#why are there three candles? . i lazy.

[kk-cats]

i heard it was tim drake's birthday???

[theglamorousferal]

Immortal Everlasting Trio who have been exploring the Infinite Realms for the last few centuries. The three of them are flying, braiding their paths as they make their way through the Realms.

“How do you think Ellie is doing in her current incarnation?” Nightshade asks of her partners,

“Hmm probably well, she was exploring the galaxy this time right? I could always check?” Pharaoh responds, a keyboard made of sandstone appears at his fingertips.

“She feels content.” Said Phantom, soothing the worries of the other two. The stars that are freckles on his face brighten with the comment.

They swirl around each other in lazy patterns, unknowing of the passage of time, when Phantom feels a tug at his core. The trio circle up, his partners noticing the shift in mood.

“I don’t recognize this one.” He mutters to himself, placing a hand on the center of his chest. “It’s none of the family, but it is a bit familiar.” He furrowed his brow, trying to trace the sensation to its source. He closed his eyes and felt the pull of magic. “It doesn’t feel malicious, there’s desperation and curiosity for sure, but I feel no ill intent.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to follow it. I want to know why this feels familiar”

Nightshade formed a purple bloom and tucked it behind one of his ears and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Be safe.”

Pharaoh gently took his hand and kissed it, bestowing a glass bangle to his wrist. “Don’t make stupid decisions,” he smirked, “without us.”

Phantom laughed and in a flash of bright white light he was gone.

* * *

With a flash of light so bright it temporarily blinded, Phantom appeared in a summoning circle. The room he now occupied was large, a massive sofa made up a good portion of the room and there was a kitchen off to the side. Turning around, there was a large screen with even larger windows behind it. He turned back and now saw the people in the room.

One was green with a unitard on, one was sitting criss cross in front of some candles, a book and a small cauldron, one was floating and had a mass of bright pink hair, one was a cyborg of some kind and stood at the ready with a cannon for an arm and the last was shielding his eyes with a black cape.

“Who summons me?” Phantom asked in a far quieter tone than the teens apparently expected.

The one who appeared to have done the ritual stood and spoke first. “Mighty Phantom, we seek your assistance in dealing with a massive threat to our world. The demon Trigon looks to the Earth as his next conquest.” They took a breath and looked down. “He intends to use my power to do it, and I do not have the strength to stop him.”

Phantom settled his feet on the ground and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Peace young one. Why don’t we start with introductions? As you know, I am Phantom, he/him, now who has managed to summon me?”

“I am Raven, she/her, the rest here are my team the Teen Titans.” She turned to her team, they all seemed shocked. “I apologize for them, usually they take things in stride a lot easier. This is Beast Boy, he/him, Starfire she/her, Cyborg, he/him, and Robin, he/him.”

“Hmm, may I see the text you used to summon me?” He gestured to the book on the floor. “I was not aware of anything that could summon me in this realm. It is familiar to me though, I can’t place why.”

Raven raised the book into his hand. He leafed through it humming to himself before stopping on a photo of a note that looked familiar. He smiled to himself, remembering the time a century ago to him that himself and his partners helped a small civilization and they left a way for the leader to contact them if they needed help. He skimmed the next few paragraphs and then laughed and closed the book.

“I’ll help. In fact, my partners and I will help. It’s been a long while since we were in a mortal realm. I will return in a week’s time your time to discuss what we need to do. This will work to summon us if we forget or if your danger arrives early.” He magicked a paper with a seal on it and handed it to her. “I must discuss with my partners and will do research on this Trigon. Thank you for calling us, we’ve been aimless for too many decades. Have a good night.” He vanished in another flash of light.

* * *

Phantom appeared in a flash of light cackling as he tumbled across the chess board his partners were playing on, scattering the flowers and sandstone pieces across the green sky.

“Beloved you know not to do that,” Nightshade gathered the giggling king into her lap, Pharaoh moving to lean against her shoulder and push the hair from the eyes of Phantom, “but what has you laughing so?”

Phantom mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “Remember that civilization we helped out a century ago? Well apparently a few hundred years have passed in that world and the people we helped revered us as gods. A sorceress summoned us for help defeating a demon. They were so cute, little teenage heroes like we once were.” He sighed and settled into the arms of his lovers. “Have either of you heard of Trigon?”

[strang3lov3]

Play Stupid Games

Summary - Who woulda thought you could make Joel come by playing with his nipples? NOT ME!! (3.6k words)

Tags - implied age gap as Joel calls reader kiddo, Joel Miller Nipple Worship, almost sub!joel, for like 8 seconds max, sub to softdom!joel, unprotected Piv, nipple orgasm, premature ejaculation, come eating, thigh riding, fingering, Joel talks you through it. A/N - this ended up being something between a drabble and a fic. I don’t know what this is. God spoke to me and I listened.

Thank you thank you thank you @noxturnalpascal for cleaning this mess up, thank you @beefrobeefcal @tightjeansjavi and @joelsgreys for the encouragement I needed to finish this!

Joel’s sheets are scratchy yet soft, his walls are illuminated by the flickering light of his burning candles. Joel’s naked under his blankets, your naked body tangled up with his. Your head rests on his chest and you draw lazy patterns with your fingers on his soft, pillowy tummy as Joel reads Stephen King’s The Shining to you, turning the pages when he asks you to. This is your evening routine with him, and you’ll never tire of it. Sex first, then a shared shower, where Joel washes your hair and you wash his. He dries you off, then you go back to bed to snuggle and read a book together. You giggle at the way he always wears his glasses too far down his nose, and he lightly drags his nails along your scalp. His clean and masculine scent takes over your senses and that low, gravelly tone of his voice as he reads aloud to you usually puts you to sleep in no more than twenty minutes. 

“Turn the page for me, hon,” Joel asks.

You’re not so tired tonight. You’re watching Joel’s chest rise and fall, lost in your own world and not really paying attention to his reading. Instead, you’re watching his skin erupt in goosebumps as you trace his chest, toying with his sparse chest hair, lightly teasing his nipples, they’re a dark sort of mauve-brown color. Joel’s breath hitches as they pebble beneath your touch. 

He bounces his book lightly on the crown of your head. “You with me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, “Of course.”

“Mm,” Joel mumbles, not convinced. And he’s right to not believe you. You’re grinding against his thigh subtly, but not subtle enough for Joel to not notice. He smirks as you reach between his thighs, first cupping his balls and then playing with his cock, feeling him begin to thicken in your palm. “Ohh,” Joel grins, “That’s why you’re not listening.”

“I’m listening,” you reply, stroking his cock. It’s always such a satisfying feeling, running your thumb along the thickness of his head, feeling him twitch and grow harder. 

“Are ya? What’s happening right now?”

“Wendy…”

“Wrong,” he interrupts, “Try again.”

“Jack–”

“Danny,” Joel corrects, “What’s Danny doin’?” You don’t know the answer to that question, of course you don’t. Because you’re too distracted by what’s happening in your hand. “Exactly,” Joel says. He sets his book down on his stomach, the pages split to mark his place. He reaches under the covers and wraps his hand around your wrist, halting your movements. “You wore me out tonight, kiddo. I don’t have it in me to go again.”

It’s true, you did wear Joel out. It had been a few days since you’d last had him, and you were missing him dearly. Joel was gone all day, and you’d watched all three Indiana Jones movies, which didn’t help your case in the least. Fuck it, you might even be ovulating. You’re not exactly keeping track. Whoops.

You practically tackled him when he walked through the door. Dinner was made and the table set, but it remained untouched as you let Joel know just how much you missed him. Scrambling to unbuckle his belt, you walked him backwards until the backs of his legs hit the couch and he sat down. You wasted no time shimmying off your pants and pulling his own halfway down his thighs. He guided you to straddle his lap, his already rock-hard cock held loosely between his fingers.

Usually he’ll tease you a bit, make you beg and ache and cry for it as he drags his tip through your folds, toy with your clit for a moment before notching himself at your entrance. Today, upon realizing the severity of your need for him, he pulled your hips down on his cock, burying himself in you entirely. He let you adjust to him, feel the stretch and the ache of him inside you. No fingers to warm you up, no tongue, he simply gave all of himself to you. 

Once adjusted, he began to roll his hips, grunting in your ear as you moaned sweetly in his own. That patch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit, how his thick cock hit all of your sweetest spots with each of his deep, sloppy, and quick thrusts. He was relentless, just how you needed him. As he fucked you, he slid his hands up the softness of your tummy and your rib cage, then cupped your breasts, flicking and twisting your nipples with his fingertips. 

Per your wishes, Joel had brought you to the edge and pushed you over it multiple times by the time it was all said and done. You came on his cock once and begged him to let you come once more, and then one more time after that before he finally let himself go. By the time you’d finished, the sun had gone down and dinner had gottencold. It could’ve been hours, and Joel was spent. He could hardly keep his eyes open in the shower, swaying back and forth as he flirted with the idea of falling asleep under the warm water running down his shoulders. 

-

“I’ll do all the work, Joel,” you offer as you squeeze his cock. “I just need you for a second.” 

“Charming. You lied to me twice just now,” Joel smirks, turning his head to look down at where your head rests on his shoulder. “Didn’t you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Oh, sure. You just need me for a second, huh? Can I time it?” You bite your cheek to hide your sheepish smile. You see his point, but you weren’t lying, just slightly misrepresenting the truth. “Yeah, and you know what else is a load of bullshit? I’ll do all the work, Joel,” he mocks, putting on his best girl voice and batting his eyelashes. 

You’re definitely not lying about that, though. “It’s true,” you argue, “I’ll–”

“Yeah, right. You ain’t done a lick of hard work in your life. You got me in the palm of your hand and you don’t gotta lift a damn finger to get what you want. Do you?”

