system of constitutional rule, and the expedient of giving an adequate warning as to the availability of the privilege so simple, we will not pause to inquire in individual cases whether the defendant was aware of his rights without a warning being given.” Miranda, 384 U.S., at 468. That is, it doesn’t matter if you know your rights – you still have to be read them. (I’m nitpicking here, I know, but if you are draping yourself in expertise in order to spread misinformation, I am going to nitpick your “clarifications.”) This distinction is important, and actually OP’s next sentence is a good example as to why:

“So for Luigi to not be aware, he would have had to have not even been read those rights.”

“Not to be aware”? Not to be aware of what? Presumably that he had a right to an attorney, I guess?

But the cited article and interview just show his lawyer saying that he didn’t have legal representation until he went into court. (Again, fucked up, especially under the circumstances - but also, many of the clients I had as a Public Defender met me for the first time a few minutes before their first court hearing. Far less unusual than you would hope.) It doesn't say he wasn’t aware that he had the right to an attorney!!

I could go through the poor reasoning here, of assuming that because Mr. Mangione (supposedly) didn’t know he had a right to attorney, that means he wasn’t read his rights, when (again, even if that was true) there could be plenty of other theoretical explanations. Some much worse scenarios, in my opinion! For example, maybe he was read his rights, and asked for an attorney, and was told one wasn’t available and the thought…AND OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING – this goes beyond speculation! This is just fanfic! We have literally zero reason to believe any of this happened! The poor reasoning and jumping to conclusions is irrelevant because the thing you are jumping off of is literally just a fantasy you made up in your head!

“It's not clear if he has been interrogated or questioned by police, but it's likely.”

And you know it! You know you are just making stuff up!

“It does mean that if he was questioned or interrogated without being read those rights, anything he said at that time is inadmissible in court and cannot be used against him.”

This is true! It’s also fucking proof, @saint-luigi-of-fiji, that you are a fucking liar, purposefully spreading misinformation. You KNOW what the remedy for a Miranda violation is. You know, or should know, it doesn’t mean “that alone can get this entire case thrown out.”

“Luigi's attorney is explaining that Luigi is fearful and stressed in this footage and during his initial arraignment because he was somehow able to be lead to the conclusion he wasn't going to have legal representation or his own right to a fair trial whatsoever.”

That’s not what he says.

Just.

You can listen to the audio yourself. I’ve roughly transcribed the relevant portion below, but please, please check it out yourself. Don’t take my word for this either. The speaker is Mr. Mangione’s attorney:

“Yeah - that - so, first of all, about this outrage. Uh, you know, he’s irritated, agitated about what’s happening to him and what he’s being accused of. He never had any legal representation until he walked into that building yesterday. Um, and I talked to him. And if you notice - look at the film - look at the difference between when he went in and when he come out. So once he got in, he finally had legal representation. I’d like to think that he had somebody that he can trust, and has faith in. And now he has a-a-a spokesperson. Someone that’s gonna fight for him. Um. And so I think you’ll see a big difference in the demeanor. And I think that part of that - uh - whatever you want to interpret that as yesterday was a lot of the frustration of being a young man thrown in jail, uh, and being accused of very serious matters.”

[News archer speaks, asking if the attorney met Mr. Mangione after the video clip of Mr. Mangione shouting.]

“That’s correct. I...[speaking over each other]…no actually, that was in the holding area. And I was on the other side of that. So my first contact with him, visually, was before I even had the chance to speak to him, was him coming through that door, and you, you saw the interaction between he and the sheriff’s department. And – and – then, look at the, look at the video of him coming out, and look at the difference. He’s now had legal counsel. I, I was upset that he didn’t have any legal counsel prior to that. That extradition hearing came upon pretty quick. And he hadn’t talked to anybody.”

(emphasis added by me)

The claim that OP is making is specifically about why Mr. Mangione was upset. So I added, for emphasis, every time the lawyer made a claim about someone being upset, and the reason. His attorney says repeatably that Mr. Mangione was upset because he has been arrested, held in jail, and been accused of very serious matters. The lawyer also says that he, personally, is upset that Mr. Mangione did not have an attorney prior to their meeting.

There is not even a whisper of an implication of a suggestion that Mr. Mangione “was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.”

This is just a fucking lie. It isn’t in the article, it isn’t in the video, it is literally just stuff you made up, and are pretending is reality. This isn’t a misunderstanding, this isn’t a game of telephone - it’s just a lie.

YOU ARE LITERALLY STRAIGHT UP LYING. AND FOR FUCKING WHAT. Is it because you believe that the injustices of the criminal legal system are fucking fine when they apply to other people, people who aren’t “saints”? (Because actually the bad people, the really guilty people, should just be killed.) Or because you have decided to form a parasocial bond with a man experiencing some of the worst things this country does to people, making up fantasies about him, and his personal life, and how he really feels.

Other people’s real suffering is not a playground for you to write your fanfic* and pretend it is reality, especially when in doing so, you spread real misinformation and harm.

*To be upfront on my biases and clear on my objection: RPF is very much not my cup of tea, but I don’t think it is inherently immoral. My specific objection here is that this person is collapsing reality into their fanfic, specifically spreading misinformation and encouraging conspiracy theories to make reality more like their fun, consumable escapism.

And again, to be clear: OP knows they are making this up. In another post, they say, “Source is CNN, and here's daily beast reuploading the CNN interview. It might not be coming up because the words "Miranda rights" weren't used, but they are the rights that haven't been given to him if he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

OP could try to argue they misunderstood, but again, in his interview, at no point does his attorney even suggest something that could be reasonably construed as implying “he was not at any point aware he was going to have access to attorneys or legal counsel.”

“Thankfully he now has four attorneys, including Dickey, who are defending him and you can see he is no longer having 'outbursts' out of fear.”

Point me to the time stamp in your "source" where his attorney suggests Mr. Mangione was doing anything “out of fear.”

“Whatever happened during his arrest and detainment, he wasn't given any indication of his rights. But he thankfully does have those rights, and attorneys.”

Again, this is just…fanfic. There is no other word for you. You are writing fanfic (fine) and passing it off as reality because…it matches the dramatic narrative you want? It makes your uwu hotboy a real martyr, unlike all those vicious “cannibals” who are usually charged with crimes?

