#we lost him ten years ago today

[oh-three]

Fives, you will always be famous. 💙

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ꕥ FRANCO COLAPINTO

summary. a quick pitstop before your brother’s big wedding turns into stolen glances with the new rookie

warnings. my second attempt at an smau with a bit of dialogue! duplantis!reader

gabri speaks. i saw mondo was at the grind prix this weekend and got to work.

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mondo_duplantis quick pitstop before wedding planning 🏎️

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username Y/N AND DESIRÉ!!!!

username hoping y/n will be a bridesmaid for the wedding of the century!

username my two hyper fixations are colliding i am not okay.

gabbythomas they look gorgeous and then mondo’s there

mondo_duplantis and suddenly your wedding invitation got lost in the mail…

yourusername desiré said you’re our new bestie. we love you gabby! 💋

desireinglander best weekend ever with the best company 🤍

mondo_duplantis couldn’t ask for a better person to spend it with 🤍

yourusername haha guys… i’m still here

yourusername ty big bro 🤍

THE BLAZING HOT sun of Austin had you and Desiré finding shade in the Williams garage. The two of you had gone to the bathroom only to get lost on your way back to your brother. Too tired to find your way back you’d sent your location to come find you. Desiré didn’t take long to start a conversation with the people inside the garage.

“Your boyfriend was the one in the olympics with the pole vault? He was sick!” A brunette with a thick accent tells your future sister-in-law.

“Fiancé” You correct.

“Oh! Congratulations!” He yells excitedly bringing a smile out of both of you.

Your brother doesn’t take longer than ten minutes to find the two of you but in that short time you’ve become intrigued with the brunette. You learn he’s from Argentina, that it’s also his first time in Austin, and that he says everything that comes to mind. You also managed to steal a couple of glances here and there admiring the curls on the top of his head. Mondo thanks him for keeping the two of you company.

“Oh, um some of the drivers are hanging out later at a bar. You guys should come?” Franco asks.

“Oh, yes! We’ll be there!” Desiré yells before your brother can say anything.

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yourusername austin i am inside you

124 comments

username you are so hot omg

username so everyone and their mama was at that bar yesterday…

f1fan you can literally see franco in the back…

yourfriend facetime tonite 👀 queen?

yourusername my iphone is on life support queen 💔

mondo_duplantis dad is gonna kill you

yourusername i blocked him like five years ago 🙂‍↕️

desireinglander my sister-in-law is so breathtaking gorgeous.

yourusername i would die for you.

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[comment deleted]

THE LOUD REVING of the cars filled the air as you walked around the paddock. Your paddock pass clinked with each step you took. Eventually you found the blue and white garage without getting lost this time. It was chaotic to say the least. Engineers yelling, managers shouting in every direction, and the drivers were pacing around. That is until Franco spotted you from across the garage and offered you the same smile he did when he met you yesterday.

“Got lost again?” He smiles cheekily at you.

“Your team actually invited me today.” You confess.

The both of you covered your eyes as the sunlight opaqued your eyes. His cheeks changed a light hue of red as he explained to you how qualifying worked and how grateful he was to even be here. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face as he tells you about the call he received a couple of months ago telling him he would be an F1 Driver. The two of you converse freely for a while before you notice the camera man pointing in your direction.

“Do they always just record you like that. It’s creepy.” You turn away from the camera as you speak.

“Yes.” He laughs. “But you get used to it.”

The two of you pause your conversation hoping the camera man moves on to the next garage but he stays. This type of situation always happens to your brother but not you. Franco seems to notice the shift in your behavior. He leans down next to you continuing your conversation.

“Are you free later?” He covers his mouth with his hand as he talks into your ear.

“Maybe, why?” You eye him up and down catching a glimpse of his smile.

“I found this restaurant and wanted to go check it out. Would be nice if I didn’t have to go by myself.” Your cheeks heat up at his invitation.

“Franco stop flirting! You need to get in the car!”

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yourusername @williamsracing thank you for the hospitality on and off the track 💙

username is that… 👀

f1fan that’s definitely his cup 🙂‍↕️

username never wanted to be a shirley temple so bad before

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mondo_duplantis you’re all grown up sis

desireinglander guessing lunch went well? 🤭

desireinglander looking stunnin’ as always 🤍

yourusername check imessages rn.

williamsracing the better duplantis sibling 💙

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yourusername couldn’t ask for a better pregame to the wedding than this.

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username soft launch omg????

username new wag alert?? 👀

f1fan until november unless franco gets the seat he deserves

mondo_duplantis how come i’m never in your dumps??

yourusername what can i say? the people want desiré

desireinglander and this is why you’re my fav duplantis

desireinglander i wonder who the guy in the second slide is…

francolapinto was lucky to have you in the garage this weekend 💙

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francolapinto replied to your story: we’re in this together.

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yourusername replied to francolapinto’s story: i look so hot omg

francolapinto: unfortunately

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yourusername @desireinglander @mondo_duplantis is it too late to add a plus one?

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username ME QUITARON AL PIBE 💔

username new f1 couple that i will defend with my life just dropped

username this and some wingstop

f1fan hey you’re cute

yourfriend OMGGGGG SO HAPPY FOR YOU 🤍🤍

desireinglander I CALLED IT. I’M SO HAPPY. YES. YES. YES!!!

mondo_duplantis welcome to the fam bro @francolapinto

bzrp grande hermano @francolapinto

francolapinto i’m the luckiest guy in the world. te quiero 💙

[verstappen-cult]

STUPID CUPID, M. VERSTAPPEN

CHAPTER 01: OF ALCOHOL AND BAD DECISIONS

✶ SUMMARY. Making decisions when you’ve had too much to drink is the worst thing someone can do, but it’s exactly what Lando does. He has 100€, a plan and a friend in need of a new camera. What could possibly go wrong?

content warnings ✶ disclaimers. fem!reader. oscar being an overprotective brother. alcohol consumption. i don’t specify what they’re studying, just that they’re in the same university & some of them share classes. use of Y/N. attempted humor. attempted banter. a little bit of landoscar.

NEXT PART | SERIES MASTERLIST.

“Remember to keep your things close to you at all times. Do you still have the pepper spray I gave you last summer?” Your brother talks as he walks by your side. He woke you up this morning to have a last walk around campus, so you won’t get lost Monday morning on your first day. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before adding, “I’m always gonna be around but you need to—”

“Oscar,” You place a hand on his shoulder to make him stop. “I’m ten minutes younger than you, and I’ve been traveling around Europe alone for the last four months. I think I can handle myself.”

“I just want you to be careful.”

“If I survived High School, I think I can survive anything.” 

He smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulders to resume walking. “I can’t believe you finally decided to join me here. This past year has been awful without you.”

“You’re exaggerating.” You chuckle, wrapping your own arm around his waist. “I just needed some time away to clear my head,” You shrug, a hesitant smile gracing your lips. There’s so much inside your head, so much you want to say to him, but you’re not brave enough to say it out loud. You’ve never been. “And I know our parents wanted us to go to the same university since, like, forever. I couldn’t disappoint them.” Not again.

You’re passing outside the Ice Rink when you run into one of Oscar’s friends.

“Hey!” One guy, whose name you can’t remember, approaches you both. He’s wearing his hockey uniform, sport bag hanging over his shoulder and a hockey stick in his left hand. “We missed you at practice today, mate. Hey, Y/N.” 

His smile is so contagious, you feel bad for not remembering his name. You turn to look at your brother and just one exchange of glances is enough for him to understand. 

“Hey, Alex.” He pulls away from you to clasp a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I just wanted to show my sister some places.”

“Oh yeah! You start on Monday, right?” You don’t even have time to open your mouth before he’s speaking again. “Are you nervous?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and nod one time. “A little,” It’s the only thing you’ve been thinking about since you moved in with your brother a few days ago. There is so much you still need to do, the rest of your clothes aren’t even here yet, but you are more worried about finally starting your uni life than anything else. “but I prefer not to think about it.”

“I keep telling her she has nothing to worry about.” The smile on your brother’s face is the same one you saw six months ago before he left for his second year at University and you left for your trip, the ‘i’m so proud of you’ kind of smile. “She’s sharing classes with Charles, actually.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna be in good hands.” Alex says it with a laugh, that only earns him a hit on the head from your brother. “Anyway, we have that party tonight at Lando’s. Are you coming?” 

You don’t miss the way his cheeks heat up in a blush. “No, we can’t. Maybe another time.”

“You can,” You interrupt him. It is the second time he turns down an invitation just to stay with you. “I need to finish organizing the last of my stuff. Boring stuff. You should definitely go, it’s Saturday, Osc.” 

“Yeah but—”

“He’ll be there.” Alex tries to hide his laugh but doesn’t do a good job. 

“I’m pretty sure someone’s gonna be very happy.”

“Goodbye, Alex!” 

Oscar grabs your arm, giving you barely enough time to turn around and wave a goodbye to his friend before he drags you away.

“What was he talking about?” 

“Don’t know,” He simply answers, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “What do you say we grab some lunch?”

The party’s in full swing when Oscar walks through the door of his friend’s apartment. 

It is definitely a party organized by Lando; too many people in a cramped space, his DJ friend in a corner of the living room and everyone making out with everyone. Just the kind of party only Lando likes. 

Oscar makes his way into the kitchen, needing some liquid courage. 

“You came!” Alex shows up out of nowhere, he notices his friend is holding a beer in his left hand as he wraps his arm around his shoulders. Oscar doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, but he smells too much like alcohol for his liking. 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, full of different kinds of alcohol and chips, is Charles and his girlfriend. 

“Hey,” Charles raises his own beer as a greeting. “Where’s your sister?”

“Don’t tell me you left her alone in your apartment.” Charles’ girlfriend frowns, throwing daggers at him. 

Oscar throws his hands up in surrender. “She didn’t want to come. I insisted but she still has things to organize.” 

“You should give her my number,” Alex, Charles’ girlfriend says with a smile, snuggling closer to his boyfriend. “I’m sure we’re gonna get along.” 

Oscar opens his mouth to actually ask for her number when the thunderous voice of none other than Lando Norris interrupts him.

“Oscar! You came!” Lando hugs him from behind, spilling some of his drink on the floor. But he doesn’t even notice, he’s more focused on finding his cheek to kiss. 

“Hey, Lando.” Oscar blushes. Blushes hard. He’s glad the dim lighting can hide how Lando makes him feel. “Good party.”

Lando smiles, sliding next to him and bumping shoulders. “Glad you like it.” Oscar finds himself returning the smile. 

“Please stop flirting in front of me or I’m gonna throw up in your faces.” Alex rolls his eyes and Lando hits him in the chest. 

Oscar finds it cute the way Lando’s cheeks heat up at the joke. He downs the last of his drink and Oscar has to fight the urge to wipe a drop of liquor from his bottom lip. 

He hasn’t even had a drink. What’s wrong with him?

He’s thankful when Charles hands him a beer, so he has something else to do rather than stand there like an idiot ogling at Lando and wondering what his lips would taste like. 

One minute they’re all hanging out in the kitchen, drinking and talking about the next hockey game — the boys threatening him if he misses another practice — and the next one he’s sitting on the couch with Lando glued to his side, one of his legs over his lap. 

Oscar looks down at his phone, his last text to you still without an answer. 

[00:25] Oscar: Are you okay? Do you need anything?

He sighs, typing a new message. 

[00:30] Oscar: I hope you’re just busy and nothing bad happened.

[00:31] Oscar: I’m going to buy pizza on my way back home.

“Oscar?”

He immediately looks up to find Lando looking at him with a pout. 

“Sorry, I needed to text my sister.” 

He reaches forward and boops Oscar on the nose with his index finger. “You worry too much. Isn’t she the same age as you?”

“Well, yeah.” Oscar feels a little silly now but doesn’t say anything. “But she doesn’t know anyone around here, so I don’t wanna leave her alone for so long.”

Lando flops his head onto Oscar’s shoulder and gazes up at him with his big, brown eyes. 

“You’re cute.”

Oscar can’t help himself. He lifts his hand and pushes an errant curl behind Lando’s ear, fingers lingering on his cheek. 

“You’re cute, too.” Oscar says, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

Lando’s eyes are wide as he stares at Oscar. 

Oscar breathes into the air and Lando’s expression softens as he moves closer, breaths mingling and faces flushed. They’re so close that Oscar can count the freckles on his face. 

The moment is interrupted by the ping of Oscar’s phone announcing a new message. 

Oscar pulls away, hands reaching for his phone beside him. 

[00:48] You: sorry was busy trying to fit all my clothes in your tiny closet 

[00:48] You: pizza sounds good! im starving

[00:49] You: hope you’re…

He doesn’t finish reading the third message, he just gets up after the second one, almost throwing Lando off the couch. 

“Wha—what happened?” Lando is confused, his pupils wide and a faint blush still on the top of his cheeks. 

“Sorry, I have to go. My sister needs me.”

“But we were about to,” The curly-haired boy tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, not really wanting to say the word ‘kiss’ out loud.

Oscar types a quick message, letting you know that he’s on his way, not even listening or looking at Lando. “See you Monday!”

Oscar is out of there in record time, leaving the party and a very confused and frustrated Lando behind. 

Lando groans, head hanging over the back of the couch, and hides behind his hands.

A laugh startles him, making him look through his fingers. “That was awful, mate.” His best friend’s leaning against the wall behind the couch, a glass of —he assumes— gin and tonic in his hands.

“Were you watching us?” Lando wants to dig a hole and crawl in. “You perv!”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me the first time I announced myself. You were too busy trying to get laid.”

Lando groans again, “I barely know Oscar’s sister but I don’t like her.”

Max laughs, plopping down next to him. Lando takes the still very full glass out of his friend’s hand and downs all the liquid, wincing as he’s not used to the taste. 

“You should’ve run after him.”

He perks up, “Should I?”

“No, you idiot.” Max looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. “Are you that desperate to get laid?”

“It’s not that.” Lando pouts, turning his body to the right so he’s facing him. “I really like Oscar. Like I have a huge, fat crush on him since the first time I saw him at hockey practice a year ago.”

“And I’m sure he knows it.” Max says, sarcastically.

“We barely talk,” Lando really wants the earth to swallow him whole. “well, he barely talks. I don’t know if he’s just shy or doesn’t like me.” He sighs, looking at his friend, who is listening expectantly. “And when I finally decide to do something, his sister moves in with him. It’s great. Just great.” He throws his hands in the air, tired, frustrated. Sexually frustrated more than anything. 

“What a cockblock, uh?” 

“Exactly! You’re the only one that gets me, Maxie.” Lando throws himself at him, and Max has barely any time to grab him by the waist to stop him from falling face first onto his lap. “I wish I didn’t catch feelings so fast. Just—like you! Fucking my way around, no strings attached. How do you do it?” 

Max laughs, patting his friend on the back when he starts hiccuping. 

“You’re too soft for that.” 

“I’m not!” He pulls away, eyebrows furrowed. “I need to do something before I go mad. I really want Oscar to notice me.” 

“Oh, believe me, he notices you.” But Lando is deep in his thoughts, bottom lip between his teeth. Max can almost see the cogs working inside his head. 

“Does she not have a life? Friends?” Lando asks absentmindedly. 

“Well, you said she just moved in.” 

“So that’s what she needs.” 

“What?” Max can barely keep up. 

“A life!” Lando pulls out his wallet, and it takes him three failed attempts to pull out a 100€. He hands the money to Max without another word. 

Max looks at him, and then the money in his hands. “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“I don’t know,” Lando shrugs. “just make sure she has a life.” 