You’re not answering that. Instead, holding up your pinkie finger, you swear to Joel, “I promise, I’ll do it all.”

Joel eyes you suspiciously before holding up his pinkie finger as well. You link fingers, kiss your thumb as he kisses his own, then smush them together. “S’a deal now, my darlin’.”

Joel first takes off his glasses, then dog-ears the page of his book to mark his place in the story before he sets both down on his nightstand. He raises his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering to you. You pull down the blankets and straddle him, your already wet pussy grinding against his now fully-hardened cock. You smile mischievously, biting your bottom lip as you pin his wrists to the bed on either side of his head. “Goddamn,” he drawls, “Am I nothin’ but a piece of meat to ya?”

“Mhm,” you reply, kissing his cheek and then his lips.

Joel smiles against your lips, “Alright, sweet girl. Show me what you got,” he mumbles. You pull back and Joel waits patiently, his wrists still pinned under your palm as you decide what you’re gonna do to him. You start first by grinding yourself against his member, garnering an amused smile from him as his tip catches against your clit and you moan. “Very nice,” he praises, “Gimme some more.”

Still grinding on his cock, you kiss his lips again, then down his jaw, down his neck, biting and sucking as you do so. “No marks,” he warns, squeezing your ass. 

“I know, Joel,” you whisper, continuing your trail of kisses down his chest, down his tummy and back up again. You line yourself up with his cock and sink down on him, experimentally licking a nipple at the same time. Joel shivers. You do it again, this time gently teasing his other nipple with your fingers. 

“What are you doin’, kiddo,” Joel murmurs quietly. 

“Nothing, Joel.”

“I think you’re lyin’ again. Think you’re causin’ trouble.”

“I’m taking care of you.”

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t know–” you hum against him, sending vibrations through his skin. You’re grinding on him as you do so, rubbing your clit against that patch of hair at the base of his cock, taking in all of him - the feeling of him inside you, how you’re pulsing around him. His smell, his warm and thick body underneath yours. He’s breathing heavily, little whimpers escaping his mouth as he squeezes your ass and your sides, his fingertips digging into your skin so hard it hurts. He seems almost desperate. 

“Don’t know what, Joel?”

“I don’t - fuck, ohh god, please, please–” Holy fuck, he’s begging, and you didn’t even know he could do that. You’re not sure what he’s begging for - more, less, go, stop. “Why’re you teasin’ me like this, sweetheart, why’re–”

“I’m not doing anything, Joel,” you smile against his skin. You’re trying it all out now, with one of his nipples you’re using your fingers to twist and tease him, feeling him jolt and tremble with your touch. With your mouth, you’re using your tongue - tracing the outline of his areola, swirling your tongue in a spiral to reach his sensitive bud. And then you switch, using your tongue on the nipple previously occupied by your teasing fingertips. 

“Bullshit. You’re—fuuuuuck,” Joel lets out a long groan, his cock twitching inside of you as he squirms underneath you. “I can feel you smirkin’.You’re testin’ my patience. You need, I need, Christ–you’re startin’ something you’re not gonna like finishing.”

He’s warning you that this might be a mistake, but this only fuels your fire. It’s always you who’s squirming and crying and whimpering, begging for god knows what as Joel grins above you, torturing your clit and promising you that it’ll all be okay, that you’re not gonna break. 

You’ve got him reduced to a mess, he’s moaning and whimpering, breathing heavily with his eyes squeezed shut, his brows knit together. You can feel in his touch that he’s conflicted, squeezing you tighter yet itching to push you away. His skin is tingling, his balls tightening as you clench around him, still grinding yourself ever so slightly on his pelvis. You’re making a sloppy mess of his chest with your mouth, all spit covered as you circle his nipples with the tip of your tongue, rolling the bud gently and carefully between your teeth. It’s torturously pleasurable when you begin to suck and nip at his nipples and Joel thinks he’s gonna–

“Fuck, Christ, oh my god, oh my god, mmm-ohhhh.”

He’s spilling into you, surprising both you and himself. He comes loudly and desperately, all needy whimpers and cries as he pulses inside you, painting your insides with his warm, sticky spend. Grabbing you and holding you tight, his grip easing as his breaths begin to even and he eventually goes still. You rest on his chest, feeling him leak out of you. When you finally sit up to admire your work, Joel’s got his eyes closed, his cheeks are rosy. A few tears running down his face and when you wipe them away, he opens his eyes. 

“You look proud of yourself,” he tells you. His tone is pointed yet quiet, like he’s bashful. “Learned a new trick, huh.” 

“I did,” you smile. He’s gone soft inside of you and you get up off of him, but Joel pulls you back down. “Nuh-uh. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Just to the–”

“Sit back down. I ain’t finished with you,” Here it comes. You anticipated Joel getting revenge in some way or another, but you’re not sure how he plans to. Maybe he’ll lay you on your back, lick you until you cry the way you did to him. He might bring you to the edge over and over and over again, yet never push you past it. Or he’ll make you come until your legs twitch and shake uncontrollably, and you’re a sweaty, sobbing mess of overstimulation. He’s done it all before and you know he’s not opposed to doing it again. “You’re gonna hold up your end of the bargain. Do some hard work for once in your life.”

You begin to protest, “I already did.” 

“That don’t count. You cheated and found a loophole. You wanted me, so you’re gonna have me,” You’re not sure what he means or what he wants from you. You thought you did already have him. “Get on your knees, kiddo,” Joel says, slapping his bare thigh. When you pause, Joel nudges you and guides you to straddle his thigh. “Like this,” he says. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure that out,” Joel drawls, “I gave you a hint already.”

He’s placed you on his thigh. He says you wanted him, so you’re gonna have him. But you’ve made him come already, so that means–

“I can’t do that.”

“You started this, you’re comin’ one way or another,” he says. “You’re not getting up until you do it. You’d best get to it.”

His tone is serious, but you’re sure this has to be some sort of game. He watches you, how you furrow your brows in confusion. Joel sits up and adjusts a few pillows behind himself, spreads his legs further apart and holds your ass cheeks in his big, strong hands. “Rock your hips f’me.”

Slowly, you rock your hips on his thigh. You can’t feel much except for the mess you’re making on his leg, your arousal and his spend. It’s all awkward - the clunky and graceless rolling of your hips, the quietness in the room as Joel watches you intently. You shift your thighs, holding on to one of Joel’s hips and one of his shoulders as you rock your hips, trying to feel anything at all. You do - just for a second, maybe. “Keep goin’,” he tells you while drawing lazy patterns on your thigh, but you’re not sure that you can keep going. The expectant look on Joel’s face has you feeling uncomfortable. Not the bad kind of we need to stop this now uncomfortable, but just sort of puzzled. Joel could have tortured you with his teasing and he probably would have gotten a better result. He seems to know this, so he begins to guide your hips again. You’re not sure how he does it, but he finds the perfect angle and he knows this when you moan for him, squeezing his shoulders tight. “Like that,” he instructs. 

You do your best to mimic the action, but it’s just not happening. He must’ve been flexing his thigh, or the way he moved your hips is a way that you can’t replicate without help for some reason. Frustrated, you slump down onto his chest. “I can’t do it.”

“You’re gonna have to,” Joel coos. 

You shake your head, “No, no. I want–just fuck me. I want you inside me, I can’t come without you inside me.”

“Yeah, I know you want me inside ya. Can’t do nothin’ about that on account of what you did to me, now can I?”

You whine and groan in irritation. “Then I need you to do the w–” you press your lips in a thin line. Oops. 

“Work,” Joel adds for you, finishing your sentence. “S’that what I’m hearin’? You need me to do the work?” You nod your head, it’s worth a shot. Maybe. “Not gonna happen, hon. We shook on it.” You pout, whining and groaning again. Joel strokes the skin of your back, “Oh, I know, I know,” he coos, feigning sympathy. “Let this be a lesson to ya then, kiddo. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.”

“Joel,” you protest.

“Joel,” he mocks. “Come on, get up. Get to work.” Joel pushes you back, forcing you to sit back up on his thigh. Generously, he helps you find that movement once more. Where your hips tilt at just the right angle and you can feel the pressure of his thick thigh against your clit. “Right there,” you gasp, holding his hand on your hip. “Nuh-uh,” Joel shakes his head and pulls his arms back, crossing them on his tummy. 

It’s okay. You’re gonna figure this out. You brace yourself on Joel’s shoulders as you search for that sweet spot on your own. Within a couple of minutes, you think you find it. You’re alternating between feeling good, better, worse, then to worse, good, and better. At moments it’s great, and then it just…disappears. And at this point, you’re exhausted. It’s been god knows how long since you even found yourself on Joel’s lap in the first place. You groan, resigning yourself to defeat. You’re about to get off of Joel’s thigh when he grabs your bicep. “Aw, come on kiddo. You givin’ up that easy?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, your tone saying all that you’re feeling. Dejection, frustration, disappointment. 

Joel shakes his head, “M’not lettin’ ya.”

“Joel–”

“Deep breath in and out for me,” he instructs, and you roll your eyes. He repeats himself, “Deep breath. In. And. Out. Do it now.” And so, not wanting to make this any worse for yourself and just wanting to get it over and done with, you close your eyes. You breathe in deeply, letting your tummy expand with his instruction, then exhale your breath fully. “You need to settle down,” he says as you continue your breaths. “S’it. Nice an’ slow.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “It’s just hard.”

“Know it’s hard. What’d we talk about though, hm? Hard work, right?” you nod your head, “Yeah,” Joel says, “I know. You’re gonna work for it, sweet girl. I’ve been spoilin’ ya.” A few more deep breaths, and Joel speaks again, “M’not gonna do it for you, but I’ll walk you through it if you’d like.”