And yeah. That’s really what OP thinks. From another post by this asshole: “Was then placed in solitary confinement for weeks. Something extremely damaging psychologically to be exposed to for even just a few days. Something usually reserved for cannibals.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Look. I actually went back and revised this post to make it less vitriolic, OP, because my goal is not to hurt you.* I hope you have no idea of the kind of harm you are causing. But my god, you are saying and doing monstrous things, and you need to fucking stop.

*I will also haunt the dreams of anyone who harasses OP. Don't even think about going into their inbox.

_____________________________________________________

Ok.

So just to round things out, I’ll quickly address the rest of the claims in OP’s second post above:

 “You didn't DNA test him because New York sidewalk is too contaminated, didn't fingerprint him because you don't have usable fingerprints at the scene,”

According to the police, they did take his fingerprints. I don't trust statements by the police, but this is a routine part of booking, so I would be surprised if they didn’t.

I don’t know if they took his DNA. But for what it’s worth, it’s currently not legal in Pennsylvania for the police to collect routine DNA samples upon arrest. So I’m not sure what the objection is here..?

As far as I can tell, although I don’t know where OP is getting this because they don't cite a souce, this claim appears to originate from people misunderstanding the “Defendant Identification Information” section of the Pennsylvania complaint.

“you have no way of knowing he's even the right guy, no one can identify that it's him in the footage, even fbi facial recognition software can't recognize him as the cctv suspect”

Look. To give you an idea of the problems here: let’s say this is all true. All of the reasons the police have given as to why he is the person who killed that evil CEO are dismantled by his legal team.

The place to do that, in our legal system, is the trial. These are questions of fact, which are decided at trial. I don’t want to say trials are a good way of finding fact. In fact, they often result in miscarriages of justice. But in our legal system, facts are decided at trial. Even if the judge agreed with all of the above, they wouldn’t and couldn’t throw this entire case out, because that’s not how this works!

I also want to emphasize, again, that this isn’t the system targeting Mr. Mangione. There are people every day who you don’t care about (“nobodies,” to use the term OP used to refer to ordinary people who are shot in the post linked above - because literally they don’t care about anyone except their fantasy version of Mr. Mangione) who are charged, and held, and convicted, on very little evidence. Which is a grave injustice that should frustrate and incite you, not lead you to post conspiracies and misinformation.

“you interrogated him under duress, and that's the ONLY thing you have on him? The thing that's defacto null and void because none of you can follow even basic procedure?”

And we’ve gone through this exhaustively, but Jesus fucking Christ.

You l know that you’re just making the “interrogation” up. Like, yes, maybe there will be evidence in the future there was an interrogation! And maybe there will be allegations or reason to believe there was impropriety and/or illegality in that interrogation! But right now, this is just your fantasy, and you're passing it off to thousands of people as real information

And like, I agree with his defense attorney! I take claims of evidence, especially from the police, with enough salt to brine a boar! But there is a massive difference between, “I will wait for confirmation of actual evidence before I believe any claims” and just…claiming the opposite is true without evidence.

____________________________________________________

I will end with this coda:

There is plenty of bullshit to talk about regarding this situation. Both in how it is being talked about by the news, and how it is proceeding (and especially in how he is being charged). But part of that bullshit is this rampant conspiracy theorizing.

If this situation leads to people recognizing the problems with the criminal injustice system, great! But:

Conspiracy thinking is bad, no matter where it is directed. And there is reason to believe that thinking conspiratorially (in general) is strongly predictive for believing in other conspiracy theories.

The impression I’m getting from many people, not just OP, is less, “it’s terrible that people accused of crimes are treated this way” and more, “the fact this [both innocent and morally good] person is being treated this way indicates that he is being specifically targeted by the System.” [Implied: it either doesn’t happen to other people, or it does happen to other people and they deserve it.]

And on that note, I do not "hope [it] is true" that Mr. Mangione’s rights were violated. Because he's a human being, not just a guy who represents something people support; their uwu hotboy; their real life blorbo.

I hope that if he did not do it, he is not convicted. Regardless of whether or not he did it, as someone who believes in prison abolition, I hope he does not have to spend one more day incarcerated. I wish all of the attention and resources being dedicated to catching and prosecuting and covering him in the media (and more) were being dedicated to doing something – anything – against the murderous for-profit healthcare system in the U.S.

And in conclusion:

Check the sources before you believe or spread a claim.

Don’t make claims about the law if you don’t really understand it.

Don’t make up facts.

Don’t talk to the cops.

Update! Luigi's Attorney Dickey confirms that his "outburst" where he tells the cameras that this is unjust, was because he was never read his miranda rights and was under the impression at that time that he was being denied the right to a fair trial, an attorney, or any legal representation.

He is angry and terrified in that footage because they have failed to follow basic procedure to inform him that he has any rights at all. This is a major red flag of police corruption. This is UNACCEPTABLE and further means any interrogation they did of him is unlawful, and inadmissible in court.

[bonus-links]

MY TIME HAS COME please discuss in great detail the GrooZeLink dynamics in prologue part 5. I am so intrigued by the stark differences between this shot:

And this shot:

The scar on triforce. The hiding. Please tell me everything there is to know

this is 4 u groozelinkers

why did i do text bubbles this way. how did anyone read this comic. god bless.

this is essentially Loft Monologues His Feelings The Update. It was very important to me that the audience understands where Loft's head is at from the get-go. and like listen, sometimes u have to have a bestie debrief even if ur bestie is a dormant sword spirit who can't talk to u. if bonus links was a musical this would be Loft's I want song lol

jokes aside I think Loft comes here to talk to Fi a lot. it makes him feel both better and worse

LOFTS FI IMPRESSION i feel like he used to do this a lot and thought it was so funny and every time Fi would be like. objectively that is not what i sound like. also, peep the textbox pattern!

even though Loft has trouble acclimating to life on the surface, it was important to me to show that it's not all like. angst and doom and gloom. But that's kind of the problem right? things are good, and he feels like this anyway. also I did my best to include most of the young adult skyloft npcs, I feel like the older one have mostly stayed up on Skyloft for now. LAKE TRIP!!

this is a direct reference to this shot from the game. this line of dialogue is an important thing to keep in mind. tbh the entire reason this comic exists is bc i thought too hard about the implications of skyward sword— what if you found out your girlfriend was really your god, who had orchestrated your entire life? wouldn't that make everything feel a little strange, even if you love her more than anything? much to think about

I like the scar through the triforce mark as a kind of symbolic gesture, but there's not really any intended meaning behind the two pieces of the triforce is goes through. feel free to interpret it however u like tho lol

AND THIS SHOT my headcanon is that Loft doesn't actually help much with the early building in Faron. It's partially because he can't- he pushes his body to the limit during his quest, and then completely crashes when it's over, and it takes a loooong time to even start recovering. He spends most of the time sleeping.