“What?” 

“Money,” He takes his friend’s hand and places the money on his palm. “so you can take her out or something. I don’t care.” 

“Hold on a second.” Max sits up, hand brushing through his hair. “You want me to take her out?” 

“Yes! If you take her out, she has a life. Then, I can shoot my shot with Oscar without having to worry about his sister.” Lando looks like the cat that got the cream, eyes glistening and everything. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“Because you love me. And everyone wins.” 

“What do I win?” Max wants to laugh but the seriousness on his friend’s face stops him. 

“A pretty girl.” Lando simply answers. “And 100€.”

“How do you know she’s pretty?” 

Lando looks at him beneath his eyelashes, his lips in a pout. “Please do this for me.” 

Max thinks about it for a second. 

He really thinks about the whole plan. 

He would be helping a friend — his best friend. He would be hanging out with a pretty girl and, if everything goes well, he would be getting in that same pretty girl’s bed. 

And he needs a new camera. 

“Just one time? Or you want this to be a regular thing?” If he’s going to do this, he may as well make the most out of it. “Because if you want me to keep her busy, that means I’d have to take her out and that means more money.” 

“I can’t think anymore.” Lando throws his arm over his eyes, the music too loud for him to hear his own thoughts. “Let’s see how it goes first. Then, we talk about more money. Now just let me sleep, I’m gonna have the worst headache of my life tomorrow.” 

“Well, you got yourself a deal.”

The first two classes weren’t that bad. 

By the third one you felt a lot more comfortable. Even more so when you recognised one of your brother’s friends in the same class as you. 

Charles gave you some tips about certain professors and what you needed to expect in your first year. He’s in his second year now, so you listened very closely to everything he had to say. 

You’re one of the first ones to walk in the lecture hall, so you have enough time to find a seat and answer one of the dozen text messages from your parents asking about your day. 

And the other dozen from your brother. 

[15:23] Oscar: Want to have lunch together?

[15:28] Oscar: How’s your day going? Any news?

[15:35] Oscar: I just bumped into Charles. He says you’re doing good! 

[15:40] Oscar: I have hockey practice today. 

[15:42] Oscar: In case you want to come and walk home together. 

You sigh, a small smile gracing your lips.

[16:02] You: all good so far. i have a very weird professor lol 

[16:04] You: charles is such a nice guy, it made my classes so much easier and fun 

[16:07] You: i really want to see you playing hockey so i might go look 

[16:08] You: my last class is about to start so i’ll talk to you later. love you!

You’re hitting send when a presence startles you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asks, pointing to the seat right next to yours. 

You look around the lecture hall, still pretty much empty.

“Uhm, no?” You can count on the fingers of one hand how many people are attending the class. But he still chooses to sit next to you. 

The teacher comes in a few minutes later, a few more students after him, but even then the lecture hall feels empty. 

“Hey,” The stranger says, leaning in to whisper without drawing the teacher’s attention. 

You turn your head around, forcing yourself to move away when you realize how close he really is. “Yes?” You say, typing away on your computer as the professor gives the class the list of books needed for the semester.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” He has a sheepish smile. Only then you notice that he doesn’t carry a backpack, or books. He’s just there, in a class where he’s supposed to be taking notes, without anything.

You dig into your bag, pulling out a pen and a sheet of paper. 

His smile grows. “Oh, thank you!” 

“Are you sure you’re in the right class?” 

“Yes, why do you ask?” He turns his attention back to the professor, who’s saying something you should definitely be paying attention to, but you’re more focused on the boy sitting next to you. 

“No reason at all.”

You make it through the first hour without distractions. Well, apart from the tapping of the stranger next to you and his constant sighing and twisting on his seat. 

When the professor excuses himself to answer an important call, you know you have to say something. 

“Can you stop, please? You’re distracting me.”

“Oh,” He leans a little closer, “Am I?” 

You groan, asking yourself if staying in that seat is really worth it.

You don’t want to look at him, you really don’t. The first time you saw how big and blue his eyes were, you knew you wouldn’t be able to look at him again without getting lost in them. 

So, you simply nod while pretending to look for a folder in your computer. 

“I noticed the first time you kept typing the same line over and over again.”

Your blush starts at your neck and goes all the way up to your ears.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re doing it again,” His breath hits you on the cheek, too close for your liking. “You know you’ve been opening and closing the same folder for five minutes now, no?”

You hold your breath, trying to regulate your heartbeat. 

He doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on what the professor is trying to teach you. However, you know you won’t be paying much attention. 

You can still feel the warmth emanating from him, making you feel hot all over. His closeness is enough to put you on edge. 

Just when you think he won’t be bothering you again, he slides a piece of paper over to you.

You ignore it for about five seconds until you can’t anymore. 

You unfold it. 

‘Your hair is pretty’

It sends a thrill down your spine. The ghost of a smile crossing your face, something inside you making a funny little flip. 

You force yourself to look at him, only to find his gaze already on you. The blonde stranger tilts his head and observes you for a while, and when you don’t know what to do, and afraid of giving away how flustered you really are, you simply roll your eyes as an answer, immediately going back to paying attention, or pretending to. But the professor is nowhere to be seen and everyone is picking up their things to get out of there as fast as possible. 

Finally. 

You pack up your own things, slipping his note inside your notebook without him noticing, and stand up ready to run away. 

You only make it out of the lecture hall before he falls into step with you.

“Hey, you forgot this.” He shoves the pen into your face, almost making you trip over your own feet. 

“You can have it.” You walk a little faster, but it seems he doesn’t want to leave you alone. “Pretty sure you need it more than me.” It’s just a whisper, a comment for yourself more than for him. 

“Uh, feisty!” 

You stop, turn around and take a deep breath. Plastering a smile on your face, you say, “You are annoying.” And it seems that you amuse him, because he fights back a smile. A very pretty smile, you notice. “Goodbye.”

“I’m Max, by the way!”

“I don’t care!” You’re not proud, but he totally deserves the middle finger you give him.

He doesn’t need to know but you’re glad you can put a name to that handsome face.

You check your texts as you make your way to the ice rink and, as expected, a message from your brother awaits you. 

[17:45] Oscar: Something special you want for dinner today?

It’s cute how much he cares about you. Maybe too much sometimes, but you wouldn’t trade your twin and overprotective brother for anything in the world. Even if it means you have to put up with the hundreds of text messages and death glares directed at anybody who dares to even look at you.

“Texting a boyfriend?”

You look at Max from the corner of your eyes; he’s still walking a few feet behind. “Are you following me?”

He laughs. “Why would I be following you?”

“You’re weird.” 

“I’ve been called worse.”

How can someone be so attractive and annoying at the same time? 

Unfortunately, he’s headed the same way. 

“Are you on the hockey team?” If you slow down to wait for him, well, who can blame you?

He cocks his head and the edge of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Why? Are you into hockey players?”

“You can’t have a normal conversation, can you?”

Max laughs, opening the front doors and moving to the side to let you in first. 

“Yes, I’m on the hockey team.” Max chuckles, “Are you on the hockey team?”

“My brother,” You answer him, and Max raises his eyebrows. “His name’s Oscar. Do you know him?”

“Are you asking me if I know my own teammate?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. You’ve never felt so stupid talking to someone before, but that’s exactly how this guy makes you feel. Have you forgotten how to talk or he just loves being an idiot and getting under your skin? 

“Max!” 

Both of you turn around to find a curly-haired boy waving in your direction.

You recognize the bright, brown eyes of Lando Norris immediately. 

“Hey, Y/N!” He says when you approach him, putting his arm around your shoulder. “I see you’ve met Max.”

You nod, “Yes. He’s in one of my classes.” Max winks at you. He has the audacity to wink. “Are you on the hockey team too?”

“Oh nah, that’s not for me. Max is actually my roommate.” Lando explains as Max leans against the side of the bleachers beside you. “I’m here as his moral support.”

Max laughs. A full belly-laugh. 

Your head snaps at him so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. 

“Anyway,” Lando’s eyes widen, like silently saying something to his friend, before turning to look back at you. “Are you here to see your brother?”

“Yes. I don’t know anything about hockey, though.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t either. I’m here to see the hot guys.” You laugh at how honest he is. “You got plans tonight?” Lando asks after a few minutes, getting comfortable on the bleachers beside you, seeing some of the players getting out of the changing rooms. 

“I don’t know if Oscar has something planned, but I don’t think so.” You fold your arms over your chest, feeling a little cold. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

“I know this pub that serves the best Guinness in town.” He states, nudging you. “You and your brother should come.”

You shrug. It is a very appealing invitation after all, and after your first day of classes you definitely deserve it. “It sounds like a place I want to know.”

“Great!” Lando claps his hands together, then looks at his friend. “You should join us too, Max.”

Please say no, you think. 

Max shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”

Great. Just great.

“I’m gonna get ready before the coach starts screaming at me again.” Max interrupts, a lopsided grin on his face. “Pleasure to meet you, Piastri.” He bows, like one of those Lords in a period drama, tilting his head up a little and winking once again, making your heart stop for a second. 

He disappears before you have time to think about something witty to say. 

You look back at the ice rink, spotting your brother from a distance. He sees you almost immediately, and waves at you with enthusiasm. You wave back, a soft smile spreading across your features.

Well, you have an hour to come to terms with spending the afternoon with the most annoyingly attractive, blonde haired and blue eyed boy you’ve ever met. What’s the worst that could happen?

✶ TAGLIST — @14fa. @hiireadstuff. @lolzblues55. @maifics. @littlegrapejuice. @landoslutmeout. @nikfigueiredo. @nciolisa. @rafexoxo. ✶

GWEN RAMBLES — well, hello! thank you so much if you made it this far. i don’t know when the next chapter will be posted. i’m already working on it, but it may take me a few days. if you want to be added to this series taglist you can reply to this post, send me a dm or leave it in my ask box! as you know, comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated. i’ll see you in the next update!

do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. | © verstappen-cult, 2024.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ we don't even fight anymore ❞

# summary; watching your relationship slowly end

# playlist; we don't fight anymore, Carly Pearce (ft Chris Stapleton)

# word count; 715

# note; i have three drafts w/ over 1k words i simply can't be asked to finish them omg, I love writing angst, u don't understand

Things were coming to a slow end. The weekend was winding down, and you had been out later than usual on both Saturday and Sunday. When you finally returned home, Harry hadn't even awakened at the sound of your footsteps in the bathroom or the movement in the bed when you snuggled under the duvet next to him. The silence was deafening, the absence of his usual reaction weighing heavily on you as you lay there, lost in your thoughts.

Once upon a time, if you were out past the time he had decided to turn in for the night your phone would be flooded with messages asking if you needed a ride or if you'd be home soon, but now there was nothing but radio silence, not even a message to see if you were coming home.

On days he was filming for the Sidemen channels he would shoot for them to end at the same time so he could make it home in time to make dinner with you, this time he was home three hours late, especially when you needed him here to hopefully take care of you even a little, "Where've you been, kinda needed that medicine," you mumble stirring some milk into the tea you'd made for your sore throat.

"Went for dinner with the boys," his eyes attempt to meet yours and he hopes they will for the first time in a while, but you're too busy staring a hole into the space on the counter where your mug sits.

You nod, nearly biting a hole through your cheek, praying he can't see the hurt in your face at the obvious lack of invitation. You turn your back to him completely as you rummage through the fridge to find your own dinner, "I brought you that pasta you like," he speaks up realizing what you're doing, you hum as he slides the plastic takeaway box toward you, across the top is the name of your favorite restaurant and that makes it hurt ten times worse.

Later that evening you lay in bed with your book in hand and a reading lamp above you, he's lying just next to you, but also somehow feels continents away on his phone scrolling through Instagram. You can't help but swallow hard as you notice he seems to be stalking some model you both had met at a video shoot not too long ago.

For your own sanity, you shut your book and slide it into your bedside table drawer, giving it a nudge with your knee letting it slam shut. As you tug your phone off the charger you see his brows knit together in stupid confusion, that you refuse to acknowledge. The air conditioning has goosebumps rising on your bare legs when you head for the bathroom.

"I just don't see an issue," he says, walking you in circles and speaking so calmly about something that nearly broke you, making you nauseous. Not caring a little about your mental state, you mistakenly decided to speak up about seeing what he had been doing on his phone last night, but he seemed to be completely lost on that topic.

Suppressing a scoff you shrug, doing your best to even out your breathing, "If you don't, I don't either," you want to scream in his face about how it made you feel, maybe even beg for him to call you beautiful because he used to make you feel like the only woman to ever grace this planet.

But you don't; instead deciding to keep the same stoic expression you have sported so very often.

God, you wish upon every star that you could be blessed with the strength to either fight for this, curse his name and let him know how this silence made you feel, or end this with hatred in your heart.

You can't hate him, you wouldn't have made it through university without his encouragement, and you wouldn't have been able to make nearly as much of a name for yourself without being featured on his channel occasionally all those years ago. There's no way you'd be here today without all of it. You don't care enough about anything with how numb you are to waste time hating him.

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: New Year’s Day*

————————————————————————-

Summary: After a day of misfortune, Joe wants more than just a kiss to ring in the new year…

Warnings: Smut

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Just the Two of Us

————————————————————————-

December 31, 2023

(y/n’s pov)

I should've known the night would go the way it did.

It seemed like today, the universe was just not on my side. Earlier, when I was getting ready, the zipper broke on my new dress so I had to wear an old one. My curling iron quit working. I lost one of my earrings that Joe had bought me for Christmas.

The worst part was when Joe and I finally arrived at the New Year’s party at Sam’s house. Joe had just grabbed us both a drink from the makeshift bar Sam had set up in his kitchen. When he handed me my drink, I spilled it all down my cream-colored dress.

“It’s fine, baby.” - Joe

We were currently in the guest bathroom; I told Joe he didn't have to come with me, but he knew that was me asking him to follow me to the bathroom.

“No, it's not! There's wine all down my white dress!” - you

“Hey, calm down.” - Joe

His soft voice, which would usually calm me down, was only pissing me off more.

“Joe, just stop talking! You aren't helping.” - you

“Okay then. What can I do to help?” - Joe

“Go away.” - you

“Honey…” - Joe

I shot him a look that had him dropping his head and exiting the room.

Fuck, this is only making things worse. Sure my day isn't going the greatest but why'd I have to project that onto Joe?

The thoughts of everything that had gone wrong today mixed with the picture of Joe’s sad expression after I told him to leave, and before I knew it, tears were flowing out of my eyes.

——

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. I didn't answer because you'd be able to hear the fact I was crying in my voice.

I stupidly left the door unlocked, so when the door handle turned, I panicked.

My shoulders dropped in relief when Joe walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Watching his eyes scan my tear-stained cheeks, Joe’s gaze softened, and he rushed to pull me into his arms.

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” - Joe

I buried my face in his neck as Joe ran a big hand over my back, the other holding the back of my head.

“What’s wrong, baby? Just the dress, or is something else going on?” - Joe

“Today's not been a good day.” - you croaked

“I'm sorry… anything I can do?” - Joe

“Just be here.” - you

I cuddled myself into him more, internally laughing at myself for contradicting my statement just ten minutes ago.

“Jess let me borrow a dress from her closet. I grabbed one that I thought you would like and be comfortable in.” - Joe

Jess, Sam’s girlfriend, was a saint for that. I'll have to bake her some cookies as a thank you.

“Thank you.” - you

His sweet gesture somehow only made me cry harder, and regret for how I acted toward him earlier flooded my head.