“Yes,” you beg, your eyes flying open. “Please. Help me.”

“Least you’ve still got your manners,” Joel smiles. He reaches for your knees then, spreading them wide. “Tilt your hips forward, sweetheart, and rock ‘em on me,” he tells you. “What feels good? Back and forth, left and right?”

“Back and forth.” 

“Then do it.”

 And so you do it, just like you’ve been doing this whole goddamn time. Joel watches in your face that you’re not quite there yet, but he encourages you anyway. “That’s it, you’re gettin’ it. Tilt down a bit.”

You’re rocking your hips on his thigh, grinding against him, and with his advice it finally, finally feels good. “Fuck,” you moan. 

“Again,” he instructs, “Keep goin’.”

You grind on him, this time with more intent. Faster and harder, having found that sweet feeling that’s beginning to build in the pit of your stomach, you savor it.

“Good girl,” Joel praises. And then as if to reward you for your hard work, Joel reaches between your thighs and finds your clit with his middle and ring fingers, giving you something extra to enjoy. He’s circling your clit as you move your hips, and when that feeling in your stomach begins to build, you ride him  more intensely, chasing after that high you so desperately need, that you’ve worked so hard for. 

“Need it–need you, Joel, don’t stop, don’t–”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Take your time, kiddo, I’m right here.” 

“You’re here,” you nod, your brows furrowed together and you’re almost unable to speak, too focused on the prospect of release. 

Your velvety folds soaked in Joel’s come and your own arousal. “I’m– fuck, Joel, I’m close,” you moan.

“I know you are, keep goin’,” Joel coos, “You’re right there, just let it happen. Gimme a good one, sweetheart,” You feel your orgasm building to a new edge when you hear him say, “Come for me.”

All it takes is that one command, laced with Joel’s encouragement, and you’re sent tumbling over the edge. Your long-awaited orgasm begins at your core and travels through you, washing over you with pulsing waves of pleasure. “Joel,” you moan breathless and needy, writhing on top of him. You feel it everywhere, in your spine and down your thighs. Your clit twitching, your walls pulsing around nothing as you ride him.

“That’s it, kiddo, there it is. Good girl,” Joel coos. “Did so good.” 

With a soft moan, you fall limp next to Joel, steadying your breath.  

A moment passes. “Finish the job,” he whispers.

“What are you talking about?”

 “You made your mess on me, so you’re gonna clean it up. Part of the deal, sweetheart,” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on his thigh, then swipes his middle two fingers through the mess and pushes it between your lips, “You know what to do. Lick it up,” he instructs. 

It’s not lost on him, the hypocrisy of having you clean up a mess that he had you make. But like he asked, you do it. You’ll do it every time he asks. He holds your hair back as you lick the mess from his thigh, savoring that slightly salty, masculine flavor he knows you love. “Such a good girl. You ready to go to sleep?”

“No,” you yawn, and Joel puts on his glasses again, opens the book back up and reads you the story. You’re sleeping on his chest in minutes. 

If you enjoyed, please please please reblog, leave me a comment, or send me an ask. Your words go a long way and keep me motivated to write 🩷

Forgot to add cat pics!!! I add these at the end of my fics now

[simpleeindulge]

What You're Getting for Valentine's Day!

Info: Fem/reader x One Piece Men, Monster Trio, Eustass Kid, Trafalgar Law, fluff, minor suggestive ideas, soft Headcanons

He's no Casanova, but the man does pay attention.

While Sanji, Nami, and Usopp are trying to hook him up with the usual stuff, Zoro will get you something you want.

That journal and pen set you liked, that hairpiece you thought was cute, or even the shoes you thought would look good with a dress you haven't worn yet.

He doesn't do it to be different or because he thinks the day is dumb, which he does; he does it because he knows you will like it (and prove to the cook that he does know something about romance).

But yes, he will give you all the gifts the rest of the crew had ready for him anyway.

His gift surprises you because you don't think he pays attention, but the man does.

Now, he is new to this and does and does not get it. He loves you every day, so why is today different. After getting schooled by Franky, Usopp, and Sanji, Luffy is on board. (Nami offers help, but the boys tell her they got this.)

What follows is some chaos. He will beg Sanji to show him how to make chocolates, ask Usopp to help make a teddy bear, and beg Nami to find an island so he can find flowers. (Robin did offer hers, but Luffy wants to do this on his own.)

What you get is truly something from the heart. A box of lumpy-looking chocolate hearts, a bear that, for some reason, shoots lasers (Franky's idea), and a bouquet of poisonous jungle flowers.

It's hard not to smile at Luffy when he looks proudly at you with his gifts.

You know Luffy cares, and it feels good to see that he had fun treating you.

The whole nine yards and then some. You're drowning in chocolate and smuttered with flowers. It's so bad that the other men beg Nami to dock the ship so they can escape. (They'll be back later for the food.)

That's fine by him because he has other things planned for you, starting with a long white box with a dark red bow.

Yes, it's lingerie, but it's good quality and something you would wear.

He'll romance you into it by making you a bath, lighting candles, and setting out all your favorite lotions and oils.

The man may be a pervert, but he knows how to turn up the charm and treat you special.

You're basically going to have the Valentine's Day the stores wish they could promote.

Valen-what-now?! HaHAHAHhahaaa!

Okay, but seriously, Kid is going to that guy who remembers at the very last minute and could give a shit.

Killer is your savior in this department because he knows how to speak "Kid" and what could motivate him. You and sex.

Expect lingerie, flavored oils, heels, jewelry, strawberry chocolates, whipped cream (you know why), silk rope in your favorite color, and candles (to be used differently if he can talk you into it.)

Killer will help set the mood with roses and candles(different ones) and leave the rest to Kid.

Kid may be a rough diamond, but he knows how to turn on the charm, and you won't see it coming till it's too late.

I would laugh here as well, but Law is an intelligent man. Happy girlfriend equals...PEACE!

He'll do the three essential gifts and think that he is set. It should keep you happy, right?

Well, it will, but after getting a second option from Ikkaku, Law is shocked to learn that he is boring with his lazy Valentine’s wooing. His gifts are fine, but he has no other plans, just the usual daily work!

In a panic, Law will rethink his plan just in time to order the ship to find land. He'll ask you to go with him to a nice restaurant and maybe a walk to see the sunset.

It's cheesy and still predictable, but you love it because Law does not leave his comfort zone for anyone except you (and Bepo). While the flowers are lovely, his time and attention are a better gift.

[lucvly]

hi, how are you doing ? i was wondering if can you do christmas head canons with matt ?

— christmas headcannons with matt. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: just fluff & a slightly suggestive one if you squint.

a/n: hii omg ?? is this Thing on ?? 🎤

— leaves the christmas lights up till january type of person. either a) he’s too lazy to take the decorations down, or b) he just wants you to help him take them down so he avoids it until you bring up the idea of helping him LMAO.

— this man knows how to wrap presents mhm. he’d a hundred percent do that stupid ass trend that’s like “wrapping gifts as something not even remotely close”.

— LOOOVES baking cookies with you aww. he doesn’t even like the baking process itself he just likes the decorating part.

— his presents are definitely well thought out. you offhandedly said you wanted a certain something five months ago? best believe he bought it for you for christmas.

— every single present he gives you includes a handwritten love letter. you love it because it’s always at least three pages long and it’s so cute :(.

— he’s such an attentive boyfriend i’m melting ugh. always has a spare jacket for you in the backseat of his car. he’ll say nick or chris left it there for some reason which is most definitely not true, he keeps it there especially for you just in case you get too cold.

— he doesn’t really like visiting malls on christmas because of the crowds but if you wanna go for some reason he’s absolutely following you around.

— he tries to be secretive with gifts but ends up being a major fail LMFAOO you’ve found out what your presents are on multiple occasions. one time he just left them in the car accidentally and you saw them before he could even do anything about it.

— which leads me to my next point, you and chris have an unspoken secret agreement to tell each other what matters got you for christmas. you tell him his present and he’ll tell you yours.

— this went on for a while before matt actually found out and all hell broke loose Oops.

— a perfectionist when it comes down to gingerbread houses. he eventually gives up though when some of the pieces don’t stick together.

— matching ugly sweaters are a must, duh. sometimes it’ll deadass just be mid june and you’ll catch him wearing one of the matching sweaters. it’s so funny but unironically he loves them, he can’t even figure iut why, he just does.

— he gets chapped lips during winter SORRY !! so you’re absolutely gonna catch him with cherry flavored chapstick and he doesn’t gaf. ( taste tests in the car <3333 )

— he’ll never admit it but he Loves christmas scented candles. he acts like the smell is way too strong or something but light one of those snickerdoodle scented candles and he’s Melting.

— lots of christmas themed pick up lines. deadass texts you in the middle of the night just to be like “can i take your picture? i gotta show santa what i want for christmas.”

— his favorite part of winter is the fact that he gets to spend most of his time cuddled up with you under a fuzzy blanket watching movies.

— expect tons of late night drives with him. he loves seeing how people decorate their houses, and for some reason he loves late night talks with you with soft christmas music playing in the background.

— he would be so serious about kids and santa. i feel like chris would be the type of guy to tell kids santa isn’t real but matt would get so pissed, literally raging.

— gets the worst case of sweet tooth during christmas. cookies, cakes, literally anything sweet idc.

— due to that, he’d a hundred percent get sick during the holidays LMFAOO (constant stomachaches because of the amount of sweets he’s had.)

— he’s definitely very considerate as to who you wanna spend your christmas with. he’s thrilled when you wanna spend christmas with him, his brothers and the rest of his family but he also understands that you wanna spend holidays with your family.