But it's also partially because he doesn't actually want to move to the surface. He wants to stay on Skyloft. In my mind it's like. he fought really hard to return to a state of normalcy that doesn't exist anymore, and that's hard to come to terms with. This is Zelda and Groose's project, and while he'll go along with it, he's not that enthusiastic about it. It's a source of tension in their relationship. Combined with Zelda often acting as a mouthpiece for the gods, it starts to grate on Loft that this aspect of his future has also apparently been decided.

tldr groozelink love each other a lot but things are definitely not perfect, and especially not right now

this is actually something I intended to get a little bit more into in ch2, but the chapter kind of. wrote itself away from it. every time I tried to include a scene with it, it felt too much like I was forcing characters to have too many heart-to-hearts too early. we'll get there eventually

this is an important update in the grand scheme of things :-) mystery mouseketool etc etc

[babyboywilson]

sitting on the couch, hands interlocked, with a mostly empty box of valentine’s chocolates balanced on cas’ thigh, dean squeezed cas’ hand softly.

4 years.

they’d been married 4 years.

dean didn’t even think he’d be able to manage 4 months in an actual relationship without pushing the other person away or running the other direction as quick as he could because commitment wasn’t his thing. but here cas was 4 years later. still sitting by dean’s side. still wearing the ring dean had slid onto his ring finger in front of their family. still loving dean more and more every day.

cas had showered dean with valentine’s and wedding anniversary gifts throughout the day. but dean was holding onto his gift for cas. waiting for the right moment to give it to him. they were sat watching an old western movie-one of dean’s favorites- but dean wasn’t paying attention. he was reflecting on their marriage. how they’d ended up here. how they were still married after 4 years.

there were good days and bad days. days where dean couldn’t stand looking at cas’ face and he stormed out the room and blasted his music as loud as it would go. days where cas would sleep on the couch because he refused to touch dean if dean was going to act like a dick. but the one thing they never did was walk out. they never left. they went as far as a couple rooms apart and that was it. they needed the reassurance that even when they were seething with rage, they could still find their way back to each other. they could still see each other and know they were there. because that fear that seeped in was undeniable. the fear clawed it’s way up dean’s throat - seeing cas dragged away by black ooze with no way for dean to save him. the despair cas felt of being completely alone with nothing but emptiness surrounding him and no way back to dean.

but there were good days too. and god, were they good. the way cas would surprise dean by cooking dean dinner on a random tuesday after dean had been out in the garage working on the impala for hours. dean stopping to get cas flowers on his way home from the grocery store just to see the fond smile on cas’ face. the absolutely tender way cas made love to him, so soft and gentle it tore dean’s heart apart and put it back together again brighter than ever. how cas would be walking down the hall with a basket of laundry and dean would snag the basket from his hands, press cas back against the wall, and make out with him until there were stars in cas’ eyes just because the angel was walking around in dean’s old sweatshirt and the sight was so good dean wanted to meld their souls together by kissing cas breathless.

it was worth it. the good and the bad. it was worth it all to have this beautiful angel by his side.

his husband.

cas squeezed dean’s hand back, breaking dean from his thoughts.

“what are you thinking about?” cas asked, dragging his thumb softly across the back of dean’s hand.

dean dragged his eyes away from the tv and over to cas. he hadn’t been watching anyway. he’d been too busy thinking about cas. “you,” he said simply.

“i’m right here,” cas said gently. the same way he always did when dean got lost in thought. that soft look was back on cas’ face again. the look of sheer adoration the angel got when he allowed dean to see and feel the love cas had for him.

finally, dean had found the right moment. with his free hand, he reached out and opened the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out a wooden box. a box he’d spent weeks carving himself in the garage. “happy valentine’s day,” dean said, placing the box into cas’ hand.

cas looked down at the box, then up to dean, and back down to the box. “that’s… there’s… where did you find a box with enochian on it?”

shaking his head, dean shifted cas’ fingers to trace over the enochian carved into the lid of the box. “i didn’t.”

cas’ eyebrows scrunched downwards in confusion, until he’d traced the last letter with his fingertip. ‘cas winchester.’

“you made this?”

dean nodded softly. “enochian is a bitch of a language to learn,” he said with a huff. guiding cas’ hand, he opened the box, revealing a carved wooden ring cushioned in the center of the box.

cas’ eyes filled with tears as he stroked his thumb over the ring. recognition dawned over his face a moment later as he translated the enochian. “that’s… our vows. you engraved our vows in enochian?”

all dean could do was nod. his throat suddenly felt thick with unshed tears and words seemed to fail him. slowly, cas slipped the ring from the box and slid it onto his ring finger above the gold band that dean had placed there 4 years ago. on their wedding day, dean had brought cas’ hand to his lips and kissed his finger where the ring sat. and he found himself copying the motion now; guiding cas’ hand up to his lips and placing a soft lingering kiss against the wooden ring on cas’ finger.

the look in cas’ eyes as he locked gazes with dean was so lovestruck that dean glanced away. too much love. too much devotion. it made dean feel like he was breaking apart; shattering into pieces in cas’ hands.

“dean,” cas murmured, reaching out and stroking his hand across dean’s jaw; tilting his head until cas could rest their foreheads together.

taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, dean whispered in enochian, “I love you, cas. happy anniversary.”

when their lips met in kiss, dean felt cas’ grace spark between them; healing dean and intertwining their love until it became one. “I love you, too.”