“Why are you crying harder?” - Joe

“Because I was mean to you earlier.” - you

Joe’s laugh moved his chest, causing my head to shake with it.

“It's okay. I promise. I didn't take it to heart because I knew you were just not having a good day.” - Joe

“Good.” - you sniffled

“I love you.” - Joe

He pressed a big but gentle kiss to my hair, and I felt a smile spread on my lips.

“I love you too.” - you

We stayed intertwined for a few moments before Joe eventually pulled away.

His hands stayed on my waist, and in one swift motion, he sat me on top of the counter.

“Want me to fix your makeup a little?” - Joe

“Please?” - you

Joe rummaged through the cabinets till he found something that looked like it could take mascara stains off. It ended up being a makeup remover, thank god.

With my guidance, Joe got my makeup to look like it somewhat did before. While doing so, Joe whispered sweet nothings that had me forgetting all about today’s misfortune.

All that mattered was our moment together in our friend's bathroom. My time with this man.

I pulled out my phone from my dress pocket to change into the one in Joe’s hand and saw the time in the process.

“It's 11:45!” - you

“Gotta hurry then.” - Joe winked

After playfully shoving his chest, I bunched up the fabric of my dress and pulled it over my head.

Joe silently licked his lips before his mouth dropped open, his eyes never once leaving my body.

I was kinda confused as to why he was reacting in such a way when I got a glance of myself in the mirror.

My lace black bra matching the tiger-striped thong made from the same material. Joe had put it in the bottom of my Chrismas stocking, but I hadn't worn it yet.

“Holy fuck.” - Joe groaned

Maybe I should tease him?

“Shit, I got wine on my bra too…” - you

I unclipped the garment and pulled it off my arms, revealing my bare chest.

“Baby, stop teasing.” - Joe

His voice had dropped down an octave, gaining a whiney tone in the process.

“I'm not trying to do shit, Burrow. Control yourself.” - you

I scrubbed the bra and dress vigorously, Joe clearly ogling my bouncing breasts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Joe reach down to his crotch to rearrange his forming erection.

“y/n…” - Joe

“What?” - you

I looked at him through the mirror to see his pouty lips and tented jeans.

“Make it quick, I wanna see the ball.” - you

Joe lept forward and grabbed my waist, pulling me into his arms and carrying me into the guest bedroom.

He laid me down on the bed and ran over to the door to lock it before returning.

My first orgasm came fast and hard, Joe using his talented mouth and fingers to quickly bring me to release as breathy moans of his name left my lips.

“God, I need inside you.” - Joe

The digital clock on the nightstand read 12:50.

“Make it quick, Joseph Lee. I don't wanna miss the ball.” - you

Joe stood up and pulled his shirt over his head before shoving his sweatpants and undies down to mid-thigh.

“I'll show you two balls.” - Joe

His attempt at “sexy talk” had me busting out laughing.

“Stop! I'm trying to be sexy here!” - Joe

“Boy, you don't have to try. Just get on top of me.” - you

Joe did as I said and crawled on top of me, his big body equal parts hot and overwhelming.

“You want me?” - Joe

He grabbed his erection and ran his tip through my slick folds. Joe’s eyes were blown wide with lust, his deep voice intoxicating.

“Fuck yes.” - you

With that confirmation, Joe slammed his entire length inside. Both of us moaned as my walls clamped down on his lengthy member.

“You're soaked. So fucking tight.” - Joe

“You can move.” - you breathed out

Joe nodded and immediately set a fast pace. His only thought in mind was my pleasure.

“Feel good?” - Joe

“Joe!” - you moaned

“Mm? Does it? You like it?” - Joe

Moan after moan left my lips, Joe wasn't slowing down either, and his tip was abusing my cervix.

“Yes!” - you

Joe looked down and watched his thick cock move in and out of my heat, feeling himself get closer to release.

Wrapping my legs around Joe’s waist to allow him to get deeper, his eyes met mine, and a shiver went down my spine at the look in them.

“Wish I could stay inside you forever.” - Joe

His dirty praise had me inadvertently arching up into his chest, Joe didn't mind though, he thought the opposite.

“Fucking love you.” - Joe

I got too distracted by the sound of our friends downstairs to return the sentiment. Seems like we were getting closer to the new year.

Joe noticed my attention falling somewhere else and a weird feeling fell over him. Is she not enjoying this?

“Why are you listening to them?” - Joe panted

“I- dunno.” - you

“Listen to us, baby. Fuck, you can hear how wet you are.” - Joe moaned

His statement elicited a moan out of me that I swore came from my toes.

“Joey, fuck.” - you

If it was even possible, Joe moved his mouth closer to my ear, whispering anything he could think of that would drive me wild.

“Listen to my cock move inside you, y/n.” - Joe

“I'm- gonna… cum!” - you

“Atta girl, pay attention to me.” - Joe

My walls were repeatedly squeezing Joe’s cock, each time drawing a small moan from his lips.

“Feels so good.” - Joe groaned

I let out a borderline scream when Joe began sucking on the sweet spot on my neck while rubbing my clit with his thumb.

The sounds of skin slapping skin, along with the wet sounds of Joe moving in and out, seemed to be magnified ever since his statements.

After one specifically hard thrust from Joe, I came around him. I was practically seeing stars as he continued thrusting inside of me.

“Want me to pull out? Easier to clean up.” - Joe

He had to really focus to grit those words out, and I could tell.

“God no. I wanna feel you.” - you

Running my hands up the muscular surface of his back, I laced my fingers into Joe’s hair as he moaned into my mouth.

“Shit… I can't- fuck!” - Joe

Feeling his rush to get as deep as he could had my walls fluttering around Joe’s cock, still not through my orgasm.

Joe continued thrusting as his face contorted from pure pleasure, his climax coming almost as hard as mine did.

“Fuck!” - Joe

With a loud grunt, Joe toppled over on top of me.

Both of our chests heaved, and the only audible sounds were the ones of the ceiling fan and our mutual heavy breaths.

After a minute or so, Joe gently pulled out and flopped over onto his back next to me.

Our fingers intertwined, and we both had deliriously blissed-out smiles on our faces as we stared up at the ceiling.

When we heard the noise downstairs, Joe and I moved our heads to face each other.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!!!”

Slowly leaning in, Joe softly kissed my lips as his hand that wasn't holding mine rubbed my naked back.

The kiss lasted a few sweet seconds before we pulled away.

“Happy New Year, baby.” - Joe whispered

“Happy New Year, Joey.” - you

Joe pulled me against his chest, our cheeks pressed together as I ran my fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” - Joe

“I love you too.” - you

A content sigh graced my lips when Joe gently squeezed me.

“No one else I'd rather start ‘24 with. Being your boyfriend is the best privilege, and I'm so thankful to have you.” - Joe

My heart swelled at his confession, but before I could reciprocate something startled the both of us.

“Everything okay?! You guys have been in there forever! Missed the ball and everything!” - Sam

“Yeah! We're uh- getting the stain out of her dress!” - Joe

“Oh okay! Let me in so I can show you where the stain remover is!” - Sam

Joe and I frantically looked at each other before looking down at my bare breasts and his uncovered cock.

“Give us a second!” - Joe

————————————————————————-

Authors note: those mullet pics gave me motivation for this

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[suugarbabe]

Saving Grace (II)

[Chapter 2]

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warning: none

Summary: Mattheo and Y/n need to devise a plan and pray to Merlin their friends can't see through their facade.

[chapter 1]

Your fingers tapped the top of the table that you picked at the back of the library. Mattheo had agreed to meet you roughly ten minutes ago and you were getting restless. He was pretty notoriously late to classes so you guess you couldn’t be too surprised he was late to this meeting as well. You started chewing on the nails of your hand that wasn’t tapping on the table, mind racing of all the ways your plan with Mattheo could go wrong. “You know that’s terrible for your nails, love.” You jumped at Mattheo’s voice, breath brushing against your ear as he leaned down behind you to whisper. You glared at him as he sat down across from you. “So, what’s the plan, beautiful?” Mattheo’s eyes were playful, as was the smile he wore as he spoke. 

“Do you really think that or are you just doing that thing where you try to be charming just because I have breasts?” You seemed to have stunned him into silence for a moment, but he recovered quickly, “First off, the charm comes naturally. Secondly, do I really think what?” You sat up straighter, trying to find the confidence you had just moments ago. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Your cheeks burned as you finished your sentence. Mattheo grabbed your hand, “You are very beautiful, Y/n. But I don’t have some sort of ulterior motive, love.” 

“Then why are you helping me?” You questioned. Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “Do I need an excuse to put Pucey in his place?” You laughed together. It was nice, seemingly feeling at ease with someone that could so easily instill fear in so many people. It was strange, you had known of Mattheo your entire Hogwarts career. You had come in together, sorted into Slytherin the same day. He’s essentially worn the same smirk for six years straight. He’s snogged two of the girls in your friend group, not that you think he’d remember. You’ve seen him in several fights, bruised and battered in classes for several days after. But you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this, eyes crinkled from smiling, head thrown back, just looking comfortable in general. 

You must have been caught in a daze because Mattheo was once again snapping in front of your face, “Y/n, you still with me? You do this zoning out thing a lot?” You blinked a few times, shaking your head, “Sorry, aha, just lost in thought I guess. Pucey really gives me the creeps and I wanna make sure we’re convincing if need be.” He nodded, leaning his elbows on the table, “Like we’re gonna make out in front of him convincing?” He wiggled his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh, “Well thank Merlin we’re setting ground rules because you clearly need direction. So…give me the details of the party, what time is it supposed to start, what houses are going to be there, where do you generally hangout in case I need you?” 

He pulled at his bottom lip as he thought about his answers. He started talking with his hands, using his fingers to make sure he responded to each question, “Slytherin is hosting the party, obviously. I think it’s supposed to start around nine or something like that? But as you experienced today, I don’t generally show up on time. As far as who’s invited, I’m pretty sure it’s just a free for all, so that should be helpful in putting some distance between you and Pucey.” You stared at him blankly, obviously confused as to how that was helpful, “More houses means more bodies, more bodies means more obstacles between you and the git. Easier to duck away from him and find yours truly.” He smiled so cheesily his dimples started to pop out. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms in the process, “Again, where would I find you at this people packed party that you’ll be late to.” 

“Typically, we hang out in the back corner, where the more comfortable sofas are going to be.” You motioned with your hand for him to keep talking, “And this ‘we’ consists of who exactly?” He started rattling off names, “Me, Theo, Pansy, Enzo, Blaise, Draco and whoever happens to be Draco’s flavor of the week.” He smiled at himself for the last bit. “I’m sure your flavor of the week is typically included in that as well?” You asked cheekily. “This time, that’s you, Princess,” he winked and you scoffed. You had set firm rules for yourself that you were not going to fall for his normal tricks. In this situation, you were the one using him and it was not going to be turned around at any point in time. 

“Okay, loverboy, ground rules. We need to set them. If we’re gonna convince Pucey that I’m with you, you’re gonna have to control yourself and not flirt with, or at least makeout with any other girls at the party. Think you can manage that?” You were teasing him mostly, but also slightly worried that his head downstairs might dictate his actions more than his head upstairs. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of controlling myself. I just choose to make sure I’m fully entertained at these events.” 

“Well, I’m your entertainment this party, understood?” Mattheo nodded slowly, “Understood.” You took a deep breath before continuing again, “How much PDA do you think will be necessary?” He smiled a little too widely for comfort, “Well personally, physical touch is my love language, so I’m very touchy. I won’t shy away from touching you, maybe have you sit on my lap if we go by my friends. Maybe a kiss or two, yanno, just to be convincing.” You nodded, “Okay, I can do that.” Mattheo looked a little shocked at your response. “Listen,” you started, “Adrian’s a fucking pest, as soon as he notices me at this party he’s going to try and be attached to me like a leech. So I’m willing to do anything at this point, which leads me to my next question.” 

He waited for you to continue. You took a deep breath, your words seemingly slamming together as you let your breath go, “Doyouthinkwecouldstartthiswholetonight.” His eyebrows furrowed together, “Slowly for me, love.” You closed your eyes, wincing at your words, “Do you think we could start this whole thing tonight. Like, at dinner? Just be seen together, maybe a little flirty banter or something. I just wanna make sure other people besides just Adrian see us interact in a slightly-more-than-friendly way, if…that’s okay…” you trailed off, peeking one eye open to gauge his reaction. To your surprise he wasn’t smirking for once. He just nodded, “I agree, our friends have to think something is blossoming as well otherwise their confusion will throw Pucey off. Wanna let me know anything that’s absolutely off limits?” 

“No sex,” you might’ve answered a little too quickly. At least that was what you hoped was the reason Mattheo started laughing. “There’s just obviously no reason because we’re just…faking it for when people are around. I get your adventurous with…things…but yeah, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Mattheo held his hands up in defense, “Not a problem. I can handle it.” He smiled now, “What are you friends going to think when they see you with me? Will they be skeptical?” You shook your head, “No, I don’t really talk about to them about guys I like or anything like that, so they would probably just think it was another guy I’ve kept from them. You’d definitely be the first guy I was out and open with whilst at school though, so that would be new to them.” Mattheo’s head tilted slightly as he listened, curiosity in his eyes, “Who have you been with? Do I know them?” You pretended to zip your lip and lock it, indicating you were not going to reveal any names to him. 

He stood then, holding his hand out to you, “Shall we go to dinner then, darling.” You stood, grabbing his hand. He laced his fingers with yours immediately, leading you through the library toward the corridor to the great hall. The two of you earned several stares on your way out, a few people leaning in closer together and whispering to each other. As you left the library into the corridor Mattheo leaned down to whisper to you, “A simple walk through the library and we’ve already got people talking about us.” You smiled at the ground, following him quietly through the halls. The staring and whispering continued. You’d never had attention on you like this, but Mattheo barely seemed to notice. He pulled you closer to him in the hall, making sure you were right on him all the way up to the great hall. He stopped right before the doors, turning back to you, “You ready for this, love?”

You nodded your head, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He turned back around, still holding your hand as he walked through the great hall doors. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on the pair of you. You knew that probably wasn’t the case, but there were definitely those keeping a close eye on you. He led you towards the Slytherin table, your friends eyes nearly popping out of their head. Your friend, Ottilla, stood, stopping you both, “Y/n, care to introduce us to your…friend?” Mattheo plastered on a smile so deep his dimples popped through, “Mattheo Riddle, pleased to meet you.” You found your voice suddenly, “Mattheo these are my friends, Ottie, Darcy and Flora. Though I’m pretty sure you’ve made an acquaintance with two of them previously.” Your mouth leveled into a thin line, but no one seemed to notice.  The three said a chorus of ‘hello’s’ to the boy. “Darcy, Flora, nice to see you again,” Mattheo winked, “Do you mind if Y/n sits with me for dinner tonight? I promise she’ll give you all the details later.” The smirk never left his face. All of your friends nodded, like they really had a say anyway. 

As you approached the other end of the table, Mattheo’s friends didn’t even look up. He sat down next to Draco, patting the bench next to him for you to follow. You sat, waiting for his friends to start questioning you being there. Mattheo cleared his throat, making the others all look at him, “This is Y/n, she’s erm…a new friend.” Draco scoffed, “Is that what we’re calling the girls you bring around now?” He immediately regretted his words as Mattheo elbowed him in the ribs, “Don’t be rude, cousin.” Draco mumbled a muffled ‘sorry’ under his breath. Mattheo introduced the rest of his group. You, of course, already knew of all of them. Admittedly you used to have a crush on Theo in third year, but found him far too intimidating to even approach. They all said a proper hello to you. You weren’t sure if they were actually being nice or just feared Mattheo too much to be rude to you in front of him. 