— to get to a fair arrangement, you both agree on: one year celebrating with your family, and another year you celebrate with his.

— though when you celebrate with your family, matt, chris and nick end up crashing at, like, the middle of the night HELLO??

— he loves showing you off and posting with you during the holidays. posting your matching outfits, posting vlogs / videos and hauls of what you got for christmas. it’s soo cute.

[apteryxparvus]

truth beneath the spell

Pairing — Lyney / Reader

Word count — 5865

Content warning — mild cursing • idiots in love • mean pranks

Summary — For years, you and Lyney have been locked in a fierce rivalry, constantly one-upping each other. But when Lyney’s latest stunt results in the destruction of your cherished garden, revenge is the only thing on your mind.

Driven by a desperate desire to settle the score at the upcoming Fontaine Grand Gala, you devise a cunning plan — you infuse Lyney’s favorite Pate de Fruit with a potent dose of truth powder.

However, what you don’t anticipate is your plan going awry as emotions buried deep within both of you begin to surface.

“Don’t you think this is a tad bit excessive?” Mona muses, casting a lazy glance your way, as she reclines on your plush couch. She idly flips through a weathered spellbook, her once neatly tied hair cascading freely around her shoulders. “I mean, if you keep retaliating to every prank, you’ll forever be stuck in this endless all-out war.”

You huff dramatically from your spot on the floor, attention fixated on the pile of journals chaotically scattered around. “He started it first,” you retort, completely ignoring your friend’s advice.

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “And you just had to get back at him, didn't you?"

“Yes! My reputation is on the line!”

She sighs, a hint of exasperation evident in her voice, as she joins you on the carpet. "Why yes, you're totally not trying to hide—really badly at that, by the way—your extremely obvious crush on Lyney."

“No!” you deny too quickly, shoving the first heavy journal you find against Mona, catching her off guard. "Just — just, shut up and help me, or I swear to the Archons above, I will tell the Old Hag who read and misplaced her precious journal."

Mona gapes, her light blue eyes narrowing as her teasing smirk fades away from her soft face. “This is blackmail,” she declares, gaze fixated on your menacing, yet cheerful expression. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You say nothing in response, and a silence envelops the two of you, lingering in the air, broken only by the rhythmic sound of pages being flipped. Each turn feels like an eternity as you scan through the books.

“Aha!” you exclaim, eyes gleaming with triumph as you point towards a page adorned with scribbles and intricate diagrams.

Mona’s gaze shifts from skepticism to intrigue, and she leans in, studying the page with genuine interest. Her eyes flicker between you and the diagrams, and she shakes her head.

“I think that one is too much, even for your standards,” she remarks, furrowing her brows.

"What do you mean? It's perfectly acceptable!"

She looks at you, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "You cannot just open an extradimensional portal and send him tumbling into an unknown domain! Are you out of your mind?"

"Fine, fine. I'll look for something else," you grumble, resuming your little quest. You skim over the pages with renewed determination. Each time you eagerly point towards a spell, Mona shoots you a disapproving look, shaking her head.

Finally, you stumble upon the perfect spell — one with easily obtainable ingredients and a straightward diagram and incantation. Your face lights up as Mona nods in approval.

"Mockingbird's Echo," you begin to read, your fingers delicately tracing the frayed page. "Transforms the fauna in proximity to its target into impish mimics, compelling them to emulate every gesture and vocalization in a sarcastic and mocking tone. These enchanted creatures persistently trail the subject."

"I suppose that's an interesting tactic to silence him," Mona comments with a sly smirk. “Will you need my help gathering the ingredients?”

You inspect the list of items mentioned — a generous amount of dried Tongue Grass, a combination of Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, along with century-old Mayflower bark, three purple candles, and a moon-charged Septarian.

A brief moment of contemplation passes over your features, and your eyes shift to your herb corner comfortably nestled on your windowsill.

“Perhaps you can ask Jean if she’s willing to part with one of her quality blends of Swine's Snout and Lion's Tooth."

A few days later, after Mona had successfully procured a high-quality blend of herbs from Jean — whose only response was the thinning of her lips along with a deadpan expression at the mention of your plan — you’re sitting, legs crossed, in your ritual room.

The moon bathes the room in its ethereal glow, revealing your altar, cluttered with numerous hanging smudge sticks, spell jars, and a multitude of colorful misshapen crystals and stones. The air seems to shimmer with a subtle energy, carrying whispers of ancient magic. All the necessary ingredients are neatly arranged next to you, catching the moonlight that reflects their textures and deep colors.

The silence is interrupted by the soft rustle of pages as you look over the instructions for the spell. Following the guidance, you carefully place each herb in your trusty mortar, grinding them into a fine powder. As you add the century-old Mayflower, you grimace at the memory of haggling for a cheaper price, recalling the heated argument with the pink-haired merchant. You transfer the powder to a small bowl, placing it in the center of the altar.

With a swat of your wrist, the candles next to you flicker to life, their flames dancing in response to your command. You meticulously draw several runes, ensuring each one is somewhat connected with the burning candles beside them.

Reciting the incantations, you hold the charged Septarian close to your chest. The air around you crackles with energy, the temperature growing hotter with each uttered word.

Moments later, the candles die, their flames extinguished abruptly. The room plunges into sudden darkness, and only the residual warmth and charged energy lingering in the air is left.

You let out a sigh of relief, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, and your limbs feel heavy, as if gravity is pulling your body harder and harder to the ground.

Performing spells has always taken its toll on you, and ever since Lyney's remark about your limited mana levels — sparking the beginning of your little rivalry — you've been dedicated to surpass your own limitations, improving and strengthening your energy, determined to prove him wrong.

With a proud smile, you place the ground herbs in a small sack, expertly wrapping it with cotton twine.

“That’ll teach him,” you mumble to yourself.

Slipping the enchanted sack of herbs into Lyney's coat proves to be amusingly simple; a bribe for his familiar — a fluffy black cat with red eyes and a sly feline smirk — involving a bag of catnip and a few morsels of fatty tuna seals the deal.

"Rosseland, come here, boy," you whisper-yell, propped against the fence that separates your house from Lyney's. The cat glances at you, then at the tempting bag of catnip in your hand.

He lets out a loud meow, and you see his expression shift into one of mischief, perfectly mirroring your own. The cat trots over to you, skillfully climbing the wooden fence.

“Good boy,” you murmur as he purrs, affectionately headbutting you. You scratch behind his ear, earning a satisfied meow.

It's amusing how much Lyney's own familiar adores you; he’s constantly overjoyed to see you, and you are the only other person apart from the trio of siblings allowed to give him belly rubs.

Rosseland climbs onto your shoulders, playfully biting into your hair, anticipating the promised treats. "Yes, yes, my boy." You wave the catnip in front of his face, and his whiskers twitch happily as he takes a whiff. He gracefully jumps off you, landing on the grass. You crouch next to him. "Listen, you'll get all this — maybe even some Pate de Fruit — but on one condition." The cat perks up at the mention of his favorite jelly candy, staring at you expectantly. "I need you to place this in Lyney's coat, yeah?" you say, presenting the enchanted sachet.

Purring once more, the cat headbutts you in agreement, his long bushy tail brushing across your face. You laugh softly as you offer him the promised pieces of fatty tuna. Once he finishes the treats, you let him play with the catnip, observing him as he rolls around the grass, meowing and growling loudly.

You release a sigh. "It's a mystery how such an adorable familiar ended up with such an annoying owner like Lyney..."

The same evening, as you prepare a simple vegetable stew and savor a glass of dandelion wine for dinner, a loud, insistent knock echoes from your front door. Glancing at the oven clock, you realize the only person who would be knocking this late could only be—

"Open the door right now, or else!" Lyney yells, and you smirk at the evident frustration in his voice, his words echoed by several mocking tones.

“As if,” you mutter under your breath dismissively, ignoring his shouts. You carry on stirring the simmering mixture, checking the thickness of the stew and tenderness of the potatoes. Licking the wooden spoon, you release a contented hum, pleased with the spiciness level of your creation.

Just as you're about to turn off the stove, the room grows unbearably hot, the flame of the stove flares for a moment, and a scorching breeze envelops you. Swirling around, you brandish the wooden spoon like a weapon.

“How dare you!” you shout as Lyney materializes in your kitchen. “You just had to come and ruin my dinner, didn’t you?” You point an accusatory finger towards the now-blackened dish.

“And you really had to cast such an annoying spell on me?” he fires back, his voice mirrored by the two ravens swirling around him. You can't help but giggle at the mocking tones of the birds. Lyney only shoots you a glare, his violet eyes narrowed into slits.

"Remove this spell right now," he demands, crossing his arms.

“No,” you answer bluntly. “You trespassed into my home, scorched my floor,” you continue, pointing towards the now-charred floorboards around Lyney, “and ruined the dinner I was looking forward to the whole day.”

"And anyway, shouldn't you be the better one of us, huh? Why not get rid of the spell by yourself?" you smirk, enjoying the flush that colors his face.

Lyney stays silent for a few moments, then releases a grunt and turns around without uttering another word. The birds follow, hovering nearby. One of them pecks at his hat, and he swats the raven away, fists clenched.

You wait for the inevitable sound of your front door slamming shut, and as it does, you sink into a seat at the table. Cheeks ablaze, you hide your face in your palms, and let out a groan. "Of all the people, why did I have to develop a crush on you?"

“Barghest, Mama’s home!” you holler, your familiar dashing towards you, tail wagging. The large wolf-dog leaps into your arms, and you both tumble onto the grass, laughter bubbling out as he showers you with slobbery kisses. “Bargest, enough — enough,” you giggle through his affectionate onslaught, running a hand through his short, silky fur. “I missed you too, baby.”