[lover-of-mine]

soooo 👀 the fit of buck's clothes in that bts video 👀 👀 would love to know your thoughts 👀 👀 👀

I know, right? The way his clothes keep getting more oversized is making me vibrate. Usual shoutout to @stagefoureddiediaz, Kym talked about the fit of Buck's clothes changing back in season 7 and we were talking about it earlier, so Kym 🫶🫶

Okay, so before season 7, Buck's clothes were too tight a lot of the time, we all joked about how his buttons were about to pop off or how his arms would rip through his shirts, or how we can see the outline of his muscles perfectly. Like, sometimes it would honestly look like he was one wrong movement from ripping those.

But they changed to putting him in more oversized stuff for season 7 (and started shortening his pants, but I digress) and gets more obvious in s8.

It is partially attached to Tommy and how tommy gives him the right path but isn't the right person, since his clothes start to get looser when he starts dating him. The shirts don't fit right on his shoulders, they don't sit right on his chest, they have the wrong fit in his arms. So his overall aesthetic still doesn't fit exactly right.

The whole thing with the changing the way his clothes fit in the other direction is very indicative of how Buck still doesn't fit in his own skin, he thought dating men was the answer but he was Buck dating Tommy, he didn't look further than that, and he is spiraling further with what we know, spinning like a top one would say lol, and both scenes we saw of his clothes (yesterday's uniform possibly included), include VERY loose shirts.

I keep being drawn to the fit around his arms because my god, for a shirt to look that big on Oliver's biceps it has to be BIG lol. And while his shirts have been looser, they haven't been this big yk? And today's video, with the cropped fit, how lose it is, like, Buck is GOING through it, which makes me think this fit is from 810, just to add the emotional distress of the kidnapping to his abandonment issues being extremely triggered between the breakup and Eddie leaving.

It's all about the way Buck still hasn't gotten it right. We know Buck is on his way to figuring his feelings for Eddie out, and therefore finally understanding the final piece of the puzzle that allows him to stop over-correcting. But he's not there yet. The choices he's making don't fit exactly right. And his clothes will be the wrong size until he's ready to fight for Eddie.

But Anna what makes you think all this means buddie and that Buck's clothes will fit when Buck is ready and buddie is coming?

Well, I believe there are clues about the general idea behind buddie going canon hidden in the coming out scene. I have talked extensively about the blue and yellow elements, the way I believe this is Buck's shade of blue. I think all of it is indicative of what's to come.

And that includes how perfectly that shirt fits. The seams are resting on the right spot on his shoulder, they are the perfect length for his arm, they're not overly tight around his chest or biceps, nothing looks too big or too small.

And this isn't an accident, everything about the show is very intentional, so the clothes getting looser as he lets Eddie go even though he doesn't want to? It makes me very !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because the oversized fit also plays into the way we haven't exactly seen Buck in his signature jewel tones, the bright reds and blues, this season yet. And I think that once buddie happens he will be walking around with his brighter colors in shit that fits right lol.

So we are on the lookout for Buck in clothes that fit right and in this shade of blue.

As always, if you read all this I love you 🫶

[gangstalkerbarbie]

People in general are for some reason widely encouraged to reduce other people to monoliths that they then need to have some strong feeling about, and subsequently surprised when this leads to interpersonal conflict with people who feel aggrieved. Long post, sorry, here's a cut.

There are hyperobjects in existence which are composed of the actions and views of millions of people individually but fuck us all in concert, like capitalism or the construction of race. And then there are the people grouped in them, and like, are you seriously imagining you're doing something about any ism at large by harassing any individual?

I'm a Ukrainian Jew of an obscure little mix of particular ethnicities considered indigenous to Ukraine by the UN, all of which have seen some horrors in living memory that were only sort of related to also being Jewish.

When I came to America everyone except for white people decided I was white. This has materially impacted my wellbeing from a "the establishment cares about me any amount and my daily life is faintly normal" perspective in oh, just about no way at all. A really weird amount of people here have really weird feelings about The Polack, The Russian Spy, The Ukrainian Whore and all the rest (the average American racist who does not live online is still unable to distinguish them and disdains them all equally). But it's isolating, because there's no one other than people in the former USSR diaspora to relate to about it. I survived some fuck shit just to experience this, let me tell you. I wouldn't rather go do all that again, but seriously, all that for this?

I have zero experiences in common with Anglo-Saxons or any of the people they've let into the club — in fact the club has done things like detain and interrogate me at borders on the assumption I was traveling to prostitute myself (emphasis on why that's bad for me to do and also a crime, not on how it's human trafficking, also YES in case you are not aware it has dominated my life since I was a young teen and need it confirmed, the war, though not the part the west decided to care about, was on at the time).

The club and people in club proximity abuse me in the workplace because Slavs are to them intrinsically abuseable and I have no community to protect me (leaving aside my personal thoughts about my identity, this is how I am perceived here).

People here just generally treat me in a manner that enables me to relate to the experience of WOC and alienates me from white women. The really fun kicker is that neither group as I encounter it in meatspace wants me because I'm an exotic Eastern menace to all of them, but whatever, I'm straight, I can make American friends online. I'm sure it's different in other states and I was just unlucky.

I can't imagine what people get out of directing ethnic-beef catharsis at me, but I hope it helps, because it's kind of fucking shitty to do, you know? So coming from here I can sympathise with guys and also with real white people, who actually do belong to some category comprising a hyperobject whose particular systemic manifestation violates people's human rights, but have never or think they've never personally done anything. I actually have never personally done anything and neither have any of my ancestors, and people feel oppressed by me for no reason to do with me personally too. It probably feels kind of weird knowing that your great grandpappy actually was a segregationist and no one will ever give you any benefit of any doubt about it. Something about Puritan guilt culture?

Tbf though, me, I'm constantly annoyed by receiving only one of the benefits (white police ignore me if there's other people to harass, and I'm not la migra's first priority, which is also true of for example many Arabs and at least used to be true of Chinese people, in case you need a familiar benchmark for where I'm at) and all of the flak from everyone else about everything.