“You coming to the party with us tomorrow then?” You turned at the sound of Blaise’s voice. You stole a glance at Mattheo, who simply nodded, encouraging you to answer on your own. “Erm, yeah, i-if that’s okay.” You heard Mattheo laugh softly next to you, “It’s not up to them, love. If you want to show up with your friends first, that’s okay. You know where to find me when you’re ready.” He gave you a soft kiss on your temple, the gesture causing Draco to raise his eyebrows. Enzo and Theo looked at each other, smirks plastered on their faces. “Something to say Enzo? Theo?” Mattheo challenged them. They shook their heads, smiling to themselves. You didn’t talk much the rest of dinner, just watched and observed how Mattheo interacted with his friends. He was quick witted, and very funny. Funnier than you expected him to be. You found yourself smiling a lot more than you anticipated. Mattheo and his friends actually weren’t that bad of company considering. The group seemed to have warmed up to you by the end of dinner. All except Draco who stayed skeptical, though you were pretty sure that was his constant state of being. 

You could feel someone watching you. You turned to see Adrian down the table, glaring at you. The sight of him made you physically stiffen. Mattheo noticed your change in demeanor, following your stare. Mattheo leaned in close, whispering in your ear, “Let’s give him a show, shall we?” You weren’t sure exactly what Mattheo had in mind, but at this point, you had to trust him. You nodded your head, silently giving him permission for whatever he had planned. He cupped your cheek, lightly rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip. His hand slid down to your throat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he used this grip to pull you into him. His lips pressed to yours gently, adding just enough pressure to make your heart race before pulling back, “Ready to go, Princess? I’ll walk back with you.” You were at a loss for words, your heart racing wildly. You nodded and began standing, Mattheo following suit. You said a quick goodbye to the others, looking down the table once more to see Adrian sulking. That made you smile. 

Mattheo wrapped an arm around your shoulder as he walked you out of the great hall. Once you entered the corridor you found your voice again, “Pucey looked like someone pissed in his pudding.” Mattheo giggled, and you didn’t think you would have heard something so adorable from him. “It was fun to fuck with him, you played along pretty well,” he was holding your hand now as you two walked toward your common room. “Honestly, the kiss was more tame than I anticipated,” he raised his eyebrows at this. “Oh? A hand round your throat a usual occurrence for you, y/n?” His tone was teasing, you played along, “I don’t kiss and tell.” He hummed to himself, filing that bit of information in the back of his mind, “Well I thought my tongue down your throat might be a bit much for the dinner table.” You smiled but didn’t respond, instead just kept walking until you reached the common room portrait. You let Mattheo speak the password, then followed him through the entrance. 

The few peers that were already in the common room kept peeking over at the two of you. You did your best to ignore them as Mattheo walked you to the sixth year girls' dorm door. There was no one in the hall, but he still held your hand. You were facing each other now, you were the first to break the silence, “Well I guess I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?” He shook his head, “Not unless you plan on skipping divination…and charms, and…potions.” You laughed, “Forgot we had classes together.” You paused for a moment, tilting your head, “Wait…we don’t have potions together.” He was smiling to himself now, “I convinced Slughorn to let me switch from the afternoon class. Told him I needed the afternoons for quidditch practice. Figured I could keep an eye on Pucey that way, seeing as after that class is normally when he stalks you.” You shook your head in slight disbelief, “Seems you’ve thought of everything.” Mattheo wore a proud look, “I’m a lot smarter than people give me credit for.” 

More students started coming back from dinner, filling the common room and walking toward their dorms. You looked back at Mattheo as Pansy turned the corner towards the dorms. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, going up on your toes to place a kiss on Mattheo’s cheek, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” His smile seemed genuine, not just one to convince other people. “See you tomorrow, Princess.” And with that he walked back down the hall, leaving you to follow Pansy into the dorms.

[chapter 3]

AN: I don't have a set schedule on when I'll be updating this story, just kind of doing it as things come to me, but if anyone wants to be in a taglist for this one, let me know 😊 . I'm also open to any suggestions about what you may want to see, etc. I do have a general idea for the party in the next chapter already, but I'd love to hear what you guys wanna see happens

[godhandler]

“It’s just… it’s been 16 years since…” Yuuji finds it difficult to put it into words.. “... since he last saw Divine Dog White…” 

[when your kids inherit the Ten Shadows, Megumi Fushiguro gets to meet a long lost fluffy friend again]

[1.5k words   |   fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, post-canon   |   part of Obeisance to The Arrow universe]

“Hito, Kiko, don’t.” Noritoshi glares at the twins who have been caught red handed trying to ride atop the pair of dogs. In fact, it’s the 4th time they’ve been caught. They refuse to stop trying. “Just sit, okay? Just sit down for a bit. Let dad make his call.”

Noritoshi Kamo is tired. Truly, soulfully, tired. His day began at 5 am today, because you had to go to work earlier than usual, and are still not back yet. Handling 4 kids and their own separate timetables all day, while working as a teacher for Jujutsu High… at 34, he’s not old, but goddamn does his body ache like it is. And now, when he was looking forward to putting the kids to bed and waiting for you to come back and uncork this good vintage and maybe wear that nice lingerie you bought last week and be asleep by 10 pm, when tonight was supposed to go like all other nights, he’s got a huge fucking emergency on his hands. Not that he can show it, of course, in front of the kids. 

“C’mon, pick up, pick up. Asahito! I swear, if I see you– Tsukiko! Tsukiko, hands where I can see them! Good, okay, now sit down and count till 100.” Noritoshi is doing his level best to maintain any semblance of calmness. It isn’t working. Naomi and Chihiro, the older two kids, are terrified. Their usually monk-calm dad is frantically calling people, while his Flowing Red Scale is on, as are two discs of Slicing Exorcisms, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Not at them, of course, but still. The twins, Hito and Kiko, are too young to realise the gravity of the situation. 

Click. Finally.

“Hey Noritoshi, it’s me, Yuuji. Megumi’s driving right now.”

“Yuuji!” Damn, Yuuji thinks, the man seems out of breath. “Give the phone to Megumi, quick.”

‘But he’s driving, we were playing basketball and now we’re coming ba–”

“Put it on speaker then! Yuuji, it’s urgent.”

“Huh? Wait.” Yuuji puts him on speakerphone and gasps. “Oh my God, is y/n pregnant again?”

“What?” 

“Damn, that’s your fifth one.” Yuuji chuckles. “You must really like being a dad.” 

“It’s not–”

“Five is a lot though –”

“MEGUMI!” Noritoshi shouts out. “Are you there?”

“Yeah” Megumi leans towards the phone that Yuuji is holding out. “Congrats, Noritoshi.”

“Oh, Megumi, thank God.” Noritoshi’s voice is palpably more stable. “y/n isn’t pregnant. The twins’ cursed technique showed up, about 5 minutes ago. Megumi, they have the Ten Shadows.”

Megumi almost crashes the car.

—------- 

“Noritoshi, love, I’m here!” You’ve run all the way from the parked car to your drawing room. It’s bursting with people: Noritoshi (battle-ready), Naomi and Chihiro (hiding behind their dad), Yuuji (fascinated), Megumi (teaching the twins to release the large black dog that’s running amok amid your fragile china-display and Edo era vases), and your little twins (actually listening to their uncle, surprisingly). 

“Mom!” “y/n!” “Honey!” 

Half an hour ago, you had been working on a new telecom venture when your assistant rushed in, claiming an urgent call from your husband: “Love, it’s the twins, Hito and Kiko- cursed technique- unstable control- dinner- Ten Shadows!” It takes a while for you to piece together the information, but when you do, you turn pale as death. 

The twins inherited the Ten Shadows? Together? They share one cursed technique? They share the fucking Ten Shadows?

—------- 

The black divine dog was sent back, thanks to Uncle Megumi Fushiguro. “The other one was already gone when we got here.” Megumi says, leaning back as everyone sits in peace around the low tea-table on the ground. Yuuji is playing cards with the boys, Tsukiko sits in Megumi’s lap, steadily stealing extra cookies from the table, and Naomi is quietly talking to her dad. “They summoned the Divine Dogs by accident, don’t punish them for it, okay?”

“I know.” Noritoshi sighs. “I didn’t even know two Ten Shadows users could exist at the same time.”

“It’s very rare.” Megumi replies. “But rare things are common nowadays.” Since the Culling Games. Since it all got messed up. 16 years ago. 

“It’s so dangerous for a 6 year old to have the power to accidentally summon Mahoraga. Megumi-chan, what did you do at that age?” You still haven’t kicked the habit of calling him Megumi-chan, even though he grumbles about it a lot, especially since the twins are starting to call him that too.

“Well, I had Gojo-sensei to show me the basics, and then I figured it out myself. But I was a very different 6 year old than Hito and Kiko.” He looks down at Tsukiko who’s trying to hide her growing bundle of cookie-loot. “Maybe it’d be safer if I stay with the kids for a bit…”

The kids are delighted to hear this, of course, Uncle Megumi who lets them get away with anything, and buys them whatever they want, he’s their favourite. (Uncle Yuuji is very hurt by this proclamation).

“Yeah, that’d be great, Megumi-chan. Thanks.” You yawn. 

“Say, Hito, Kiko!” Yuuji says. “You called both the dogs? Can you call them again?”

“Now, Itadori?” Noritoshi is still wary. When he first saw the dogs, he almost killed them on the spot, thinking that someone had sent them there to hurt his kids. It had taken a second for light to enter his head: Ah, these are my children’s shikigami. They inherited the Ten Shadows…. Oh my God- my kids inherited the Ten Shadows. “Take the yard outside then, not in here.”

Except for Megumi and the twins, who are working on calling the dogs in the middle of the yard, all of you stand in the veranda. Noritoshi’s Flowing Red Scale is on, ready, just in case.

“It’s just… it’s been 16 years since…” Yuuji finds it difficult to put it into words.. “... since he last saw Divine Dog White… back at the detention center....” 

The shadows under the twins have definitely started to hollow out choppily. Megumi shouts out words of encouragement, telling them to “steady, keep steady!”, while you can tell that Noritoshi is growing more agitated by the second. The volatile control over their shared cursed technique seems to shift between the twins randomly. The shadows underneath, like turbulent sea-water, split.

Megumi Fushiguro is no stranger to loss. It’s a fact of his life. He hardened his heart to this a long time ago, he's bid his good-byes properly in private. He’s done his due mourning when Divine Dog White died over a decade and a half ago. 

Why does his throat feel tighter? Hito and Kiko are making the huge dogs shake hands with a delighted Yuuji. Why does he remember the damp walls of that old apartment, where his dad left him and Tsumiki? Why does he remember Tsumiki’s laugh when the white dog, invisible to her, tripped her as she walked? Those snowy walks with Gojo-sensei, when he brought all three of them mochi, and an extra one for the dog? Those tired midnights in Jujutsu High when the dog curled around him in his sleep? Nobara and Yuuji, back in their teenage years, begging him to summon his precious dog? Nobara who still remains 16 in his memories. Gojo-sensei. Tsumiki. The White Dog. 

If anyone notices a tear stuck in Megumi’s lashes, they don’t mention it. They let him sit on the grass, keeping watch. The overprotective parents have loosened up, allowing Naomi and Chihiro to pet the dogs too. It’s nice, he thinks, everyone getting to enjoy a night like this. It doesn’t come by often. These small moments like playing with the dogs, eating meals together, hanging clothes to dry, taking walks in the setting sun, these are privileges they've earned with blood. Families, especially happy ones, are rare; Megumi’s proud that you and Noritoshi have managed to create one. As for him, he’s content sitting on grass and watching. 

“Megumi-chan, come play!” Tsukiko beckons him. “Shiro, go jump on him.”

“Shiro, no–” But these aren't Megumi’s shikigami, they don’t listen to a word he says. He’s immediately tackled on the soft ground by the weight of the white furball, who’s wagging his tail and licking him all over, as excited as the kids to be summoned. They even smell the same, Megumi remembers. Still, mine had softer fur. 

Naomi valiantly comes to his rescue. Noritoshi offers him some tea before bed. Him and Yuuji are staying the night, you’ve declared, and keeping watch over the twins. Despite all the loss he’s endured his whole nightmare of a life, at the end of the day, there’s still a family he’s part of. There’s still hope, there’s still love, there’s still soft white dogs. 

—------- 

The battle is over: all 4 kids have been put to bed. Yuuji whistles softly, complaining that Hito wheedled five stories and three lullabies out of him. That reminds him: “y/n, you know when Noritoshi called us, he seemed so stressed, I thought that you were pre-” but Noritoshi whacks him on the head before he gets to finish. Megumi isn’t done entertaining the twins yet. 

a/n: timeline wise, this work is set faaar in the future, when the Kamos have returned to and established themselves in Japan. Regardless of the merger, the amount of cursed energy cultivated from the Culling Games have GOT to have fucked up effects on the kids born afterwards, like the remains of nuclear bombs. Naomi is the oldest kid at 13, Chihiro is 10 and the twins are both 6. reader would be 30, noritoshi 34, yuuji 32, and megumi 31. if it was unclear, Asahito and Tsukiko are nicknamed Hito & Kiko

[thisblogisaboutabook]

The Fated Truth

Azriel x Reader

Truth-Teller’s origin story. A multi-pov oneshot.

A/N: this story came to me after listening to the songs seven, vigilante shit, it’s nice to have a friend, and my tears ricochet by taylor swift.

warnings: attempted sa, language, suggestive language, parental abuse, violence, main character death

The Angel

-Ladies always rise above -

Remove the dagger from his heart.

-Ladies know what people want-

Wipe the blood from the corner of your kohl lined eyes.

-Someone sweet-

Spit on the bastard.

-Someone kind-

Swipe at the next overgrown male.

-Someone fun-

Hit your mark, swing around, drive your dagger into the brute on your six.

“Well, shit.” you think to yourself as a group of ten overgrown bats rush toward you. Siphons glowing.

The irony isn’t lost on you that yet another thing they withheld from you would contribute in damning their very existence. A female with siphons was considered absurd and absolutely out of the question, it wasn’t your place - yet this incontrolable blast of raw killing power begged to differ.

One moment those pricks were running toward you and the next, they were ashes in the wind.

Looking at the dead females around you, pure rage boils within. Your insides could be cooked at this point for all you know. Not a single feeling but uncontrollable rage.

A gasp breaks the silence. One of the females is still alive. Running to her, her eyes filled with panic, breaths rapid and shallow. You lean down and whisper to her before unsheathing your dagger and holding it up. Her eyes widen in terror but not at you - behind you. You turn to look.

“Azri-“

The blast of power hit before you could finish saying it - your mate’s name - your final breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Journal

Nine year old Y/N

“I made a new friend! His name is Azriel. He’s like me! He’s two years older than me and can’t fly but he still has his wings. I wish I still had mine, we could learn to fly together. Azriel has burn scars too but his are on his hands instead of his back like mine.

He’s really quiet but it’s okay, I talk and he listens! He has shadow powers though. I don’t think I’m supposed to say this but they’re really cute! One of them followed me home from my chores today.

I have to go now. Dad is yelling. I think he’s mad again.”

11 year old Y/N

“Father hit me again last night. I got upset and my power hiccuped. I asked him for a siphon and he locked me in the cellar for asking. I have bruises that hurt really badly but I’m okay.