"He was very obedient while you were away," Clorinde remarks, leaning against her front door. "How was your trip to Mondstadt?"

"Tiring as usual," you sigh, rubbing your temples. "Fischl roped me and Mona into yet another commission. This time, we ended up getting lost in a labyrinth-like domain… and chased off by wind spirits.”

Clorinde's laughter fills the air as she gives you a thorough once-over. Her gaze lingers on the eye bags beneath your tired eyes and the fading bruises scattered over your body.

"Go home and rest; you'll need it if you want to be at least partly presentable for the meeting this Wednesday."

Your eyes widen for a split second, and your stomach plummets—the meeting, oh shit, Fontaine Grand Gala.

In the midst of the ongoing prank war and the recent commission in Mondstadt, you had entirely forgotten about the bi-yearly gathering between the Fontaine magical society members. The last one had been absolute chaos — arguments had erupted between different factions, and neither Lady Furina’s authoritative commands nor Monsieur Neuvillette's diplomatic skills could calm anyone down.

As the cherry on top, you and Lyney ended up in an elemental brawl that echoed through the grand hall. The sizzling magic and the crackling flames did not only set a few ancient artifacts on fire but also managed to engulf a couple of innocent coats and dresses in the process.

"Maybe this time it'll be less eventful," Clorinde offers optimistically, though the subtle raise of her eyebrow suggests she's not entirely convinced. "But seriously, take care of yourself before Wednesday."

As you traverse the familiar forest path leading towards your home, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of your familiar’s heavy paws, your mind is haunted by the vivid memories of the fiasco. And you can’t help but cringe at the thought of how your fiery clash with Lyney had quickly become part of the gossip fodder of the community.

"Barghest, I am so utterly screwed.” Your companion’s ears perk up at the mention of his name as you lament. “This stupid rivalry is only fueling my crush. Am I some sort of masochist?" Barghest, of course, remains silent, but responds with a look — his red eyes slightly narrowed, as if silently calling you out on your own stupidity.

The evening air is cool, and the dimming sunlight is hidden behind the canopy of tall trees, casting a gentle shadow over the path leading to your home. As you approach, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, and goosebumps prickle your skin. Beside you, Barghest snarls, revealing his sharp fangs, his eyes aglow in an ominous red.

In the distance, you notice several small creatures circling your garden, an unsettling dark aura barely cloaking their presence.

"He wouldn't have," you whisper, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before your eyes.

Barghest doesn't wait for your command, already leaping towards the boggards. The creatures, sensing the imminent danger, emit squeaks of terror. In panic, they release their grip on the plants they were holding, fleeing into the distance. You command your familiar to stay put as you take cautious steps towards the now disturbed spot.

The soil beneath your feet is upturned, and the once vibrant plants lie trampled and torn. There is a lingering malevolence tainting the air, intermingling with the putrid smell of sulfur.

As you lower yourself to the ground, a wave of emotion washes over you, and a few tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Gently, your fingers trace the once vibrant, now crumpled petals of a bluebell.

Amidst the disarray, a lone tansy stands tall, slender stem unwavering against the chaos. The petite yellow blooms stand out against the aftermath. 

You narrow your eyes, a simmering anger bubbling within you. The significance of the plant isn't lost on you — after all, herbology is your strongest subject. Could Lyney have intentionally left this flower as a declaration of war, knowing full well its meaning? You shake your head, dismissing the notion, but the uncertainty lingers on within you.

Barghest moves closer, his furry form leaning in, and with a gentle nudge, his wet snout presses against your cheek.

"Don't worry, we'll get back at him," you murmur soothingly into his fur.

"Try this on," Mona suggests, gently fastening a choker around your neck. The piece is adorned with a large amber gemstone, encapsulating the fossilized remains of a spider.

You run your fingers along the delicate lace of the choker, observing your reflection in the mirror. You’re elegantly dressed for the grand gala, light makeup accentuating your features. Mona had offered to help you get ready, preaching how the best revenge is appearing uncaring and looking your best.

And while you agree with Mona’s sentiment, you’ve kept your true intentions hidden from her — how you intend to make Lyney confess all his wrongdoings and embarrass him before the community.

Your friend had seemed wary upon spotting the assortment of desserts in your bag — pate de fruits, conch madeleines, and colorful macarons. But you had swiftly explained it as an apology for the previous incident. Mona had raised an eyebrow in suspicion but chose not to press further, and you had sighed internally, relieved.

There was no way in Celestia you’d disclose the fact that the fruit jelly slices — one of Lyney’s favorite snacks — were discreetly laced with a potent dose of truth powder, cleverly mixed with the sugar.

"Promise me, no arguments, no fights, and especially no more pyro brawls with Lyney.”

You let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping a bit. "Yes, I know," you mumble, pouting. “Chiori still shoots me icy stares whenever she passes by. The coat was apparently a family heirloom or something.”

Mona gives you a pointed look. "I know you're plotting something to avenge your garden, but promise me you'll hold off until after the gala."

Rolling your eyes, you assure her, "I'll behave, alright?” Raising your right hand dramatically, you declare, "cross my heart, Mona. I'll be the picture of perfect behavior."

A soft, monotone voice calls your name, and you turn around to find Lynette approaching. “This bow looks really cute on you,” you comment, eyes flickering to the teal accessory adorning her hair.

She responds with a quiet thanks, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks. "I should go look for Freminet. He's probably feeling overwhelmed from the party by now," she states, glancing around the bustling gala. You nod in understanding.

"Also, I would recommend not going near the punch table. A feral cat is on the loose there," she warns and you cannot help but laugh, knowing full well who she is referring to. She's been aware of her older brother’s antics since the beginning of your prank war, maintaining a neutral stance despite Lyney’s persistent attempts to enlist her help on multiple occasions.

As Lynette makes her way through the crowd, you take a moment to admire the lively atmosphere of the gala.

The grand hall, with its soaring ceiling and arched doorways, exudes an air of timeless elegance. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, and the polished marble floors reflect the shimmering lights above. As you walk around the room, you pass by tall columns, embellished with sophisticated carvings, depicting scenes that capture the rich history of Fontaine.

Ignoring Lynette’s warning, you decide to make your way towards the punch table, where the “feral cat” supposedly roams. As you approach, you spot the magician engaged in an animated conversation with Aether, their laughter filling the air.

Lyney, as if possessing the hearing of a wild cat, detects the sound of your approaching footsteps and swiftly turns around. He offers you a cheerful smile that doesn’t fully mask the challenge lurking in his eyes.

Aether, the embodiment of warmth and light, greets you in a friendly manner, his eyes a rich glowing amber hue.

"I brought some desserts," you announce with a hesitant smile, presenting the carefully arranged selection of sweets. “As an apology for last time.” Your gaze flickers away in an attempt to appear shy and humble.

Aether’s eyes light up at the sight of the intricately crafted macarons. You generously offer him a few, suggesting he shares them with his gluttonous fairy familiar. Grateful, he thanks you and departs, leaving you alone with your rival.

The atmosphere between the two of you thickens, the tension palpable.

"You're not going to share some with me?" Lyney teases, a mock pout on his face.

"After you ruined my garden, no, not really."

"Then would you like a glass of punch as an apology?" he suggests, pointing to the fruity mixture.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. "A drink from you? No thanks, I don't trust you."

Lyney's playful demeanor doesn't falter; instead, he takes a deliberate step closer, his gaze holding a challenge. "Come on, don't be so uptight. It's just punch."

"And why would I take anything from you?" you question, suspicion lacing your words. "How can I be sure that you wouldn't have poured something in it?"

"Because why would I drink it myself, too? And look," he points casually to a few figures engaged in lively conversation near you. "They’re also drinking from the punch. Why would I risk angering the rest, especially today?"

You pause, considering his argument.

If you're going to endure this gala until Mona decides it's time to leave, a little liquid courage would not hurt. You look away from Lyney's captivating violet eyes, snatching the glass he is holding. With a sly grin, you pour yourself a generous amount of the sparkling liquid.

“Well, it was unpleasant meeting you, as always,” you say with a smirk, your hair swaying as you turn to leave. Unbeknownst to you, Lyney’s eyes follow your every move, a faint pink hue dusting his cheeks.

His lively façade noticeably deflates as he witnesses you greet a dark-haired man whose muscles strain against his clothes. Lyney clicks his tongue disapprovingly, downing his drink in one swift gulp — he doesn’t care that you’re talking to Wriothesley, and he is absolutely indifferent about your little crush on the older warlock.

The magician refuses to acknowledge the subtle shifts in his emotions, trying his best to avoid the implications they carry.

He pours himself another glass of the punch, scanning the various tables. His eyes lock onto a plate of jellied fruits, sitting there untouched, the tempting delicacy calling out to him.

Wriothesley casually leans against a column, sipping tea from a delicate cup.

"Has Barghest been giving you any trouble?" he inquires, his voice smooth.

"Um…" you start, feeling your tongue dry up, the words unable to leave your mouth. "Actually, yes," you stammer, and you gape, not believing your own words.

"Oh? What's wrong?"

“To start off, anytime we're at the dog park, attempting to blend in with normal people and play fetch with a stick, he insists on bringing me enchanted — and by that I mean cursed — artifacts. Not only does he refuse to let go, but he hoards all his little finds and won't even let me touch them!" You rant, voice rising. "And don't get me started on his behavior during the full moon. It would've been fine if the only problem was his howling — I could easily cast a spell and soundproof the room. But no! He gets the zoomies and has to run around for hours!"

Wriothesley arches an eyebrow, motioning for you to continue. His expression is of mild curiosity, partly entertained by your unusual behavior.

You gasp, hands instinctively flying to cover your mouth. The words had spilled out unintentionally, and it takes you a moment to grasp the bizarre nature of the situation.