Material realities aside, it takes a lot to be normal about this for me, so like yeah ok I'm willing to accept that men or white people or whoever find it confronting that some people might exist who they think go around thinking accusatory thoughts about them. I don't fault them for their guilt complex. I have an irrational, probably indelible "holy shit fuck all of you and your dumbfuck invasive imperialist caste system, project it on my ancient and anciently diverse specific regional culture which is in your framework actively being colonised right now one more time I fucking dare you" complex about literally everyone in the Anglospheric race meta, which I have to actively restrain to have a public life and be able to make friends; everybody's got their brain roaches. Mine is that nowhere near everyone is ever actually doing that, but I've Pavloved myself, and this is my bitter melon.

And does it kind of blow to be put in a position where /I/ have to check my anger at being abused and therapise the objectively more powerful person trying to hurt me, yeah, no shit. I'm going to have to commend the last person's mom because if anyone in any setting where I have any rights at all (not a citizen, very few of them) yells at me, it's over for them and I'm not negotiating that, someone else can educate that person. I'm defending myself thanks. I was born desperate and value nothing, try me.

But not everyone who's in some American way privileged over me and has some dumb ideas about me is constantly trying to hurt me — sometimes people are just angry and tired and ignorant, and bell hooks is right.

Sometimes, if you're not in danger in a situation (you make that call, idk anything about you), it's worth remembering that the systems that create abusers also abuse the entire demographic the abusers come from. And you can't dismantle the master's house with the master's tools. If you could, braver and smarter people than us would have succeeded already, and we wouldn't have to have, like, revolutions about it, like the October Revolution, or the Haitian, or the Cuban.

Racism and patriarchy both make the people they ostensibly uplift emotionally kind of stunted in relation to the people they enable them to hold power over, and incline them to scream and wave that power at the nearest convenient target when remotely threatened by anything. All my homies who've ever tried to assist a bewildered but entitled Russian or American tourist, for example, understand this intimately. We've all served a Karen.

It's a cage-fighting-dog-eat-learned-helplessness-experiment-dog world out there. You kind of learn to treat the ones you can tolerate like children, by which I don't mean dehumanise them, I mean just ... be gentle when you can, assume that you're the one with emotional maturity and experience of the world here (you are, the system requires that you be the only one in this dialectic to develop either). 90% of the time they're lashing out because they feel small and tortured, and with men in many places in general they've been taught to replace most emotions with anger. Do what you want with that information, but it helps just to know it.

Because who do your sons learn about men's world from? Grown men, regardless of what you want, that's just how it works. If there are no men that do not merely believe but actively know that compassion is something everyone deserves, the boys will grow up to reject it as girl shit or female manipulation or whatever it is now, and that's how we got where we are with the American men situation, where I saw meat chocolates being sold for Valentine's day the other day that were like, military sasquatch-themed. (The fever dream nature of American children's everything is a topic for another post.)

No one I saw bought them because they're dumb, but think about what this means: men here both reject love as false when it appears and hypothetically expect sincere love to be provided, and that in a way that isn't emasculating according to farcical rules their women don't even think to keep up with, dictated to them by the online manosphere, in the logic of an abuser. That logic is reproduced and shown to children and teenagers on the scale of however many people shop at that Walmart.

What dude blew up at his girl for getting him heart chocolates and who thought the solution was not divorce immediately but heart-shaped sasquatch jerky? When the next guy beats someone up over that, are they going to replace the hearts with little tanks? Where are any cultural representations of healthy, humanising, respectful love between men and women?

There's no help for those chuds, I don't think, they're already gone. And I would never date one, but even just to prevent someone you know from metastasizing into that, I think it's worth it to put in the emotional labour of checking in on guys in your life, if you have any. Keep it to the ones you like or can't avoid, don't worry about random dicks unless you have bandwidth that day and want to. You're one person, random dicks are their mums' responsibility in the end, it's hard out here for a bitch and that's already an impact on life for future generations of children.

When I say this I'm really mostly saying it, for your safety, about little and teenage boys, who are still malleable and less likely to be able to hurt you. Kudos if you can do this for shitty adult male strangers, but realistically I reject the focus on what we can do for them over any attempt to get them to think about what they should quit doing to us, I'm sorry if that's bad intersectional feminism, I'm human though. I have this same take regarding race relations if you needed to know I'm consistent: be constructive if you can, disengage if you can't, it's not your job to educate anyone in the sense that you have the right to leave any situation arbitrarily whenever, but at the same time it is somebody's sometime, because the government literally deliberately hoards and obscures knowledge of reality from these overclasses.

Kids, however, the future of any society? Them punks can't read, it's like, a whole national literacy crisis. Where are they going to even learn about what to read, let alone find it, if there are all these men shooting up schools and politicians screwing with the curriculum? As a general rule I go out of my way for all children and I think so should you. They're not going to learn to be responsible when they're bigger and stronger than other people unless when they're little and weak, adults are unconditionally responsible with them.

Cultural change starts with the children and their caregivers and relies on public opinion, so in whatever small ways are possible I think we should try to be good influences on the next generation.

If you can't be fucked to engage with strange men, which is honestly completely understandable, I don't cultivate them either, then model kindness to children and the old people raising them. That will help more than playing therapist to people who don't think you're people, anyway, though you'll know which men you can help because they know you also have a soul when you see them, and I think it can't hurt to be kind.

part of the reason i love how bell hooks talks about masculinity is that she shows real compassion towards men suffering from the effects of toxic masculinity. she was conscious of how we need to unlearn the ways we talk about men + masculinity just as much as we need to unlearn the same for women + femininity. so many times ill see someone talking about toxic masculinity like (hyperbolizing here but only slightly) "these FUCKING STUPID BABY BITCHES won't MAN UP and go to a therapist!!!" and like. i get the anger. but you see feminists recreating patriarchal manhood by only promoting good behaviors through patriarchal frameworks. any use of the term "real men" is bad because it reifies the idea that manhood is a special title you must earn, and it is something possible to fail and fake. & as important as it is to promote sexual equality + the pleasure of non-cis-men, lots of people are essentially still working with the idea that men need sexual prowess to have worth but just shifting it slightly so there is more emphasis on women's pleasure. but I want cis men to think about their partners' pleasure because they care about their partners, not because they need to check a box in order to keep their man card. and don't get me started on small dick jokes– and the absolutely pitiful excuse people will use that "well, I don't believe it, but misogynistic men get upset when I say it, so it's okay!"

basically bell hooks is so fucking right. in order to create loving men we need to love men, simply for being alive, whether or not they are performing. as much as we need to actively unlearn misogyny (and we do), it's equally vital we unlearn patriarchal ways of seeing manhood. we can't just assume that taking a feminist perspective automatically means there is no work to be done there.