Azriel saw me this morning. I tried to hide the bruises but he notices everything. I cried and he listened to me. Sometimes I think he’s the only person who sees me.”

13 year old Y/N

“One of father’s friends came over two nights ago - they were drinking. I had to refill their mugs of ale and the friend grabbed me inappropriately. Father laughed. When he left the room his friend pulled me into his lap and his hand drifted below my waist. I was scared and my power flickered, throwing me backward and flipping the chair over with him in it.

The blast broke his arm and nose. I don’t feel bad.

I tried telling father what happened but he didn’t listen. He locked me in the cellar from that night until this morning.

One of Azriel’s shadows found me and picked the lock. Father either forgot he locked me away or didn’t care because he never came to check on me or give me food. I found a canteen of water on one of the shelves though.

Azriel retrieved me as soon as his shadow notified him. He took me back to Rhysand’s Mother’s cabin and she fed me. Azriel stayed by my side as I took a bath - there were even bubbles. I’ve never had a bath with bubbles before. Azriel saw my scars peaking over my towel after I climbed out of the bath and instinctively clenched his hands. I took them in my hands and kissed them. Our scars prove our strength. He tells me mine are beautiful but his are too. All of him is.

He’s my best friend.”

15 Year Old Y/N

“I spent the day with Azriel yesterday. Sometimes we sneak away and train. He teaches me self-defense maneuvers and even some Illyrian fighting techniques. My powers have been growing a lot lately too. I am still not allowed siphons though. It’s getting harder to contain but training with Azriel serves as an outlet.

I got into a fight with father again two nights ago. He threw a knife at me. I avoided it but if it hit me, it would have landed in my chest. He called me an “ungrateful whore just like my mother.” I was told that mother died in childbirth but sometimes I wonder if it’s not true.

When he locked me in the cellar this time, I let out a blast of power. It ripped a shelf off the wall and down with it came a dusty box I’d never seen before. I opened it to find a beautiful obsidian-hilted knife and a note that said:

For my beautiful babe. May the light of truth always find you, even in the darkest places. I will always love you. -Mother.

I can’t believe it was there all of this time. It broke my heart to know that she had been locked away in the cellar too. The only thing she was able to give me. She loved me. Those words meant so much. Someday I will be reunited with her in the realm beyond and she’ll share her truth with me.

Oh I almost forgot!! Azriel snuck into my room this evening and I showed him the knife. He held me while I cried tears of joy and sadness over this gift from my mother.

He’s going to train me in wielding it.”

16 Year old Y/N

Father was away on a training exercise last night so I went to a party at Rhysand’s cabin. It was fun but Morrigan was there. She’s so beautiful and I think Azriel likes her. He looks at her like she’s the brightest star in the sky.

He’s my best friend and I have loved him for a long time but sometimes, I feel an ache in my chest. Maybe I love him as more than a friend? I left the party early and trained with my hunting knife alone at our usual spot. He didn’t come looking for me.

This morning he stopped by and we practiced together. He seemed sad for a bit but I didn’t press. He tends to prefer more physical methods of expressing his feelings. He was still sullen afterward so I brought him back to my house for tea. We laid in bed together for hours. I know it’s frowned upon but it’s never gone past holding each other. He needs touch as much as I need his listening ear.

I think I’m going to ask him to spend the night.

17 year old Y/N

Yesterday was my 17th birthday. Father didn’t pay any mind to it as always. He says it’s “a reminder of what I did to my mother.” He drank himself into oblivion which left me free to leave the house. He probably never realized I left.

Sometimes I want to tell him that I know his secret - that there was more to her death than my birth but I know better. The following blow up would be catastrophic. At this point, my power has been growing so much that I think… I think I’m more of a danger to him than he is to me.

But… something big happened. Azriel took me flying. We looked at the stars and he flew me far north to see the Aurora. It was almost as beautiful as him. I may or may not have cried tears of joy.

Az playfully kissed my tears away but then something happened - what started as friendly kisses sparked a flame within me and I… I noticed a shift in his scent too. We locked eyes and he kissed my lips. Hard, fervently, like maybe he sees me as something more. We landed in a clearing under the Aurora and kissed for hours.

I love him. I love him wholeheartedly.

18 year old Y/N

Something happened last night! Az and I have spent a lot of nights together recently. Any time father is away, he comes over and we lay in bed kissing and talking for hours until his shadows inevitably lull me to sleep. But last night, I kissed his jaw and down his neck - he grabbed my wrist and growled!! Not a scary growl but a… possessive growl. He told me that if we started this, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So…. I kept kissing him. Lower. And Lower. And, well… the rumors about wingspan are true.

We had each other over and over all night, until Cassian and Rhys came knocking on my door looking for him.

18 Year old Y/N part two:

Father has hardly been around. He’s been visiting other camps. I’m thankful for the break from him and especially thankful for the time I’ve spent with Azriel. We’ve spent countless hours entangled with each other over the past few months. My power has been stirring a lot, it’s still growing. Training hasn’t been enough so this physical outlet between Azriel and I has been a lifeline. I can’t get enough of him. He told me he loved me - and I knew this time it was different. He truly loves me and not just as his friend. He knows that I love him too.

But things have also been trying… Morrigan has visited a few times recently and he’s still so enamored by her. Honestly, I get it. But it still hurts. Sometimes I want to say something about it but I don’t want to cause problems. There’s a rumor that she slept with Cassian a couple of years ago and things have been different between Azriel and Morrigan ever since. He broods more than ever when she’s around.

Maybe I need to fuck him senseless, until all he can think about is me.

Just kidding, but seriously.

19 Year Old Y/N

“I have a secret.

A really big, life altering secret.

Azriel is my mate. I don’t know if he knows but last night - things were really passionate, when we came together, that golden thread people talk about, it just… SNAPPED for me.

Things have been really bad with father lately and there have been more wing clippings happening. My heart hurts for the girls. I used to feel sad because I never had a chance to touch the skies (until Azriel learned to fly and carried me into them) - but to have been able to fly for so many years and lose the ability. I couldn’t imagine. Those males deserve to suffer.

Father made a comment recently saying that he gave me a ‘gift’ by cutting off and burning my wings as a child. It made me furious - my power slipped. It destroyed most of our living room furniture and half our kitchen table. I could scent the fear in him when it happened. I think if he wasn’t such a coward - he would have killed me. I have hardly seen him since.”

20 Year old Y/N

“Azriel is taking me to a formal party at another camp! I can’t wait. Rhysand’s mother even made me a dress for it. It’s the most beautiful clothing I’ve ever owned. She also added a hidden sheath for my knife.

I just finished getting ready - I feel like a shooting star. I’ve never felt so… so powerful and gorgeous. My eyes are lined with kohl and my hair is braided with silvery strands woven in.

Tonight is the night I’m telling Azriel. I’m nervous, so, so nervous, but he deserves to know that we’re mates.

Morrigan will be at the party too. I really hope I’m not making a mistake by telling him tonight. I know he still cares for her so I will wait until after the party and it’s just the two of us in the sky before telling him. Maybe he’ll take me to look at the Aurora again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Survivor

The infamous Shadowsinger made his way to her - approaching slowly, trembling, two palms up in the air as if to placate her.

He knelt down to the female who cried out in a blood curdling scream of pain and fear.

“P-pl-please don’t!! Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m here. You are safe.” The Shadowsinger choked out.

She didn’t understand. Why would he kill that female? She was only trying to help.

“Y-yo-you ki-killed h-her.” She cried out right before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Shadowsinger

Devastation. Pure devastation threatened to rip Azriel to shreds. What the hell happened in a matter of hours?

He’d barely seen Y/N at the dance. She’d arrived to the party with all eyes on her. She held her head high, wearing her scars proudly. He couldn’t help but admire how she let them shine tonight. He’d walked in with his hand on her back his scarred skin to her scarred skin. It wasn’t a flaw at all, but a lovely match. They were beautiful together.

Tonight was the night he would ask her to move in with him. He was now making a small salary - enough to buy a little cabin for the two of them. It was time for her to get the hell away from her horrid father. He planned to take her to view the aurora that she loved so much - and present her with a special gift - her very own siphons. She was the strongest Illyrian female he knew - really she was stronger than any Illyrian he knew aside from maybe him, Rhys, and Cassian. She’d struggled with her power and the misogynistic Illyrian bastards in Windhaven refused to allow her or any female such a privilege.

He’d worked out a plan with Rhys, who convinced the smith that crafted the siphons that he was going to try his hand at wearing siphons one more time - claiming he had a new method of siphoning his power through them that would prevent shattering. While they both knew it was bullshit and the siphons would never work for Rhys - they would then gift them to Y/N without raising suspicion.

Mor was at the dance tonight. He had gone over to visit with her and shared his plans for tonight with her. She squealed and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek and a huge hug, requesting a celebratory dance. They’d gone out on the dance floor for a couple of songs and when he pulled away to steal a dance with Y/N she was gone.

He’d searched the party through when a couple of males burst through the door - yelling of a female going crazy and murdering local villagers.

Az immediately vacated the party to take down the assailant - sending another partygoer to alert Rhys and Cassian who were currently bedding a set of twins in one of the suites.

He was taken back when he landed at the site of the attack. The carnage was brutal with blood coating the snowy ground, littered in dead males and females. His heart nearly stopped when he realized, at the center of it all, there she was. Y/N holding her hunting knife over a severely injured female.

Stunned by the sight, Azriel prepared to send a wave of power out and knock the knife from her hand. Right as the power readied itself for Azriel to fire, she turned and looked at him. Her eyes met his and snap. His body jolted - a golden thread between him and the blood splattered beauty before him - the surge caused his arm to jerk and a much more powerful blast emitted from his siphons. He missed his target. For the first time in his life, he missed it. Instead of the knife, the deadly blast of power hit her.

His mate. His best friend. His equal. His eternity - ripped away in a second.

Everything after that was a blur. His only memories of those moments played on a constant reel in his head flashing images of the injured girl screaming “you killed her!!!!”, collapsing on top of Y/N’s lifeless body, screaming to the mother or any other deity that may listen - begging for her chest to rise and fall again, and then four strong hands pulling him off of her before everything went black and his brothers voice calmed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Days later Azriel woke up from whatever sedation Rhys had put him in. When he woke, Cassian was by his side. It was all of a minute before the memory came flooding back.

Azriel thrashed only to find he’d been restrained.

“Brother..” Cassian said firmly.

“Brother!” he yelled

Azriel’s wrists and ankles were on fire as he thrashed. He had to get to her, had to.

Finally Azriel cried out “Y/N!!! Y/N!!!!”

“My mate! Where is she!? WHERE IS SHE!?” he screamed and cried, thrashing against the restraints with all of his might.

Everything went dark again.

“Az…..” Rhys spoke softly into his mind

Azriel didn’t have the strength to scream or yell in this space of sedation. He could only whisper “where is she?”

Silence filled the void of his mind before Rhys spoke. “She’s gone, Az.”

Devastation flooded through him, filling him completely, making that one sided bond reverberate every ounce of emotion back to him.

Rhys waited patiently, sending soothing waves of darkness into his mind. Knowing Azriel well enough to wait until he was ready to send a thought back.

“Why, Rhys? Why did she do it?”

Again, that damned silence as Rhys paused.

“If I show you now, I’ll have to keep you under for longer, Az. You’re a danger to yourself right now and this… it’s heavy, brother.”

“Do it” he gritted.

Azriel’s mind became entranced in a vision. Before him a massacre. He was seeing through the eyes of a frightened female, eyes bleary from sobbing.

A large group of males had corralled several females into a circle, some as young as five or six. The males all carried sharp objects ranging from sickles and scythes to swords and axes.

A male stepped forward - Y/N’s father - who spoke:

“Females of Illyria have not served us well in many years. They forget that their purpose is to care for us, maintain our homes, and cater to our physical needs. Instead, they insult us by wasting time and energy on training - as if our protection is not enough? Young females smuggle herbs into our camps that delay their bleed so they can fly where they please, whoring around with whomever they please. These behaviors reflect negatively on all of Illyria, leaving us to appear weak to enemies.”

And then the bloodshed began. The males ran at the females, corralling them in closer and closer. Butchering wings and brutalizing any female who dared fight back. The screaming, gods awful screaming, pierced the air.

Male screams suddenly burst out - a blast of power knocking ten of them on their asses.

And there she was, in her resplendent glory.

“Hello boys.” She smirked.

Y/N’s father stepped forward. “My traitorous daughter, and dressed like a slut too. Shall we show them what happens to women who don’t obey.”

“Oh yes, ladies, my father took my wings when I was four. He burnt the stumps too. See these scars?” She turned around briefly with a wave to her back. “Someone I love helped me realize how beautiful they are, a stark reminder of what I can overcome.”

She paused, looking to the females as she addressed her father:

“So yes, father, perhaps this is the fate of disobedient females - but allow me the honor of showing YOU the fate of males who think they can steal a females power.”

-They say looks can kill and I might try-

Her piercing eyes again met her father as she threw a hand out, sending another blast of power - a death blow - turning him to ash in the wind.

Before any of the males could react, she sent another larger blast, creating an opening near the most vulnerable of the females.

“RUN! Those of you who can fight - you may stay. Those of you who are unable - there is no shame in leaving now! Seek shelter!”

The females nodded toward a teenage girl, signaling her to gather the youngest females and ran off with them. Any males that tried stopping them were turned to ash.

“Ladies, show them who we are!” Y/N cried.

-The ladies simply had enough-

They were outnumbered, so terribly outnumbered. Some females had died before Y/N arrived - bleeding out from the butchering of their wings but the few remaining females fought bravely. Because of their lack of training, the males easily overtook many of them but Y/N led them bravely, valiantly, taking them out as best as she could.

As the female numbers lessened Y/N cried out for the females to evacuate, to seek healers. The remainder of the females fled aside from two females (one of which this visions point of view was from) who appeared to have more training than the others.

Y/N looked to them giving a knowing look seemingly saying “give them hell.” They adjusted their stances into that of the most fearsome warriors, and took on the remaining males as more and more fled in.

Y/N’s power was like nothing they’d ever seen. She took down male after male.

Before she could react, two males approached from behind taking out the other female and knocking out the vision of the female whose mind Rhys had gleaned into.

As the female blacked out, the vision faded away. Silence once again filled the air for several minutes before Azriel said:

“But.. she was holding a knife over the female. I don’t understand.”

Rhys answered in a heartbreakingly soft tone

“I can show you, brother. But this will be hard to see. Are you sure?”

Azriel replied firmly, “show me.”

Rhys hesitated before continuing. But then the vision resumed as the female regained consciousness:

Her eyes were so blurry. She was hurting terribly but managed a gasp. Around her, all of the males were dead and the bodies of their fallen sisters painted the snow red. Emotion flooded through her, she couldn’t move. As her vision cleared further, she saw her. The female who fought so bravely for them.

Y/N saw her and ran over. The blood caking her braid causing panic. The trauma of this night was too much - the blood so triggering. Y/N sensed the fear and whispered “I am here. You are safe now. Look at my eyes, not around you, not at the blood on me, just my eyes.” The female tried but couldn’t look away from the blood in her hair. “I’m going to bring my knife out and cut the braid. Do not be afraid.” Y/N once again unsheathed her knife, lifting it, when loud wings flapped in. The injured female couldn’t get words out, her only signal to Y/N, a wide eyed look of panic.

Y/N turned around - breathed out “Azri-“ just as that fatal blow of power hit her.

“STOP!” Azriel cried out in his mind. It was too much.