“Ask me what’s two plus two,” you implore in an attempt to make sense of the situation, eyes pleading.

With a bemused expression, the Duke obliges.

Summoning all your willpower, you try to say “five”. However, each attempt feels like dragging your tongue through sand, rendering your voice mute before the incorrect word can escape. After a brief struggle, you give up with a reluctant "four."

"Congratulations, you can do basic math," Wriothesley deadpans.

"Lyney, you little shit!”

Your eyes sweep across the hall, searching for his unmistakable figure amidst the crowd. His figure seems to grow more prominent as he gets closer and closer. The room seems to narrow down to just the two of you, the distant chatter and laughter fading away.

Lyney is now just a few paces away, his eyes fixed on yours.

"You!" The accusation erupts simultaneously from both of you,

"You think you can just ruin my night and get away with it?"

"You ruined my garden, and now you're trying to ruin my reputation at the gala!”

The onlookers, previously engaged in light-hearted conversations, now turn their attention towards the spectacle unfolding before them. The entire grand hall holds its breath, sensing the growing hostility, awaiting the next move.

Lyney smirks, seemingly unfazed by the attention. "Well, if you're looking for a fight, you've got one."

Before you can formulate a response, a voice echoes through the hall, cutting through the tension. "Enough!" The commanding presence of Monsieur Neuvillette silences the murmurs in an instant. "The two of you, out now."

Attempting to explain yourself ends up being futile, as Chevreuse firmly grasps your shoulders, propelling you towards the exit. You find yourself unceremoniously dropped on the grass outside, protests lost in the scuffle. Clorinde follows suit, pushing Lyney out with a force that sends him stumbling besides you.

"You are not allowed to re-enter until you've resolved this petty drama between you," Clorinde declares, tone unyielding, as she forcefully closes the door behind you, the latch clicking shut.

"You drugged me with a truth serum!" you shout as you nurse your aching tailbone. Lyney ignores you, nonchalantly standing up and brushing off his clothes.

"And you didn't do the same?" he retorts with a sharp edge to his words, his nostrils flaring.

"It was payback for my garden! An answer to your little declaration of war!" you snap.

The male in front of you appears taken aback for a split second. "Declaration of what? What are you even talking about?”

"The tansy, you asshole!"

"Tansy? What even is a tansy? Have you gone mad?" he responds, a furrow forming on his brow as he struggles to comprehend your accusations.

"The only flower the stupid boggards you summoned left alone in my whole garden. Do you even know what it means?" Your voice echoes in the stillness, punctuated by the distant sounds of crickets and the passing night breeze.

"I really don't know what a tansy is," he admits, his confessions handing in the air, the admission catching you off guard. Despite your initial reluctance to believe him, the truth serum’s influence prevents him from lying — and you’re left grappling with the realization that perhaps he is genuinely unaware of its significance.

You groan, the weight of the chaotic evening bearing down on you. "Seriously, why did it have to be you?" you mumble into your hands, your words muffled by your palms.

"Me what?" Lyney asks, leaning in slightly.

Your eyes widen, and panic courses through you. You quickly press your hands against your lips in a desperate attempt to keep them closed. The truth serum is still affecting you, and you’re acutely aware you’ve almost revealed more than you intended.

Lyney narrows his eyes, sensing that there's more to your words than meets the eye. "Come on, spill it," he prods, leaning in even closer, his lips brushing past your ear.

You gulp, squeezing your eyes shut. "It's unfair that I had to like you of all people," you confess quickly through gritted teeth, your fists clenching the grass beneath you. "What idiot falls in love with someone who clearly hates them and sees them as weak and useless?"

Lyney is stunned, not expecting your answer. He stumbles back, and you feel a few tears pricking in your eyes at his obvious rejection.

"You love me?" he slowly asks, confused. You take a look at him — the moonlight accentuates the contours of his face, revealing a vulnerability you've never witnessed before.

"Yes, how many times do you want me to repeat it and embarrass myself? I think this was more than enough."

"An infinite amount of times," he states softly. You meet his gaze with damp eyelashes, taken aback by the sudden flush of his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, drawing a shaky breath, he murmurs, "I want to hear you say it again and again."

“Why?”

"Because—because I love you too.”

His confession hangs in the air, every vulnerable emotion laid bare before you.

“You must be lying,” you mumble, shaking your head.

Lyney crouches down to meet your averted gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs gently as he reaches out to brush away the lone tear tracking down your cheek. “You know I cannot lie.”

As his thumb wipes away the dampness from your skin, you find yourself leaning into his touch. “Then why do and say all these hurtful things?”

A tense silence hangs between you as Lyney seems to search for the right words. He takes a steadying breath before meeting your eyes. “Fear… Fear made me lash out in stupid ways. When I first saw you, it stirred memories of my own immaturity and overconfidence, back before I realized I could depend on other people, too.” His shoulders slump. “I didn't mean to hurl those hurtful remarks towards you — I really didn't — but I wanted to shield myself from caring for you.”

His eyes plead for understanding, hand reaching for you, but he lets it fall limply to his side when he sees the turbulent swirl of hurt and anger in your eyes. 

"You are so stupid, Lyney!" you cry, hot tears coursing freely down your cheeks now. "Instead of facing your true feelings, you chose to lash out and say cruel things, just to drive me away! Clearly that didn't work out, did it?”

Your ragged breaths echo in the tense silence between you both. Lyney offers no defense, unable to justify his actions.

"I should've been honest from the beginning. I wanted you to become stronger... and while doing so, I hurt you," he says, eyes downcast, and you notice how the fight he had in him has left him. “I saw my own weakness reflected in you…”

"Wow, thanks for noticing," you bite back, the hurt in your words hidden by your simmering anger, veiling the vulnerability underneath. "So, all those times you cast spells on me, all those attempts to humiliate me in front of friends and superiors—what was it all for? To help me grow? Get over yourself, Lyney."

He looks down, unable to meet your eyes. "I truly am sorry," he murmurs, “and I wish I could take it all back.”

You stand up, your body surging with conflicting emotions as you close the distance between you and Lyney. As you draw near, your face is mere inches away from his; nostrils flaring, you grit your teeth, and without breaking eye contact, you grab him by his shirt.

"Sorry won't fix it." Your fingers dig into the fabric. "And yet, I still love you."

With those words left hanging in the air, you press your lips to his.

Your mouths collide in a frenzied dance, all the bottled up emotions pouring out. Your hand moves from his collar to the back of his neck, gripping him tightly, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer to you.

Lyney responds with a fervor that matches your own — his lips move against your with a hunger that mirrors your desires, his pent up feelings coming undone. His hands find their way to your sides, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. The pressure of his touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter with each passing second.

The kiss is not gentle; its rawness — a proof of the unspoken tension that has defined your relationship.

You feel the wetness of tears streaming down Lyney’s cheeks, and his grip on your sides tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he deepens the kiss. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a breathy moan escapes your lips.

"I love you so, so much," he whispers as he moves his lips away from yours, leaning his forehead against yours. "I will do my best to repent for my actions until the day I die."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, and you can't help but let out a choked sob, heart feeling both heavy and light. You reach for his face, your trembling hands gently cradling his cheeks.

"I know you will," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion, "and I know I will forgive you."

You press your lips against his once again, this time tenderly. Your bodies draw closer, molding together as if they were made to fit each other perfectly. The heat between you intensifies, and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

The world around you fades into insignificance, and time becomes irrelevant as you lose yourselves in the intoxicating passion.

“—rinde, Clorinde, wait” a distant voice calls out.

"They’ve been out there for a while. I must make sure no property is destroyed, again."

Clorinde flings the heavy door open, eyes narrowed, body crackling with purple electricity that dances around her. Seconds later, Navia follows suit, appearing slightly out of breath with her intricate dress billowing behind her.

Caught in the act, you and Lyney spring apart at their entrance. The two women's eyes scan your disheveled appearances — your lipstick smudged around your mouth, with marks matching its shade plainly visible on Lyney's collar and neck, both your clothing rumpled, and his hairdo now a tangled mess.

"Damn it," Clorinde's groans, her hand pressing against her forehead in apparent frustration. "You couldn't wait — I don't know — a few more weeks until Mabon. Now I'm down 72,000 mora."

"What?" you ask, puzzled by your friend’s outburst.

Navia sighs, offering a sympathetic pat on Clorinde's shoulder. "A few people had a betting pool running."

"A betting pool? About what?"

Clorinde crosses her arms, her expression softening. "How long it would take you and Lyney to finally confess your feelings," she reveals. Lyney's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and realization. "I bet that it would happen after Mabon. A few others had different predictions, and of course, there was Wriothesley who bet on tonight. That smug asshole was so sure."

“Well, then, we will leave you two lovebirds alone," Navia teases, giving you a playful wink.

"Wait," you yell out, feeling a sudden surge of curiosity. "What did — what did Mona bet on?"

Clorinde's laughter fills the air. "Oh, Mona? She bet that you'll always be at each other's necks," she reveals, unable to contain her amusement.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mona," you mutter under your breath, exasperation evident in your voice.

Clorinde waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't take it too seriously. Just remember, I expect an invitation to the wedding."

"We're not even officially together yet, and you're already planning our wedding?" you exclaim.

"Let's take it one step at a time, shall we?” Lyney teases, his voice filled with warmth as he presses his lips against your cheek. “But I must admit, a wedding would be quite the celebration." Lyney teases, pressing his lips against your cheek.

"Anyway, I will leave you two alone now, just try to keep it PG in here," Clorinde teases once again before shutting the door behind her, leaving you and Lyney alone.