[littleslaywrites]

back to school | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni 

based on this request

summary: your return to grad school plants a fantasy in hotch’s mind.

word count: 2k

cw: smut, f!reader, age gap, soft dom!hotch, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), biting, brief fingering (f!receiving)

You had been working as a nanny for the Hotchners going on three years now. After you completed undergrad, you felt unsure about the path you wanted to take, and ended up working for Aaron. It started out professional, but he became harder to resist as time went on. You’d started dating six months later. Aaron was always a gentleman, scared to ask you out at first, especially considering your age gap. But his profiling skills came in handy, quickly figuring out that your crushes were mutual. 

Your relationship had grown over the past two and a half years. You loved your job, and you loved your boys. Aaron loved you in return, thankful he'd found someone so amazing for his family. At this point, you were part of the household, always around for movie nights and soccer games.

“What do you think of me going to grad school?” you blurted out one night. The two of you were snuggled up on the couch, a movie playing on a low volume, so as to not wake up Jack. 

“I think you should do what you feel would be best for you.”

You groaned at his answer. It was so him, wanting you to make your own decision as if you hadn’t been trying to figure it out before you asked him.

“But what do you think,” you probe. “I mean, I’d be way busier, probably too busy to be around for Jack, and I’d probably go somewhere in D.C. but it’d still be a commute which means I’d see you less–”

“Honey,” he stops your rambling, “you can’t be a nanny forever. If you want to go back to school, I’ll completely support you.” 

His words cause you to let out a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll work around your schedule. We have relatives around for when you’re busy. I don’t want you to worry about me this much, you know.”

Of course you knew, but you still worried about him. It was an exchange you two had. You both worried about each other secretly. 

Aaron always knew you’d go back to school. He was happy for you, excited that you’d finally found something you wanted to pursue in a career. Insisting on helping you through the whole process, he proofread your essay, looked over the questionnaire, and helped you debate between programs. 

Even though he would never admit it, he might have had an ulterior motive. At the mention of going back to school, he couldn’t help but picture you in the stereotypical outfit, short skirts and ties. The thought made him blush, imagining you with your head in a book and your mind consumed with your studies. 

So, when you called him asking for outfit advice before your first day, he tried to lead you in the direction of his fantasy. You settled on a button down and a skirt with a sweater over it. When you sent him a mirror selfie, he felt a rush of blood go to his cock, observing the socks that went all the way up to your knees. It’d be a long day of waiting for your classes to be over.

On your way home, you call him again, starting to tell him about all your classes. He stops you, suggesting that you come over and tell him everything in person. You obviously agree, wanting to see him at every chance you could get, especially if it meant he’d come home from the office at a normal time. 

When you enter the house, you can smell something cooking in the oven. Jack is sitting at the counter as Aaron washes dishes. 

“It smells good in here,” you say as you set your keys down by the door. 

“Jack thought you’d want pizza after your first day of school.”

“He thought right.” You take a seat at the counter, watching Aaron set plates on the table. 

You share stories of your day over dinner, comparing professors and describing all the topics covered. It was mostly syllabus discussion in your classes today, so there wasn’t much to say, but the boys were interested in all the small details. 

After the meal, you washed the dishes while Aaron put Jack to bed. You hung your sweater over the back of a chair and undid the first few buttons of your shirt. Flopping on the couch, you didn’t notice Aaron staring as you lounged. You assumed he'd join you soon, finding some show that'd serve as background noise while you leaned on his shoulder and he did remaining paperwork. You were only pulled from your thoughts when he leaned down and whispered in your ear:

“Come to bed.”

You knew what he meant, as it was far too early to actually sleep. Following behind him, you close the door to the bedroom once you’re inside. You put your weight against it, leaning so you can rub your thighs together, already wet from the sight of him removing his tie in front of you. 

“It’s a nice outfit,” he says, eyes roaming your body.

You smile, knowing the unspoken words behind the message. “My boyfriend was very helpful in choosing it.”

Returning your smile, he presses you against the door with a kiss. You close your eyes, letting his lips wash away anything in your mind other than him. His hands plant on either side of your head, supporting him as he leans against the door. He kisses you until you run out of breath, breaking apart to gasp for air. 

“You’re such a tease,” Aaron lets out between gasps, “walking around in that short skirt.”

Reaching down, he touches you lightly over your panties. Only offering a whimper in response, your hips move slightly, wanting more than he’s giving you. 

“I bet all the boys were looking at those pretty legs,” he whispers, giving your earlobe a nip. “But only I can have you.” 

His touch has you needy for him, rockin into the finger that’s rubbing you through the soaked fabric. “Only you, Aaron.”

Your words make him groan. He slides your underwear down your legs, but doesn’t replace his hand.

“On the bed,” he commands. Needing more of him, you follow his orders. When he has you like this, you can’t help but do everything he says. 

“Hands and knees.”

Crawling on the bed, you arch your back, wanting to give him the best view possible. The sigh he lets out is a sign you succeeded, and you wiggle your ass around to signal your need. 

“Patience, pretty girl,” he coos. He leaves you waiting as he undresses completely. You wish you could see him, but you don’t want to disobey him. 

Finally, his hands return to your body, flipping your skirt up to feel your ass. His touch is reverent, needing to explore every inch of your soft skin. The brushes of his fingers alternate between slow and fast, the variation giving you goosebumps. The warmth of his large hands provides a stark contrast to the cold room, and you feel yourself leaning into his palms as they run across your lower half. Unzipping it, he peels the skirt away from you. 

Suddenly, he flips you around. The sight of him above you makes your pussy flutter. The lust in his eyes is overwhelming. He leans over you to unbutton your shirt. He goes slowly, savoring every inch of skin that’s slowly revealed, pressing kisses from your chest to your low stomach. 

Peeling away your shirt, he places one more kiss on your collarbone before moving down to your legs. He runs his hands along your thighs, grabbing at the plush skin. He lays down in between your legs, holding them open as he dives into your pussy.