Azriel’s body began convulsing as a mixture of rage, heartbreak, and panic flew through him. “I KILLED HER. I KILLED HER. MY MATE. MY MATE. MY MATE.”

Rhys had no choice but to send out another wave of sedation to his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next several weeks were spent in and out of sedation. Rhysand had found that Y/N’s father had been planning the attack for months, perhaps even longer. The camp was chosen for the first attack because of the party - a distraction to lessen the chances of interference from outsiders.

He planned to carry out more attacks throughout Illyria in coming months. Had it not been for Y/N, more would have happened. Her heroic actions prevented so many more losses than just the ones that were saved that night.

Azriel stayed bedridden for months - only leaving when Cassian and Rhys nagged him enough that it wasn’t worth the energy to refuse them. One day Rhys brought in a box, inside the box, Y/N’s knife and a journal. “She would have wanted you to have this.”

Azriel’s chest broke at the sight. Her mothers knife, the knife they’d spent hundreds of hours training with. He almost refused it but it felt like a piece of her. A reminder of her goodness, of the mate he lost.

That night he laid it under his pillow - an odd comfort as he read through the journal. The journal unveiling that she knew they were mates. His heart cracked further knowing that the reason she’d stepped out that night was likely to get some air after she saw him with Morrigan. “Stupid.” His inner thoughts cried out to him. How could he have been so blind?

He lay awake for half the night as he read through her journal - he sobbed for hours until his shadows finally lulled him to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

“Azriel” a soft voice whispered.

“Azriel” the lovely voice whispered again.

He was dreaming.

He tried to whisper her name but couldn’t speak.

“I don’t have much time, I need you to listen.”

He again attempted to speak but no sound came. He nodded his head.

A flash of light illuminated his mind and there she was. Somehow even more beautiful than she’d been - if that were possible. Her form illuminated with an incandescent glow, face full of light - a light that only came from insurmountable joy and happiness. And behind her, behind her were stunning golden feathered wings. An angel, his angel, stood before him… with six glowing siphons.

“Azriel, please do not cry for me. I am at peace. This was always my destiny. The lovely truth of my life was that all of the pain led me to you, I found a love, a friendship, that so few experience. Every step led me to where I am now and this afterlife is beautiful. The truth of life is that fate is inevitable.”

She waved a hand and out stepped more winged females. The females who died in the attack.

“What happened was not an accident, it was fate. You could not have changed the outcome. When you sent your power out toward me and the bond snapped, my power shot through the bond into you, reflecting back to me. You only sent out a small blast, the fatal blow came from my refracted power.”

Azriel’s eyes widened at the revelation. His heart still completely shattered but the guilt slightly lessened.

“When you sealed my fate it trapped a piece of my soul in the knife. I am forever bound to Truth-Teller. When you carry truth-teller you carry a piece of my power, of me, with you. Though, I will be with you regardless, as a part of me will always rest…” she held a delicate hand to her heart, “right here.”

His mind raced. Truth-Teller. What she’d named her knife after the truth of her mother was unveiled with it.

“I must go now, Azriel.” She waved an arm again to her fellow angels. “I am the keeper of the Mother’s gate and this is my legion. This was always my destiny - this and to love you. I will keep the bastards out and someday, someday far from now, I will hold the gate open for you.

Until then, may the truth set you free my love.”

A beautiful woman resembling Y/N stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her mother. The angels all nodded to Azriel in confirmation.

“My precious mate, I will love you for eternity.” Y/N whispered as she shot toward the sky - right into the most vibrant aurora he’d ever seen.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

500 Years Later

Azriel still thought of her every damn day, Truth-Teller never leaving his side. His North Star, the angel guiding him through life. He never told his brothers - didn’t know how to explain how that broken mating bond glowed inside him whenever his intuition failed. She’d guided him in her own way all of these years.

Leading up to the war with Hybern the tug became stronger and stronger. A warning of the strife to come.

For the first time since the night Rhys brought him her journal and Truth-Teller, she reappeared to him.

“Azriel.” Her melodic voice whispered, a sweet song serenading his soul.

“Azriel, I don’t have much time.” that honeyed voice whispered.

In the same fashion as last time, he couldn’t speak. Managing only to nod.

“I have carefully pulled the strings of fate as much as I am capable. A war is coming with a fate that I am unable to divulge. The Mother has allowed me to share just this:

“The fawn who sees carries the truth. When the time comes, you will know.”

Azriel furrowed his brows with confusion.

Y/N smiled softly, outshining any star in the sky, more captivating than the spirits of Starfall. “The truth will set you free. Do not fear loving again.”

He fought and fought, trying to speak, thrashing against the walls of his mind he was able to mutter three words to her.

“I love you.”

She placed a hand on her heart.

“I know, my love.”

Spreading those magnificent wings, she shot from his mind, the void filling with the echoes of her song.

“Until eternity reunites our souls.”

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve���s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[babayagakeanu]

it’s not living (if it’s not with you)

pairing: John Constantine/reader

Summary: John realizes there’s nothing more in life that he wants more than you.

**this gif sent me into a short spiral so I had to use it. Like how dare you look at me like that sir?**

You’ve know John since you were in the hospital he stayed at when he attempted to take his life, and since you had a medical background, you have been his person to go to when he needed stitching up. Ever since, you two’ve grown closer over the years, and you harbored a serious crush on John. Something about the way his deep eyes bore into you as you speak, always throwing you off balance. Maybe it was because he was older, ten years older and somehow you go off on that.

Or maybe it was because two weeks ago, he stopped at your doorstep liquored up and gave you the best night of your life. Since that heated, drunken night, he hasn’t come around much, and he was in here every other night. You knew you couldn’t trust him with your feelings. Since when do we trust men with gorgeous eyes, who are tall and charismatic, and tease you endlessly? It was ten o’clock at night, you were fresh out of the shower after a long day and ready to relax for the remainder of your evening in front of your tv. Heating up and eating a microwave dinner, you scroll through the channels before settling on some old 2000s rom-com. Finishing your dinner, you set it on the cheap coffee table in front of you, and just as the movie is getting good, John knocks on your door.

Sighing, you know it’s John because he came up with specific knock to use when he needed somewhere safe to land, or close a hole in his flesh. You swing open the door to find John, bloodied and beaten.

“Oh my fucking God, John!” your gasp comes out as a whisper, being mindful of your other neighbors. “What the fuck happened to you?” You help him inside, half of his weight leaning on you as you guide him to the chair in your kitchen.

“Just a coupla’ really strong demons,” he mutters, “got an whiskey?” Another sigh from you. Always drinking, thinking it’s going to heal his inside problems. You slam a glass down in front of him and pour hima few fingers of whiskey. This will also help manage his pain once you start threading through his skin. Walking to the cabinet in the hallway, you grab the first aid kit, along with a suture and needle, and a pair of slightly rusty scissors.

Sitting down in front of him, you open your kit. “Just keep sipping on your drink, John. I’m gonna start, now.” Wiping down your needle with alcohol, you thread the suture through and the first piercing of the needle is enough to make John wince. He gulps his drink greedily, slamming it down on the table.

“Jesus, you never hold back, do you?” He cracks, exhaling shortly as the second pierce happens. You give him a muttered affirmation and he notices your silence. “Why are you so quiet, y/n?”

You sighs rolling your eyes at him. “ ‘Cause, John, I just am today. I’m not really in the mood for your antics tonight. I lost a patient today, seventeen years old.” John groans a final time as you tie the suture, holding it in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, reaching for your hand but you recoil, causing John to look at you weird. “Seriously? What’s going on with you, y/n?” He begs you, and you almost give in, ready to tell him to forget about it, but you’ve reached your boiling point.

“You really don’t get anything, do you, John?” You whirl around, anger seeping through your pores. “Do you remember what happened two weeks ago? Or were you just too fucking drunk to remember?” You spit, venom lacing your words.

He looks at you incredulously. “Me? Remember two weeks ago? Y/n, I can barely remember what I had for lunch yesterday. What has got you all wound up?” He defends himself so easily.

“You wanna know what happened?” You shout, getting closer to him, challenging him to see who could shout the loudest.

“Yeah, I think I do!” John barks back, hands on his hips as he leans closer to your face. You could see the anger swirling in his eyes, and this fight is probably not what he needs right now, but it’s what you need.

“Fine!” You shout, “Two weeks ago, you show up here drunk as a skunk, telling me how much you love me, how much you care about me, and then we fuck!” His eyes are widened, and a small flush is making it’s way to his cheeks. You continue, because you’re not quite finished yet. “And the best part about this is that I can’t stop thinking about you, and how I will never feel like that with anyone else but you! That’s the real fucking reason, John!”

Your rant rings through the halls, and the silence makes itself present. John shakes his head, sits back down, and lights a cigarette. “Y/n, I remember.” Is all he says. You give him a look that’s teetering on ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you’ and ‘you’re dead meat’. “Let me finish,” he warns you, “I remember because I woke up in your bed naked, and with the most gorgeous woman lying next to me. You didn’t see me because I left.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and you ask him why.

“I left thinking that I am not worthy of your love, y/n. I’m a bad person with an even worse conscience. I left thinking there is no way in hell, that someone like you chooses to be with me. Y/n, as soon as I met you, it was over for me. Gone were the days of enjoying my solitude, enjoying my loneliness and misery, because there was you. I am not gonna live anymore if it’s not gonna be with you.” Standing up, he takes your hand and lifts you from your chair. Grabbing your face between his hands, he kisses you sweetly. The smell of a freshly smoked cigarette lingers on his lips and you breath him in. Leather and smoke.

“So does that mean?” You ask him, and he laughs.

“Yeah, I love you, kid.” You squeal, smiling through a kiss as you lead him towards your bedroom, where John shows just how much he can’t live without you.

————————————————————

Just a short one today as I scheme up some new drafts here! I cannot tell you guys how happy I’m back to be in my blog. I deleted the backup before realizing that it would delete my work that I wrote over there, but it’s fine, I wasn’t too happy with that plot for John wick and felt I could do better! Anyways, here’s a Constantine one, because we all love our sexy smart-ass. hugs and kisses!

[slfcare]

life goes on and it will take you with it

#bee tells a story on time and love (for new years', for you) cw grief, cancer mention

In 2024, I lost five people, all family members. Two of them were brother and sister, both had cancer and passed shortly after they were diagnosed. The first never knew the second would be so close to follow. She was my grandmother, in whose guestroom I slept exactly a year ago on New Year’s Eve, next to my mother. While the latter had gone out for breakfast, I found her sitting in the kitchen, still in her nightgown and bonnet. She told me she hadn’t been feeling well, and that my uncle (her second-oldest son) would take her to the doctor’s soon.

We didn’t know, then, that a month later they’d tell her that the stomach-pain she’d been experiencing had been a tumor that had spread everywhere. Another month later she’d be gone. I’d be in a candle-lit room at the funeral home, debating whether I should reach out and touch her hand before they would bolt her casket shut as I was trying to remember every inch of her face through my blurry vision. (It didn’t work.)

Her brother got his diagnosis soon after, and passed peacefully. Their cousin passed in her sleep shortly after him. My great-aunt on my Dad’s side had had Parkinson’s for a while and grew more frail and forgetful by the day, but it still came as a shock when he called to tell me she had taken her last breaths. Then there was my Dad’s cousin, a father of two, a real health-nut. He went for a normal checkup but never went home, because of an aneurysm. He ended up having several heart-attacks during and after surgery, then slipped into a coma and passed on his birthday. My Dad’s best friend was a genius, too, but this year, his aneurysm took everything from him. Last NYE he was celebrating in town, now he’s in a nursing home for the rest of his life.

After such a tumultuous year, I thought it was over. But then, on december 26th, my dearest uncle — the second-oldest son of my late grandmother, who took his mom to the doctor’s only ten months ago — was sent to the ER by his family doctor for pneumonia, and then suffered a stroke today right before he’d head home, for which he’s in surgery as I type this. When my mom told me about him, she added that my dearest cousin’s father was also diagnosed with cancer.

I tallied it up in my head. With everybody I’d lost this year, plus my friend’s grandmother, he’d be the fourth person who was diagnosed with cancer this year.

To be really honest with you all, I think all of it has had a greater impact on me than I’ve been trying to trick myself into believing. It’s been hard trying to wrap my mind around how so many bad things can happen at once. Everywhere I turned, more people passed, got diagnosed with something horrible, or had terrible things happen to them. Not to mention the state of our world right now: the genocide in Palestine, the war in Ukraine, the terrible attacks by Israel, Trump’s presidency and the uncertainty that all of it brings for so many of us. My heart aches for so many people that it forgets to ache for myself. All of this hurt is bigger than I am. I imagine it surpasses me, in some way, and that’s why I can’t really feel it.

The weirdest thing is that despite all of this, life continues. In one of my posts this year, I wrote, life goes on and it will take you with it. It has no choice but to do so. While my grandmother grew weaker, I was just a subway-ride away from her at college, trying to focus on my minor, or celebrate the fact that I got my first job offer because of a school project I had shown her just weeks prior. While three family members passed, I landed an amazing internship. While my uncle had his heart attacks back-to-back, I was planning for my future. A future that, suddenly, so many of my loved ones wouldn’t be there to be a part of.

The fact that life goes on and it will take you with it feels unfair and painful. It means that life was also rushing me past the moments I wasn’t ready to leave behind, like that moment I shared with my grandmother, as we sat in her kitchen the morning of January 1st, 2024. But at the same time, each of these losses taught me the most important lesson of the year: how real strength is born from love, how precious and fleeting the smallest moments are, how each of these moments is like the faintest little light guiding us forward. Because that’s where we must go.

Time has moved us, and the ones before us, past the most hurtful things we can imagine. Time freed my loved ones from their pain and illnesses. Time will allow me to grow with my grief and get used to its weight in the pit of my stomach and my chest. Time will show mercy to us both: see, how it has brought us to 2025?

If you have suffered loss or grief this year, or if you’ve suffered at all, or if this was the best year of your life: I wish you a better new year. Time has taken you this far and it will continue carrying you. As will life. As will love. ♡

[mammalsofaction]

Domestic

Inspired by this old comic by @askhumanperrytheplatypus

Rating: T

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, pre-slash, domestic squabbles, misunderstandings, teasing, Doof 101 AU

A/N: Just a little thing to help me regain some lost confidence these past couple of months

"Heinz," Clara Wells calls out from the other end of the office. She's got a huffy tone that implies she had done so more than once. "Heinz." She calls again, and he finally raises a lazy hand in acknowledgement.

"Just five more minutes, Clare."

"Your husband's outside." She counters, tilting her head to further emphasize her point. "And he's been waiting for ten."

"He wouldn't've had to if he'd bothered to read my message I sent 5 hours ago," Heinz volleys defensively, if a bit distractedly. "Or pick up the phone when I tried to call him after lunch. I'll tell him I'm almost done. Say, did we mix up the answers in the scheme for number four...? Or have these freaking papers finally done me in?"

"Let me take a look at that." He hears Dylan O'Malley quip, before he feels the man's towering presence hovering over his shoulder, peering down onto the half graded quiz papers Heinz had sprawled over his entire desk, and even a little into Bess' territory on his left side. She'd gone home hours ago, though, having finished with today's marking yesterday on account of that dinner date with her sister across town, so it's not an urgent concern.

"Oh yeah, no." Dylan adds nonsensically, pointing between the bullet points of the aforementioned question. "It's technically correct, but Clara and I technically stole these questions from the finals 3 years ago and the workings are a bit outdated with the syllabus Lang wants us to use now. It's a bit trickier cus they'd need to use trigonometry on Points S in relative to Y-,"

"You don't need to tell me that, this is foundational physics-,"

"Yeah, well, the kids aren't Physicians, so most of them seem to have gotten confused. I told my kids to table it for now until the department meeting on Monday."