Your whole body flushes. On one hand, you feel a tinge of embarrassment and anger at the thought of your friends betting on your love life — particularly your best friend betting against you. But on the other hand, you can’t deny the contentment swirling within you, knowing that you’ve finally broken down Lyney's walls and glimpsed at the raw emotions behind his eyes.

"I think before we go in, we should have a proper talk about us," you murmur, meeting Lyney’s gaze with a determined expression. "Just so you know, I'm not toning down on the pranks even if we are together. I have a score to settle."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect anything less," he replies, a hint of challenge in his voice. "But remember, love, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve as well."

Author's note: My brain is completly fried from the amount of RedBulls and painkillers, so sorry for any mistakes. This was meant to be around 2k words, but yea... 💀

Some extra information for the curious 😋

English folk names for the herbs used — Chickweed (Tongue Grass), Dandelion seeds and roots (Swine’s Snout and Lion’s Tooth, respectively), Hawthorn (Mayflower)

Dragon's Egg — another name for Septarian, a brownish-red stone that "enhances communication abilities", a healing stone

Rosseland — in-game name for Lyney's cat

Barghest — a monstrous black dog from English Folklore; I like to imagine Barghest was from the same litter as Wriothesley's familiar (Cerberus), which is why the two of you are close friends

The Fontaine Grand Gala being hosted on a Wednesday — supposedly this day of the week is associated with "communication"

Lyney did not spike the punch, but the empty glass he was holding (which was rudely snatched) was coated in the truth-serum powder

Tansy (Tanacetum vulgare) — a perennial flowering plant; "I declare war on you"

[eris-snow]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞.

Tags: Deku's birthday series 2023, izuku x fem!reader, angst

“There are so many things I wish I could tell you. I want to be done with all the white lies and ambiguous phrasings. So here, I’ll say it, my last secret to you: I love you, Zuku. Please remember me. Please.”

“Get up, you lazy ass!” Katsuki barks from the doorway, barging into his room fully dressed.

Startled awake, Izuku almost tumbles out of bed with a squeak. “Ka-Kacchan!”

“Deku!” He mimics, not looking the slightest bit fazed. In fact, he looks angrier than usual. “If I don’t see you dressed in 5 god damn minutes, I’ll make sure to punch you so fucking hard it’ll make One For All look like a love tap.”

“If I don’t see you out of my room in t minus 5 seconds, I’ll use said love tap to get you out!” Izuku refutes, rubbing his eyes groggily. “What is up with you? It’s only 10 am—”

“Shortie and I stood outside your shitty apartment for half an hour until Auntie came home from the grocery store. You slept right through 30 minutes of endless knocking and doorbell rings.”

Katsuki’s face was the definition of terrifying and pissed, and it didn’t help when his hands started steaming. “Be glad that Shortie was there, if not there would be scorch markings on your door—”

“I’m so sorry, Kaccha—Starlight’s here?!” Izuku yelps, this time actually tumbling out of bed as he scrambles for his drawers. “I thought we gave you a spare key, Kacchan! I—why is Starlight—”

“You changed your fucking locks without telling me after the war, shit nerd! I ain’t have your new keys, so I was half contemplating blowing your door off its hinges—”

“Cut me some slack, Kacchan!” He rushes out, rifling through his closet for suitable clothes. “It’s my birthday.”

“I don’t cut any slack, Izuku.” Katsuki spits, throwing the nerd’s towel in his face. “That’s Shortie’s job.”

“Mean,” Izuku pouts.

Katsuki simply smirks back. “Happy Birthday, Izuku.”

--

“Happy birthday, Zuku!” You greet him, giggling when you saw the towel wrapped around his neck. “What time did you wake up?”

“About 10 minutes ago,” He admits, stealing a glance at the blond. Katsuki’s eyes were scanning his phone screen, a lazy, smug smirk plastered on his face.

“What do you want to do today? We get free rein until dinner time, because your mom wants us back so we can cut the cake.”

A smile plays on Izuku’s lips, and he almost tears right then and there. He was so fortunate to have friends like Starlight and Katsuki. He’d completely lucked out.

“Well…”

--

It was just like the old times. You, Katsuki and Izuku had always been a pack since you were little, and you force yourself to focus on whatever was happening now instead of what would happen after.

Even with the sun beating down you your neck, you survived with the sun hat you’d brought along with you. As you put it on, Izuku comments on it as he digs into his ice cream.

“That’s a nice hat there Starlight! Where’d you get it from?”

“Quite a while back,” You reply, tilting it upward so you can meet his eyes. “The person really knew what I liked.”

--

Izuku couldn’t name a day more perfect. Sure, it wasn’t anything fancy, definitely not as amazing as his meeting with All Might or the day he’d gained his Quirk, but it seemed like the world had decided to give him a peaceful day where nothing went wrong. By the time the three of them had gotten back for dinner, he’s grinning so widely he didn’t know it was possible.

He blows out the candles with a wish and a note in his pocket, praying for his friends, his family, you and Kacchan’s safety because he can’t stand it if you get hurt. He prays you’ll always be here, and that he’d be the number 1 hero (It’s been his dream his whole life, after all.) It’s only when everyone had started digging into the cake, did he realise you were missing.

“Where’s Starlight?” He frowns, checking the balcony. No, you’re not there either.

“She said something about taking a breather,” Katsuki said, poking his slice of cake with a fork. “When I asked her where, she just said, ‘It’s a secret’ and left.” He points his fork at Izuku. “Eat your cake.”

Blood rushes to his head, and for some reason, he’s getting dizzy just thinking about you.

Strange.

“I think I know where she is. I’ll bring her back. The sky’s dark already, Starlight shouldn’t have to walk back by herself.”

Katsuki eyes him suspiciously for a moment, something flickering in his eyes before they drop down to the slice of chocolate cake. “I’ll tell Auntie for you. Go do what you need to do, nerd.”

Izuku smiles at his best friend and thanks him, wearing his dumb bright red shoes and leaving in a hurry.

Katsuki stares at the cake, an icing drawing of himself and you on the cake next to Izuku’s face. He smudges the icing drawing of your face, standing up with a sigh.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Starlight.”

--

“Hey.”

You whirl around, shoving the lamp in the direction of the voice. Izuku’s shadowed face smiles back gently, making you relax slightly. “Hey.”

The clearing looked different at night. A swarm of fireflies danced around the meadow without a care in the world, making the lake almost sparkle as pretty yellow dots dance around the beautiful glade.

“Kacchan said you stepped out. I got worried.”

You laugh, shaking your head as your fingers creep into the note in his pocket. “Sorry. Needed a breather.”

“No, no! Don’t apologise!” Izuku sits down on the grass next to you, face warm in the glow of the light. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

That phrase causes your smile to wobble.

“Right!” You dig through your pockets, not allowing even a moment of awkwardness. “Now that you’re here…”

Three small, wrapped present emerges from your pocket. Overpowering emotions are surging behind a fortress you’d encased them in.

You made a promise. You’re not going to cry.

Izuku’s mouth falls open into a small “O” as he takes it tenderly in his hands. He cradles it gently, with scarred hands you’ve come to know.

“What is it?” He asks dumbly.

You chuckle, gesturing. “Just open it, silly. I want to see your reaction.”

He rips open the first one and finds a shimmering silver watch, staring back at him in a shiny transparent box. He sputters indignantly. “Th-This must have cost a fortune! How did you-”

“I may or may not have saved up for it by using my internship money.” You scratched your head, blushing slightly. “It was a little pricy, sure but—”

“How did you know I wanted this brand?” He asks, shaking a little as he pries the lid off and holds it like it’s worth an entire building. “I-I never got it because—”

“You’re afraid it gets damaged during a fight,” You finish. “I know you don’t like accessories, so I asked Hatsume to reinforce the entire thing. I paid her for the modifications as well. Plus, you’ll need something to wear for formal occasions. They never have clocks in ballrooms.”

“You’re going to make me cry,” Izuku warns, looking at you with glassy eyes.

“You have two more gifts left, Zuku. Don’t cry now.”

Izuku takes that as a cue to shred open the next present. Your gifts may be small, but you sure know how to make them impactful because he absolutely loses it when he sees the next gift.”

“Prototype pins for his merchandise from his U.A days,” Izuku whispers, fingers quivering as he counts the pins. “Fi-Five? You got all five of them? I-I’ve never seen it before, how did you—”

“I pulled a few strings,” You say, gently. “It’s yours now.”

With tears bubbling over, he tears open the last gift. At first, it confuses him, and he has to will himself to put the waterworks on hold so he can actually see the gift properly. “Is this…” He cranes his head around, squinting. “Is this a photo of this place?”

“Yeah, I manage to paint this really good painting—”

“You painted this?” He interrupts, full-on sobbing now. “Why would you do this much? I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s a photo of this painting.” You correct. “So you can slot it in your wallet or use it as a bookmark or something. It’s your birthday, Zuku. Of course it’s important to me.”

Izuku tucks all of these precious gifts into his pocket and turns to wrap his arms around you in a tight hug. “Thank you so much, Starlight.”

You’re startled at first, but slowly, you adjust yourself and hug him back. “You’re welcome, Zuku.”

Fireflies dance around you for a little longer until Izuku finally pulls away, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “I, uh, I wanted to pass you something, actually.” He unfolds a note and hands it to you, a practice you’re so familiar with seeing that you instantly know what this is about. “I didn’t get the right time to pass it to you.”

The note is pure white, and you take a deep inhale and read the words to yourself.

I’m so glad I met you. Today was a blast. Thank you for today.

Somehow, those three sentences are what push you off the edge. One tear slips past your barriers, and soon another flows after as more tears join the first.

Dread and a feeling of longing engulf you a whole as you break down into quiet sobs, clenching the pocket that held your note, your last Secret to him, so tightly your knuckles hurt. You were almost contemplating not giving it to him.