Just like his earlier touches, the way he eats you out is almost like worship. Aaron is always like this in bed, adoration evident in every gaze and whisper. Usually, he has a rhythm, but tonight, his mouth is sloppy. He’s moving from your clit to your cunt rapidly, needing to have his mouth all over you. He only moves away briefly to nuzzle your clit in that way he knows you love. 

He pokes his tongue into your hole, and you move your hand down to his hair. The slight tug has him moaning, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. His tongue traces around your folds, following a pattern only he knows. When he licks a stripe up to your swollen clit, you buck your hips into his face. He doesn’t stop you, letting you rub against his mouth as he suckles where you’re the most sensitive. Your grip on his hair has him humping the sheet below him. If he had less control, he’d cum at the sight of you writhing against him. 

One brush of his teeth against your bud has you teetering on the edge. Recognizing the whimpers that you mindlessly let out, he fills you with two of his fingers. The curl of them against your walls is enough to send you into your orgasm. Aaron doesn’t let up, thrusting his fingers as your juices cover his face. He only pulls away when you yelp from the overstimulation. 

Pulling back, he places a kiss on your knee, just above the top of your socks. You think he’s going to take them off, but instead he moves up, removing your bra. 

Wrapping a hand around your thigh, he brings it up so it’s pressed in between your bodies. He strokes himself a few times, taking in the image of you in your knee-high socks below him. 

You let out a broken sob as he sinks into you. You’re still recovering from the orgasm from his mouth, so every ridge of his cock is perceptible. Any other day, he’d pause due to your sensitivity, but he’s too desperate to feel you. 

Bottoming out, his tip grazes your cervix. He pauses, taking in the feeling of your warm walls around him. He doesn't even realize it when he starts to rock against you.

Coming to his senses, he pulls all the way out, watching the way you pulsate, wanting to grab him as tight as possible. Pushing back in, you cry out, feeling the twitch of his cock inside you. 

He falls into a rhythm, one hand supporting himself while the other plays with your tit. He runs his thumb along the nipple, occasionally pinching when he wants to get a squeal out of you. 

Closing his eyes, he loses himself in the feeling of you sucking him deeper. Your body responds to every thrust, clenching while your moans punctuate his movements. 

You move your leg to wrap around him, needing him as close as possible. You hold him tight against your body, slowing down his thrusts. His cock drags against your g-spot, and you can feel the shape of his tip against your plush cunt. 

Aaron’s breaths grow ragged and his rhythm becomes sloppy. Unable to hold back any longer, he bites down on your shoulder as he fills you up. The sensation sends you into your own release, grabbing him into a tight hug. He lets himself fall against you, holding you close and resting his forehead against yours. When you start to whine, he places a kiss on your forehead and pulls out.

When he lays on his back, you wrap yourself around him, cuddling despite your warmth. You had learned that you have to pull him as close as possible to keep him from escaping to find a washcloth and a glass of water. You appreciate him taking care of you, but want to keep him in his relaxed state for just a little longer. 

“I think I should wear that outfit more often,” you say softly.

“Please do.” 

You giggle at him, resting a hand against his chest. If this is how Aaron responds to you going back to school, you might never graduate. 

[capquinn]

i wonder how cub would react seeing his momma hold another baby, i think as far as he is concerned, he is her youngest baby and HIS

Oh, Cub is so not having it.

At first, he just watches, wide-eyed and silent, tucked securely in Quinn’s arms. To anyone else, it might seem like curiosity, like he’s just taking in the new, much tinier baby in your arms. But you know better. You see the way his little fingers tighten in the fabric of Quinn’s shirt, the slight pout forming on his lips, the way his brows knit together in quiet, growing disapproval.

What is that? And why is it with my mama?

He doesn’t fuss, doesn’t cry — just stares. Hard. Like he’s trying to solve a problem he doesn’t quite understand yet, tracking your every movement with intense, unblinking focus. But then you step closer, shifting the baby ever so slightly in his direction — offering, introducing — and that’s it. He fully recoils.

A tiny, pitiful whimper escapes him as he presses his face into Quinn’s chest, cheek squishing against soft cotton, his whole body curling inward like he wants nothing to do with you or whatever that is in your arms. Quinn chuckles, rubbing a big, soothing palm over his back, but Cub isn’t even paying attention. His eyes are locked on you, round and glassy, full of betrayal and frustration, like 'how could you do this to me?'

You bite back a laugh, adjusting the baby higher against your chest. “Cubby,” you coo gently, “look, sweetheart. It’s a baby.”

Cub’s grip on Quinn’s shirt tightens, his tiny fist twisting into the fabric as he burrows deeper, expression practically screaming 'I don’t see it, I don’t want to see it, take it away.'

Quinn huffs out a laugh, glancing down at his son, thoroughly unimpressed in his arms.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice teasing, “I don’t think he’s a fan.”

“Really?” you deadpan, watching as Cub's little pout grows more dramatic by the second. “What gave it away?”

Quinn smirks, glancing down at the tiny fingers clinging onto him for dear life, the way Cub’s whole body is practically melting into him, desperate to become one with his dad rather than acknowledge you.

“Just a feeling.”

You reach out, brushing a gentle hand over Cub’s curls. “Cubby, baby, you really not gonna look at me?”

Cub sighs again, dramatic and drawn-out, before peeking up at you — just barely. He takes one look at the baby in your arms, nose scrunching in offence, then immediately tucks himself back into Quinn’s shoulder, his arms tightening around his dad’s neck.

Quinn chuckles, pressing a kiss to Cub’s temple.

“Yeah, I think you lost him.”

You shake your head, smiling, rubbing a soothing hand over Cub’s back.

“Oh, baby, I still love you.”

Cub sniffs, unconvinced.

But the second the baby is out of your arms? Oh, now he wants you.

Tiny whiny noises, grabby little hands, fingers stretching toward you like his life depends on it. Quinn barely gets the chance to shift before Cub is reaching, impatient and insistent, needing to be back where he belongs.

And when you finally take him, settling him against your hip, he exhales — long and dramatic — tucking his head into the crook of your neck like all is right in the world again.