Heinz stops tapping his pen, looking up to the man incredulously. "Are you telling me that I've just wasted 30 minutes of my time quizzing out a tabled question?"

Dylan's answer was promptly drowned by an extremely loud and pointed car honk, and Heinz hears a startled yelp from the pantry. He finally looks up to see Perry, naturally, parked on the lot that was technically Principal Lang's, front facing the tall windows of the office.

Heinz spreads his arms wide, meeting the man's eyes on the other side of the window pane.

Perry retorts by pointedly tapping on the face of his wristwatch, then his car.

Heinz gives him the middle finger.

Perry points at him menacingly, and gestures him to walk, with two fingers on the plane of his wrist. He taps his wristwatch again, before raising his hand, palm straight out. 5 minutes.

"Oh for Gott's sake." Heinz mutters, rapidly getting up and cleaning after himself, just as he hears Adelaide Brimming on the other side of the room go; "Oh, you guys are so cute."

Heinz snorts, shoving all of the papers into the segmented file he's going to have to bring home. "Yeah, well. When I get there I'm about to be adorable."

"It's domestic." Dylan chuckles, stepping aside so he might not interfere with the Doofenshmirtz Maelstrom as he attempts to find his loafers he'd kicked out of sight, allegedly beneath his own desk. "I didn't realize you were married, Heinz?"

The Advanced Sciences teacher frowns, straightening up. "You aren't? Well," he shrugs. "You were probably better off. I'm not anymore though."

"Oh?"

"Yes? Are you sure I haven't told you this before? You've met Vanessa."

"Oh, you meant your first wife? No, I knew that. I meant-I hadn't realized you'd remarried."

Heinz freezes, his hand on the doorknob leading out the office. "What?"

Dylan frowns. "What, what?"

"Stop being nonsensical. I haven't re-married."

Clara snorts into her coffee.

"I haven't. Why is everyone looking at me?"

"You called him your husband." Dylan points out, gesturing to the impatient be-suited man standing outside.

"Perry the- Perry? No. What? No, he's-we're-I can't-you guys are-he's-!" Heinz sputters. "He's practically my parole officer!"

Dylan and Clara exchange weighted looks, the latter with a permanent smirk etched upon her face.

"You want him to be your husband though." She says casually.

He doesn't have to stand for this. "I don't have to stand for this." Heinz says, cheeks burning all the way up to his ears. High school was high school, apparently, no matter where you were on the side of staff doors. He slams the door behind him to punctuate his indignantion, though he could've sworn he still heard Clara laugh on the other side. He's still going to have to see her tomorrow.

Despite his visible impatience not twenty minutes ago, Perry's face visibly softens as he sees Heinz rounding out to the parking lot, where his teal colored OWCA standard Sedan purra idly as they wait. And Heinz hates it, hates that he's able to tell, and how it makes his heart summersault from beneath his breastbone to his stomach with an almost childish shame.

Perry, as he was naught to do, opens the passenger side door for him, as he does to make fun of him, whenever Heinz was in a churlish mood. He's even doing a stupid little teasing bow, like an unnecessarily attractive carriage master. Or a prince.

It's mocking. But his coworkers won't know that.

Heinz grabs ahold of the door, and slams it back closed.

Perry raises a questioning eyebrow. Heinz can barely notice the awkward silence between them, frozen as he was imagining his coworkers giggling over his shame like a pair of bullies.

After a second or two, he opens it back up and climbs inside.

He sees Perry hesitate right outside his door, and when he rounds over to climb into his customary driver's seat, Heinz cuts him off right off the bud.

"Not one word, Perry the Platypus." Heinz mutters. "Not one. Word."

[herefortheships]

Here it is! My first fanfic in over TEN years! This fic is for today's Destiel fandom event Electric Boogaloo, hosted by @blanketforcas in celebration of the anniversary of the Latam dub giving us canon reciprocal Destiel.

The theme of the event is reciprocation, and that is the theme of my little fic. I hope you like it!

(I wanted to also share this to AO3 and contribute to the over 100,000 Destiel fanworks, but I haven't gotten my invitation yet! So this will go over there eventually.)

Word count: 1,778 words

No warnings of any kind. I think it's a sweet kind of story.

Short summary: Dean sits down to write a letter for Cas with all the things he didn't get to say.

Felicidades a Dean y Castiel en este aniversario. Siempre quiero recordar la alegría (y el DOLOR de ALMA lol) que estos dos me han dado desde el 2012 hasta el día de hoy. Los amo. 😊✨

(Congratulations to Dean and Castiel in this anniversary. I always wat to remember the joy (and the PAIN of my SOUL lol) these two have given me since 2012 until today. I love them. 😊)

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

The words he never said

A short fic by Here for the Ships (Des 💚)

Dean Winchester sat at his desk with nothing but a pencil, a sheet of paper, and a bottle of booze. Sam was out in an early morning run with the dog, so Dean was alone with some time to kill and some thoughts to finally drag out of his head and smother away with this one sheet of paper. It had been over two months, now, since he had been forced to part ways with Cas; since his entire world had been turned inside-out and upside-down.

He wasn’t sure if he had processed everything; from the loss of Cas, to defeating Chuck (aka the God), to living in a world where his new God had been a surrogate son to him only a couple of months ago.

The events of those days played often in his mind, when he found himself alone; they paraded in his dreams as he tried to sleep at night… The grief of what was lost had become a constant companion, peering through any moment of peace in the most unexpected ways. A song suddenly playing in the radio, a scent attached to a moment he would never get back.

Dean had considered taking it on as his one mission in life, hunting down the Empty and getting Cas back. But no. He had learned it well and deep by now, that revenge never resulted in anything good. Plus, he’d had enough of dealing with supernatural beings with ineffable, omnipotent powers. Chuck was the final Big Fish he took down, and he was good with that.

Dean took a look at the bottle of room-temperature beer for a few seconds, and he pushed it back on his desk instead of taking a sip this time. It’d hurt, but these words needed to be said. Or at least, he needed them out of his head and stored somewhere else.

“Well, Cas… These are the things I never said…” he said to himself, picked up the pencil, and got to writing:

Last night I prayed to Jack, again… And Cas, buddy, you know how much I hate having to do that. But I had to. You know, I thought I had accepted it, that I was over it. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do… We were all doing what we thought was right. But it just keeps playing over and over, and over in my head.

Cas, what the hell were you thinking? I’m not one for judging… I’ve done my share of stupid things, too. For love, for not wanting to be left alone… But Cas, how could you do this to me? I know it sounds fucking selfish, because you’re gone, and because of that we’re all safe and your sacrifice wasn’t it vain—it was never in vain, I really hope you know that. But Cas, now I have to live knowing that you’re gone because you loved me. You loved me. You said all those things about me, I can scarcely remember all of it (trust me, I’m kicking myself about it every freaking day), but I can feel it, everything. I can feel every damned word, every damned day.

Just so you know, because of you… Because of you I could see more in me. Because of you I could see myself differently than I ever did before. Man, I wish I wasn’t so bad with this… That I could put into words just what that all meant to me, what it means to me.

You said all those things about me, and I didn’t get to say anything. And yeah, just like I’ve prayed to you, hoping you could hear what I had to say, I’ve also prayed to Jack. I’ve prayed almost every single night for him to get you out of that place; for him to set things right… But I haven’t heard a word from Jack, and I haven’t seen a flutter of angel wings anywhere; nothing to connect me to Heaven, nothing to give me a clue on what to do….

Every night, the scene of your death plays inside my head, like a freaking movie I can’t look away from no matter how much I want. And in my head, I always stop it from happening. In my head we face the Empty together and we win. We always win.

Dean stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts, wondering if writing this would be enough.

I think I took it for granted, that we always win. I think at some point I felt invincible. You know, you and me, and Sam, we’ve taken some pretty Big Fish. I think something inside me always felt like we’d always win, that we’d always come back to the bunker together and share some beers. I think something inside me always believed that, even though I didn’t fully realize it. Looking back now, I see it. Cas, when you said those words to me, I froze. And it took me a while, you know? To understand what really happened. That I was your happiness.

“No, I don’t think I should put it like that…”

That I was your happiness. That just letting me know how you felt about me was enough to make you truly happy. Enough to make the Empty come and take you. But Cas, now I have to live with that knowledge and it’s driving me fucking crazy, because… Alright, I’m not good with words, and I’m sure by now you know that about me, Cas, but I just wanted you to know, I needed you to know

Dean sat back and sighed a long sigh, staring at the page like it was staring right back at him, somehow shaming him, even though there was no one here to read over his shoulder. “I can’t even write the motherfukin’ words.”

There was no time to finish this now, anyway. He’d heard the door a few minutes ago: Sam was back, and he should be in the shower now. There was a case they were driving up to today, and he’d already made up his mind: it would be his last. He was officially retiring after today (not that he’d told Sam anything about that yet, but… he’d figure out how to say it on the way back).

They were supposed to leave after breakfast for a whole day of driving.

Chuck was defeated and Jack had vanished, having become the new God (that was still crazy to think about). There were no immediate world-ending threats and no more infinitely powerful surrogate son to take care of anymore. He was done hunting. If Cas was truly gone forever, then he’d honor his sacrifice by living the best possible life he could live. And that life, however he looked at it… That life didn’t include hunting. Not anymore.

Dean sat down to tie his boots, and as he did, a second pair of boots appeared right in front of him. “Man, that was fast. I didn’t even hear the damned door just now. You’re gonna have to give me a break, Sammy.” But when he raised his gaze, he found himself looking at Jack, standing there with a small smile.

The color drained out of Dean’s face. For a moment, he could only stare at Jack, wondering if he was imagining it.

“Hello, Dean. You’ve been okay?” Jack said, sounding a little timid, to which Dean replied, “Yeah… I’m fine, no thanks to you… Almost gave this old man a heart attack…” Dean joked, a little breathless, and God or not, this was Jack, so he pulled him into a hug. “Come here. How’ve you been? It’s so good to see you…”

“I’ve been good,” Jack said, and he pulled away. “There’s someone else who’s been wanting to see you." Jack beamed. "Believe me, it took me a while to negotiate (you won’t be surprised to know, not even God is entirely all powerful), but I finally did it…”

And that was when Dean felt it, the powerful presence behind him.

He could do nothing but stand there as the realization of what Jack meant dawned on him, until the words broke him out of the spell, “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around, and there he saw…

“Cas…”

Castiel was standing there, right in front of his bed. He was fully restored; Dean didn’t need to see a shadow of his wings to know this was Cas in his full angelic power, safe and alive and standing right there in his bedroom. “But… how?”

“We heard your prayers,” Jack said, “and Cas didn’t belong in the Empty. I had to right a wrong.”

“You damn well had to…” said Dean, still staring at Cas. “Jack…” He finally turned back to thank him—to say anything—but Jack was gone.

“Dean… I’m so sorry…” Cas said. “I should’ve—”

“What are you talking about, man… You’re back… That’s all that matters.”

“I owe it all to Jack. He is everything I hoped he would become,” Cas said, and he smiled.

And then, there was silence. Even though Dean had been writing a long letter just moments ago, full of all the things he wished he could have said to Cas that day, here was Cas in the flesh right now—his Cas—and not a single word would form.

So Dean just pulled Cas into a hug and squeezed him tight, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry it all happened so abruptly; I wish I could—” Cas started.

“I don’t care. Cas… I don’t care.” Dean pulled back from the hug, staring Cas straight in the face with his hands still on his arms. “All I care is that you’re here.”

Cas looked sad, or perhaps, conflicted. “Dean… I know… What I said before…” he started, but Dean stopped him again.

“Cas… If you heard me just now… If you’ve heard my prayers, to you, to Jack… Then you know. But still… I feel like I should say something.”

“Dean… You really don’t have to—”

“But I’m not good at saying something, so…” he pulled Cas into a kiss. It was warm and tender, and salty with the tears that had finally pushed their way out. Cas kissed him right back, and when they stopped, they stood there sharing each other’s breath, with their lips just an inch away from another kiss.

“I think that should be enough of an answer… But if it wasn’t, Cas…” Dean smiled, a small, trembling smile, and it was almost a whisper when he said, “I love you, too.”

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — As we mark the grim second anniversary of the Ukraine conflict this Shabbat, I’m reminded of a haunting melody I heard in the city of Poltava last month.

I was standing before Sonia Bunina, a plucky 17-year-old, when she opened her mouth to sing when an air raid siren rang out.

I flinched. Not Sonia — she didn’t miss a beat.

“Kol haolam kulo gesher t’zar meod, veha’ikar lo lifached k’lal,” she belted out before seeking shelter. “The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the most important thing is to have no fear at all.”

Sonia, like so many Jews I know in Ukraine, is many things — determined, grieving, focused — but she’s certainly not cowering.

As she sang those words by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov — the Ukrainian Jewish sage whose followers continue to come by the tens of thousands to his grave in Uman annually — she embodied the prayer’s indomitable spirit.

Sonia and I met outside Poltava’s Hesed, part of the network of Jewish humanitarian hubs founded by my organization — the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC — more than three decades ago. Today they’re a lifeline to tens of thousands of Jews facing loss and strife. Since she was a toddler, Sonia has been attending activities at Hesed — her mother coordinates cultural programs for the elderly, and she connects teen volunteers like herself with isolated seniors, a critical source of comfort these last two years.

These days, traveling to Ukraine feels like a pilgrimage — there’s a pull in my soul to visit family near Lviv, to bear witness to Ukrainian Jewish resilience, and to be inspired by the clarity of purpose that is so palpable there. Since my first trip in 2011, I’ve been eight times. Last year, I wrote about how a year of crisis had transformed the ordinary into the sacred in Ukraine. Now, visiting feels even more essential with the worsening humanitarian situation.

Ukrainian Jews aren’t blasé about these challenges — far from it. Just take the delicate ballet of emotions on their faces when checking their phones during an air alert — contacting loved ones, scrolling through photos of devastation, and analyzing Telegram chats speculating on a given rocket’s make and trajectory.

But life goes on — there’s work to do — and though they’ve lost so much, they refuse to give any more away.

Showing up for each other, whatever it takes, is now baked into their very essence as Jews, and in Ukraine, there are tens of thousands to serve — hungry old women and displaced young families, disabled Holocaust survivors and stunned middle-aged professionals, shocked to now need help when they were once donors and volunteers.

They act fearlessly to ensure their communities make it through this crisis, body and soul intact. Can we expect anything less than boundless creativity from the people who birthed Sholem Aleichem and the Baal Shem Tov?

“These bombings, all these things that are killing people, destroying houses, leaving children homeless … it’s very scary,” Galina Limarenko, an 82-year-old retired nurse, told me in her small bedroom in Berezivka, taking note of the warm blanket, firewood, and other winter supplies my colleagues provided. “Thank God for the Jewish community, which never gives up and always shares even their very last piece of bread.”

I saw that irrepressible spirit again at our Beit Dan JCC in battered Kharkiv — a shapeshifting wellspring of strength just a few dozen kilometers from the eastern border. Shortly after Feb. 24, 2022, the center became a staging ground for truckloads of emergency aid — part of the 800 tons of humanitarian assistance we’ve delivered so far.

A few blocks from missile strikes, it now hosts children’s camps and soulful Shabbat services and operates a “kids hub,” offering academic enrichment to children who haven’t had in-person school for years — robbed of normal childhood by the pandemic and now the ongoing crisis.