[elumish]

I hesitate to be the person to defend Kindle Unlimited, because 1) I have many issues with Amazon, 2) I love the library system and want people to use it as much as possible, and 3) I think KU specifically has a lot of problems.

But, for better and for worse, Kindle Direct Publishing has become one of the best, if not actually the best, places for self-publishing, particularly for authors who don't already have the capital and time to pursue a more robust self-publishing career. And KU is a big part of that.

The books that a lot of people are reading on KU (myself included) are books that you will never find on Libby, because they are self-published. While libraries do take self-published books, actually figuring out how to get your self-published book into a library system is not trivial, and many self-published authors don't have the wherewithal to navigate that.

KU has so many problems, including everything noted above, plus the fact that the royalty system is opaque, complicated, and frankly not great. But it's also one of the only ways for a lot of self-published authors to potentially build a readership, because people are more willing to take a risk on trying a book by an unknown author when it doesn't cost them any extra. (And yes, that means that they are willing to take that risk on books at the library, too--but, again, see above paragraph.)

I wish we had better and easier alternatives for people who do self-publishing. Please tell me if you have any, and I will amplify them! But right now, KU really does seem to be the best option.

Anyway, go use the library! Support your local library! Take out physical books and ebooks and audiobooks and large print books!

Ok, I've seen this sentiment before, but the amount of Kindle Unlimited ads I've been seeing is forcing me to repeat it-

Kindle Unlimited is offering two free months of unlimited ebooks. As a trial. Which will then become a paid subscription.

Your local library is offering unlimited ebooks all the time. Forever. No contracts, no predatory practices, no tracking of how long you spend on each particular page in the hopes that information about your habits can be sold for a profit.

Use your library. They want so badly to give you all of the things for free.

[nmhdreamscape]

my turn! ✧ l.hc

pairing | dad!haechan x fem!reader

request | "sry to ask again but could you write whiny husband Haechan getting jealous of his son cause you give him more attention then Haechan by peppering him with kisses or cuddling him the whole time pls? (make it long if you can pls)"

word count | 944

content | fluff, slightly suggestive, jealousy, you and hyuck have a son, making out

“mum!” you heard a tiny yell sound down the hallway as the front door opened. you looked up at the clock, school was indeed over for the day. poking your head out of the laundry, you watched as your son came barrelling down the hallway towards you. you bent down to catch him, the boy landing in your arms quite harshly, earning a grunt from you.

“how was school today, baby?” you asked with a smile, squeezing him into a hug. you truly treasured small moments like this. moments where you could just truly take in your son. you pressed a flurry of kisses onto his cheeks as he tried to squirm away. when he finally broke free from your tirade of affection, he began to recount his day.

“and, we learned about dinosaurs today! dowon said the t-rex was the coolest but i thought it was the brac- bracio- bachi…” he trailed off, really trying hard to remember the name correctly. you let out a small giggle, pinching his cheek.

“brachiosaurus?” you quizzed, knowing you were right. what made it even better was watching the way his eyes lit up in delight at you knowing exactly what he meant.

“yeah that one! how’d you know that mum, you’re so smart.” he marvelled, leaning into your touch as you stroked his hair. 

“anything else happen?” you asked, wanting to make sure he was finished with his story.

“nope, i thinked that’s it.” he smiled up at you, looking like the direct copy of his father. you pressed a final kiss to his cheek before standing up again.

“it’s thought baby, not thinked.” you corrected, ruffling his hair. “why don’t you go and have a shower, i’ll make sure there’s a snack waiting for you when you get out.” the promise of food was enough to make your son take off running. you let out a hearty laugh, watching as his small frame disappeared upstairs.

the sound of someone clearing their throat rather loudly snapped you out of your motherly daze. you turned your head to find donghyuck leaning against the wall in the hallway, almost as if he hadn’t moved from the moment your son had greeted you. he was standing there with his trademark pout adorning his lips. you let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as you made your way over to him. as you got closer, he backed further away. you raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“what’s up with you?” you questioned half-heartedly as you moved towards your husband once again. this time, donghyuck didn’t back away and welcomed you into his space. his arms naturally came to wrap around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. you looked up at him, waiting for your answer.

“i don’t get hellos like that.” he whined, pout still present on his lips. you let out a laugh in disbelief, hand coming up to clutch at your chest.

“seriously?” you stared at him in disbelief. you watched as a slight redness began to appear on donghyuck’s ears. biting a lip to surprise a laugh at his embarrassment, you watched as he stepped out of your grasp.

“yes seriously! you didn’t even say hi at all.” he continued in a huff, arms coming to cross over his chest. you just watched on in amusement, wondering how he could get jealous over his own son, of all people.

that’s when you heard the shower turn on, signalling your son was doing what he was told. it also signalled that the two of you now had some time alone. without much of a second thought you cornered your husband up against the wall, standing up on your toes so that you were now eye level with him. your noses brushed against one another as your breaths mingled, your husband staring down at you in anticipation.

“hi.” you whispered, as your arms came to rest around his neck once again. his hands came down to grip at your waist, eyes not so subtly drifting down to your lips.

“hey.” was all the response either of you needed. your lips crashed together hurriedly, donghyuck surging forward, so now you were pressed against the wall on the other side of the hallway.

while you had missed your son while he was away at school, you also missed this. the feeling of donghyuck pressed up against you after a long day of work. your kisses were messy and rushed, his tongue slipping inside your mouth with ease as you began to tug on the hairs at the nape of his neck. the two of you could easily lose yourself in the sensation, donghyuck beginning to trail open mouth kisses down the column of your neck. however, that was soon to be interrupted.

“mum! dad! there’s a spider in the bathroom! i’m scared.” you both heard your son yell from upstairs, causing you both to pause and stare at one another. in assessing each other dishevelled state, you began to laugh, attempting to make yourselves look somewhat presentable, so your son wouldn’t ask questions you couldn’t quite answer.

“i better go deal with that and i’ll finish dealing with you later.” he winked, giving you a light tap on the ass as he walked away. you simply shook your head, watching as he disappeared up the steps.

“i’ll be waiting.” you called out from the kitchen, having moved to prepare your son the snack you had promised. moments like those with donghyuck you treasured as well, especially with the promise of what was to come later on once you both tuck your son into bed for the night.

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