And amidst blizzards and blackouts, Beit Dan has also become a “warm hub,” a safe place for beleaguered Jewish Kharkivites to charge their devices and obtain a hot drink and warm meal.

“If you share in our pain, and provide support where it’s needed, I’m forever grateful,” said Nika Simonova, Beit Dan’s program director. “The ability to remain human is the main thing. Done right, I believe that can save the world.”

That’s why we at JDC, aided by a coalition of partners including the Jewish Federations, Claims Conference, and International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, deployed a historic response to this conflict and remain committed to the Jewish future here.

We’re focused on ongoing humanitarian support for more than 41,000 Ukrainian Jews, expanding trauma relief, closing children’s educational gaps, and getting unemployed Jewish community members, among millions of Ukrainians plunged into poverty, back to work.

There is no doubt that the Jewish world is now responding to crises on multiple fronts, including this one, but we have been here so many times before. We must draw strength from our history and from the sure knowledge that this is what we’re built for. Our compassion and commitment, when leveraged with that timeless sense of mutual Jewish responsibility, means we can tackle the challenges we face — and come out on the other side even stronger.

As I walked through Lviv on my last day in Ukraine, I asked my cousin Anna Saprun, a 25-year-old business analyst, how this period has changed her.

“I hate what’s brought me here, but I love who I’ve become,” she said with a fierce and feisty smile. “Nothing scares me anymore. I feel powerful.”

Two years after the conflict began, Ukraine’s Jews are inspired anew each day, resolute in the sure knowledge that they know exactly who they’re working for — each other.

[lutawolf]

Hi Luta, if you don't mind answering, what do you think attracted Joe to Ming? And how much does their D/s vibe play into it? I'd love to hear your perspective.

Hey nonnie!!!

Let's go back to episode one and examine this together. I will be utilizing excerpts from the book to showcase inner thoughts, but I will refrain from divulging any spoilers from the book.

I will skip the entire part about awakening from a coma. Instead, let's start where Joe first encountered Ming's poster. I am beginning here in order to provide quotation from the book and provide a comprehension of Joe's inner thoughts.

I wanted to share this because I think it shows how Joe feels about Ming and also reminds us that for him, this is still fresh. Everyone else's world kept revolving, but for Joe, he was just on the phone with Ming. Those emotions have yet to be addressed, and we are currently adding additional complications to the situation.

Now to the elevator scene where Ming and Joe meet.

“The elevator door opened completely. The man standing in front of him is the man on the LED commercial that day. He is only 23 years old and is already well known to half of the world. He is the mighty movie star that no one dared to approach, YanMingXiu. YanMingXiu had gotten older. ZhouXiang's memory of him is still a person who is in the teenager phase, one who likes to wear sportswear and jeans. His entire person exuded youthfulness and a flamboyant aura. The YanMingXiu of today is wearing a casual suit, looking calm and restrained. His expression seems to have solidified on his face but looking icy.

ZhouXiang had been in the entertainment industry for nearly ten years. He had seen all kind of beauties, but no matter whether it was three years ago or now, he always felt that YanMingXiu's appearance is most perfect. He doesn't know how God crafted him out so finely and superbly that it's not a surprise that millions of spectators would be awed by him. Even he, who believes that he had encountered many beautiful people, is also fascinated by YanMingXiu.

In his mind, there was no way he could suppress the memories between him and YanMingXiu. From the time when he and YanMingXiu met to the last phone call they had, it was merely a years' time from beginning to end. However, to him, those memories were too recent. This feeling is very strange. It was like he only saw the person last week, and he was still a teenager, but this week, he had become a man. To him, the two years in between were completely blank. The two years had changed everyone and changed many things. Except for him, he not only lost two years of time, but he was forced to accept the changes that occurred in the past two years.”

For fun, I'll give you Ming's thoughts.

Both of their inner thoughts have now been seen. We are aware that both individuals are in love with each other. Now from when? From the show, we know that Ming fell in love with Joe's back right away. But what about Joe?

The show did an impressive job of capturing the book here, but the show changes from the book when Ming simply walks away.

I, personally, feel they still captured the fact that Joe was smitten, but in the book, we see Joe being unable to take his eyes off Ming. From the book, I know that he even wanted to go over and talk to him. So from the beginning, Ming captivated Joe. He is immediately drawn to his beauty. Which is fair considering we all know that Ming loves Joe's back. He is hostile initially to Joe for the reason that he can't understand why he is drawn to Joe when he is clearly in love with Tong.

I thoroughly enjoy the car scene. Joe is accustomed to being able to charm people, but this beautiful boy is not paying him any attention. Regardless of the efforts made by him. Yet, just when he is starting to get discouraged, Ming surprises him. Inviting himself to Joe's home.

“Zhou Xiang felt a bit bored seeing Yan Mingxiu's cold and detached attitude. Although he was itching to sound Yan Mingxiu out, he could tell Yan Mingxiu was completely uninterested in him. Even if Yan Mingxiu was gay, what did it matter? Being homosexual wasn't anything special. If two men liked the look of each other, both would have realized already. Who had the patience to unearth if the other person was beautiful inside? Even though Zhou Xiang felt that it was a pity, he wasn't a petty person. Being able to accompany such an unrivalled beauty on the way home in a traffic jam under the heavy rain was already very wonderful. He'll just make do with sexually fantasizing about him in his head. He should tightly zip his mouth, behave, and drive the car to avoid annoying him.”

Okay, so from everything I've shown you. You can clearly see that Joe has a submissive personality.

The sexual scene in the show effectively showcases their mutual sexual attraction. However, the scene itself doesn't match up with what is in the book. Having said that, I believe that the show aligns more closely with their individual traits, and I found that I liked it more than the book.

Okay, back to the show. Ming being aggressive is a turn on for Joe. It allows him the opportunity to not think. He has been making his own choices for a long time, so this is a chance for him to relax. That however doesn't extend to letting Ming top without first mentally preparing for it.

Joe immediately rejects Ming, going home. Why? Because he is tired of being alone. So Joe cooks and feeds Ming. As Joe begins to care and charm Ming, the attraction between the two builds. Both individuals experiencing a diminished sense of loneliness. Please keep in mind that Ming has lived abroad for years, with only the occasional visits from his family. He is just as lonely as Joe.

“After the meal, YanMingXiu continued to watch TV while ZhouXiang went to clean up the kitchen.

After cleaning up, ZhouXiang brought out the dessert and tea. He had not entertained anyone in his home for a long time. He rarely had people over. Even if he brought back anyone; they certainly wouldn't sit down to have tea and chat.

Although it is a pity that he and YanMingXiu couldn't achieve the goal (sex), sitting and chatting with him on this rainy night is quite romantic, so ZhouXiang's mood has been good.”

Moving on to the scene of the one on the floor and the other on the bed. Notice the threat that gets Joe on the bed with Ming. Joe had just pointed out that a man like him cannot sleep on the floor, so Ming told him to get up here, or he would get on the floor. Joe immediately gives in to the pressure.

The thought of being Joe's first means something to Ming, but he warns Joe. Ming isn't a nice person, but he can be unexpectedly kind, but Joe wants Ming. Take a look at his face after he has tucked Ming in. He is content because he is not sleeping alone. He has a beautiful boy beside him, that seems to need him as much as he needs to care for someone.

So why do they like each other? They are both physically attracted to each other, and one prefers to be commanded, while the other enjoys commanding. One needs to be able to take care of someone, and the other expects others to take care of him. Add in the fact that they're both lonely, and somehow Joe was able to sneak past Ming's intimidating walls of mistrust to ease his loneliness.

There you have it, this is what my opinion any ways. Sorry it got so long, nonnie. It just kind of happened. 💜💜💜

[nesiacha]

Excerpts from Letters and Chapters of Historians on the Break Between Babeuf and Fouché

Yes, we all know the story of Babeuf, who was at one point manipulated by Fouché. But contrary to what Stefan Zweig describes, Babeuf is far from being a simpleton (by the way, Fouché manipulated many intelligent people, whether they were aware of it or not). He was an engaged revolutionary, far more humanitarian than others, while still having insightful reflections (I admit, it's my fan-girl side of Babeuf speaking, but the letters, especially those from the storming of the Bastille and the murder of Foulon, where he condemned this murder while offering very just opinions, can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/766775982269087744/gracchus-babeufs-opinion-on-the-storming-of-the?source=share). Yes, Fouché did manipulate him at one point because he knew Babeuf had humanitarian values, and here is an excerpt:

"Ordered by Fouché, who seeks to make common cause with the Thermidorians, in the context of the trial of Carrier, the man behind the Nantes drownings, it serves as an alibi for the former machine-gunner of Lyon. The method is classic. It consists of denouncing one's former political allies, exaggerating, in order to better save oneself." (Emmanuel de Waresquiel, Vendée and Chouannerie: Two Centuries of Memory, Revue des Deux Mondes, September 1993).

But Babeuf always denounced the double standard of morality (I am deliberately exaggerating here), and here is an excerpt from the historian Claude Mazauric:

"Babeuf is on the side of the Revolution and the Republic, not the opposite; it is precisely on the basis of republican and revolutionary values, which, according to him, are grounded in universal principles, that he protested against the 'decemviral tone,' the 'proconsular exactions,' the unnecessary and arbitrary violence, etc."

Moreover, Babeuf was a man who never abandoned his true friends, even in their time of need. He often wrote, for example, to the widow of Chaumette (even though she was considered the widow of a traitor). I really need to find these letters one day. In lieu of the letters to the widow of Chaumette, here is an excerpt from a letter Babeuf sent to Chaumette when he was still alive:

"Philanthropists! I announce to you my book on Equality, which I will present to the world. Sophists! With it, I will destroy all the false reasoning by which you have misled, chained, and made the Universe suffer; and despite you, men will know the full extent of their rights, nature's vow will no longer be violated, and they will all be happy."

Moreover, we see Babeuf gradually realizing Fouché's true nature. He distances himself from him until their eventual break.

Babeuf wrote on the 19th of Germinal Year III to Fouché after the popular insurrection of the Sans-Culottes due to famine and misery (Babeuf would lose his daughter Sophie because of this, a loss from which he never recovered):

"The catastrophe of the 12th of Germinal makes way for great changes. This does not mean that I renounce it and leave the party. The ideas that occupy me, together with the conclusion I wish to establish in this letter, will lead me, my friend, to speak to you about the great battle we just lost... but must we be crushed by it? No. It is in great dangers that genius and courage unfold."

But here is what he writes to Fouché in his journal The Tribune of the People:

"You have become very rich, Fouché. When I left to be relegated to the North, I believed I could place enough trust in you to recommend my children. They went to see you. You gave them ten francs one day. You took no more interest in the family of an honorable victim of the patriciate. Today, you would sacrifice four to five thousand francs to stifle a few truths. This last object deserves far more than the other to affect your heart. It is exactly a year ago, Fouché, that there was with the then government, another director or syndic of the library, than you: it was Lanthenas. He wrote to me. I still keep his letters, and I can still justify the similar propositions he suggested to me, though with a little more finesse. You don’t write to me; but you speak to me in front of Antonelle and company. I give you the same response I gave to Lanthenas. I don’t want a censor, a corrector, or a whisperer; I still opt for persecution, if necessary; I will not tune in with the Méhée, and I insist on maintaining, against you, that the time has come when every truth must be spoken. You may conspire with the current government: we know how every government conspires. I declare that I am also part of a conspiracy. It is not yours. Send your agents on the campaign as much as you want; you will not destroy it. If this letter were to be read by the patriots, I would tell them: remember that a year ago, I was more right on my own than all the Jacobins together. I loudly demanded the constitution of that time. If they had demanded it at the same time as me, they would have saved the people and themselves. On the contrary, they were long in opposition to me, constantly seeking to delay the implementation of that constitution. In the end, they recognized I saw better than them, and they came to echo me. They demanded, through Barrère and Audouin, the swift establishment of the constitutional regime; but it was too late. A few days later, their society died assassinated. Their demand, therefore, lost all force. The time for delays is over. We are no longer in times when one can wait. They say public opinion must be redone. It is too formed. The people feel too much the extent of their suffering; they can no longer bear it. To help them, there is no quicker remedy than to put them at odds with their enemies, with all those who are the cause of all they suffer. Wanting to make them wait is asking that each day add to the destructive force that is depopulating our country at terrifying speed, sending each of us, in turn, to death, in slow and horrible anguish."

And he adds to Fouché: "It has been said for some time that you were my Mentor [...] I don’t want a censor, a corrector, or a whisperer: I still opt for persecution, if necessary [...] And I insist on maintaining, against you, that the time has come when every truth must be spoken."

Babeuf understood Fouché’s ambitions and wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Personally, I’ve discussed with friends passionate about the French Revolution (some of whom have opinions different from mine, even very different, but that’s fine because otherwise, it would be boring, we wouldn’t learn as well, and everyone must benefit from free judgment) who hypothesized that if Babeuf had followed the tide, like Fouché, and had not denounced him, perhaps Fouché would have allowed him a pension. The same goes for Marie-Anne Babeuf, the wife of Gracchus Babeuf and his right-hand woman (she helped him print, managed subscriptions, was imprisoned under the Directory for her activism, tried to help him escape, walked many miles pregnant with 8-months-old to organize his defense, and kept her married name after her husband's execution), who continued her political activities after her husband's death (some sources describe her as a woman with a strong character who did not back down in the face of adversity and I believe it given the trials she has undergone and how she has reacted), to the point of being arrested twice by the Napoleonic police (more precisely, she was arrested by the police for the first time during the affair of the infernal machine in 1801, actually perpetrated by the royalists, and questioned a second time by the police who took all her papers and those of her son so her property in 1808) . We know that Félix Lepeletier was a close friend to her and her children and always helped them after her widowhood. Turreau adopted one of her sons, Camille (the only good deed I found from him), and maybe Réal. But nothing from Fouché (while one of the few good deeds he did in his life was granting a pension to the widow of Collot d'Herbois). Some of my friends have suggested that it was precisely because she was cut from the same cloth as Gracchus (or maybe she wanted nothing to do with Fouché, which makes sense) and given that she continued her political activism against those whom Fouché served, without abandoning her cause. This is a hypothesis I should look into one day.

P.S.: It is interesting to see the quote from Barère, as well as Xavier François Audouin, who played an important role in the period of the French Revolution, both in the 1792 years, and was a well-known neo-Jacobin opponent of the Directory, especially according to historian Bernard Gainot (he was a Hébertist who escaped deportation under Bonaparte, either through the intervention of Monge, or because Bonaparte hoped to win over his father-in-law Pache to his side, but this didn’t work out; indeed, Xavier Audouin had married Sylvie, who according to Mathilde Larrère, though young, was known for her Hébertist activism; in 1816, Xavier Audouin, under pressure from the Bourbon laws, became a royalist). As for Antonelle, I’ve already spoken about him here: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/761515728971202560/the-political-career-of-the-revolutionary?source=share

About Pache and the Audouin couple: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/767044131014033408/very-mediocre-and-horrible-quote-from-buzot?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/767308509546266624/this-is-the-principle-of-a-friendship-triangle?source=share

(I warn you, it’s not much, but I plan to do a post about Pache one day unless someone else does it for me).

And Barère, well… Let’s just say that many people better informed than I am have already said everything there is to say in my place. I couldn’t have said or done better.

Sources:

Eric Walter

Claude Mazauric

Mathilde Larrère

Bernard Gainot