“It’s not fair…” You mumble, body convulsing as you try to clear your tears.

“I promised not to cry.”

Izuku panics almost comically, leaning over you and trying to find a way to stop you from bawling. “Hey, don’t cry! I-I didn’t mean to make you sad, I swear, I just—”

“I told myself that I wouldn’t this year. I never follow through on it.”

Izuku frowns. “What are you talking about—”

“Can I get another hug? Please?”

Izuku relents cautiously, and you wish you could explain it to him but you can’t as time slips away fast. You bury your head into his shoulder, trying to memorise everything. The way you fit into his arms, the way he smells, the way his voice is quiet and so gentle and raw when he’s with you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Izuku asks, patting your head gently.

“Everything.” You mutter, pulling back a little to sit beside him with your back against the tree.

Your tears keep falling, a waterfall of emotions suffocating you as you struggle to get that one word out.

“Stay with me, Izuku.” Your voice comes out broken, as you lean against his shoulder. “Don’t go.”

He’s so much taller now, compared to when you were kids.

He’s stronger too, and he’s not even quirkless.

All things considered, he doesn’t need you anymore.

But you still need him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Izuku soothes. “I’ll be here tomorrow, too you know.”

That only makes you sob harder.

Memories filter in and out of your head as you finger his note, reminiscing on how the past month has gone.

“You will?” You ask, so small and scared because you know he will, but he won’t and it tears you apart inside. “You’d be here so we can continue to tell each other to sleep earlier, even though we’d go ahead and sleep late anyway?” you swallow thickly, throat running dry. “We’d-we’d have so many more Sunday breakfasts that you’d only eat katsudon no matter how hard I’d try. I’d tell you how much I admire your eyes because they’re just so bright despite everything that happened because you’re Izuku, and I’d tell you how I got your nickname because then, I wouldn’t have to lie to you.”

The words are pushing out of your mouth faster than you can process them, and Izuku just listens to them wordlessly, letting you ramble.

“We’d help each other with our nightmares like we always do, 'cause despite the fact that we have therapists I know that going to you is so much better. We can have more Movie Nights until Shoto is finally caught up with his childhood shows, and come here more often for more picnics. When we get into villain attacks, I’d know you’ll always have my back just like you have mine. We’d figure out our shit together by talking on the rooftop, and I’d tell you how I found this clearing as we light up 17 candles on your birthday cake next year…”

You trail off, fingers wrung together tightly. Tears fall as your voice loses all stability. “I’d have more birthdays with you, and I’d actually be celebrating it with you without having to push my thoughts back down. I’d be happy, and I’d be there for you…” You break off into a whisper.

“…And you’d remember me.”

Izuku’s frown creases deeper. He hates seeing you upset. His head is throbbing, spinning as he tries to focus on you. “I won’t forget you.” He promises. What else can he do?

“I wrote you a note.” You finish, completely ignoring him as you shove the note into his hands with your face hidden. “I wrote you a Secret, too.”

Izuku glances at you with curiosity and concern before his eyes drop down to the lime-green Post-it. He has no idea why you’re busting out all of these memories on him as someone had perished, but all he knew was that you—

I love you.

Izuku drops the paper in his lap and whirls to you with shock, eyes blinking rapidly as he stares back at you.

“What—”

“There are so many things I wish I could tell you. I want to be done with all the white lies and ambiguous phrasings. So here, I’ll say it, my last secret to you: I love you, Zuku. Please remember me. Please.”

“I do, I will, I—” Izuku sputters, face turning red. His head is pounding now, and he struggles to stand when you do. “I don’t understand! Where’s this coming from? What’s with all these lasts and—”

“Shouldn’t we discuss this tomorrow?” You divert, finally wiping your tears away. You square your shoulders and manage a watery smile, before you turn heel and make your way to the path back home. “I’ll explain it all tomorrow. It’s getting late, and I should get home before my parents get worried.” You pause and turn back. Izuku is nodding slowly now, hand outstretched like he wants to catch your wrist, but he doesn’t.

“We can do that. We-we can do that. Just—promise me that you’ll explain everything. I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore. I need answers. Starlight, please?”

You don’t want to lie, you don’t want to lie, so you just maintain your smile as you whisper, “Whenever you're ready.”

Izuku takes it as a promise, and relaxes with a wobbly smile of his own. “Okay. Goodnight, Starlight.”

You smile, even though it’s painful, and take in a deep breath even though it feels as if you’re inhaling shattered glass. Finally, you work up the courage to say those words, even though it felt like the world was ending in just an hour now.

“Goodbye, Zuku.”

--

Izuku arrives back at the dorms to be greeted by a new face. His smile lights up his entire face when he bows and greets. “Hi! You must be the new transfer Kacchan told me about. I’m Izuku Midoriya, nice to meet you!”

The girl smiles back at him with a warm smile, holding the door wider. Her eyes sparkle like the stars above, and she sticks her own hand out as a greeting.

“My name is Y/n L/n. I can’t wait to spend the rest of the year with you.”

[money-and-dandellions]

Of cold nights, slushies and how good it is to breathe; one-shot about Sunflower Siblings.

Less than 30. Sunset is less than thirty minutes away, and the sun has already gone behind the clouds. As if it hadn't spent the whole day there.

In addition to how lazy the sun really was, other thoughts flashed through Lester's head; most often they were lyrics from songs that, with annoying buzzing in his head, played on a loop for a few hours straight.

"...It seems to me that when I die,

these words will be written on my stone...

And I'll be gone, gone tonight

The ground beneath my feet is open wide.

The story of my life..."

The finger while not thinking much about the recent events, tapped out the rhythm of the song, words of which had glued to the skull.

Speaking of skulls, then it's better not to think about them at all, because he has managed to see of too many skinless heads in the last two weeks. This experience is finished for at least three eternities. No exaggeration.

Lester swerved to the right, trying not to hiss at the sharp surge of pain in his right temple. The black-blue dots continued to dance in his view.

Well, at least they weren't tap dancing. He hoped so.

"...There'll be nothing left for me to yearn.

Think of me and burn..."

'Burn what?'

There was no such event as highly-pitched scream, thank you very much.

Meg's eyes, somehow reflecting the rapidly decreasing in availability sunlight, were shining with candle-yellow which did not go along at all with her red, dimmed by a light layer of dirt, tip-tops. Her hair were as wet as the top of her bright green dress, lovingly handed by Ms. Sally Jackson.

Despite that the rain had stopped more than an hour ago, no one would say it if only looking at his master's clothes. Weren't she asleep, like, just now?

'Why would—' A pause. They will, for sure, discuss all the ups and downs of Bastille but Lester doesn't recall what was the last time he have seen the [liquid poison] fluorescent lights of any convenient shop, so—

'Were are going to be in Arkansas in an hour, near some gas station - in 10 or so, because the road is wet, who thought it would be a good idea to... Anyway, in 10 or so minutes. Any wishes?'

'A blue slushie and fries. With salt.' Meg answered, kicking the tips of her legs together with a soft bup.

A slushie and fries it is.

And aspirin, before Lester's brain will wave a white neckerchief, wishing all the best.

———— ———— ———— ————

As it was said before, the liquid poison of lightning bulbs is the least expected thing to happen to anyone, who is crossing the United States of America, even in a company of girl with unicorn-obsession. Even, if you were a god.

Alas, the gas station's advertisment was not so merciful to every unlucky person that ever visited it would it be a mortal, demigod, or a monster.

It would be unpleasant if it would be merciful to monsters.

Sitting on the hood of the car, Meg McCaffrey was very much pleased with apple-strawberry flavour of brain-eating (okay, not the best choice of words) cheap freezer also known as a slushie. Kicking the air, she looked almost peaceful, even counting the pinkish cut on her cheek, which, of course, was already healing.

The clouds were not so peaceful. The dark-gray, wet and multiple layered mass of water looked too intimidating for simple liquid.

Everything started to have a significantly huge amount of ozone smell in it. Choking, cold and crystallized pieces of something sharp scratched Lester's chest, tightening it.

Like rings of lubricous, narrow as cut dried wax, scales that would not stop and would be very much satisfied with crushing him until the last, shaky breath—

'It's cold.'

'What..?'

'I'm freezing, let's get in the car, dummy.'

Yes, breathing is good.

———— ———— ———— ————

Five minutes, ten fries and one boring song listened after, the sun had fully sat, shining at last in the front window of the car. For the next eight or so hours, headlights are going to be Lester's best accomplices.

Meg, her fingers suspiciously shiny, put knees to her chest, head - onto the cold window. Her glasses shifted a little, sliding more onto her right eye.

From time to time, taking his eyes off the road, Lester casted a glance at her, trying to figure out if his young friend is indeed asleep.

Judging by how strong was her grip onto recently bought blanket, she was not.

In twenty or so minutes, the girl shifted, wrapping herself further in the soft cloth.

'I'll go sleep.' The mumble was almost barely audible, but it was still there.

'Have a good night.'

'Don't tell me what to do, du—' She yawned, interrupting her own speech.

"All this time I was finding myself, and I

Didn't know I was lost.

I tried carrying the weight of the world

But I only have two hands..."

'You too.'

Lester smiles tiredly, staring at the infinite dark road ahead.

It's going to be a long night.

[rivangel]

happy belated valentine’s day!!!!!!!!!! i love eruri.

//overstim, lingerie, subby Levi, service dom!Erwin, multiple orgasms, lots of praise

“What the hell is all this?”

Rose petals sprinkled on the bedspread, and the gentle smell of lavender. Candles on either bedside table cast soft golden lighting across the walls. And the pinnacle to it all, Erwin, sits at the foot of the bed dressed only in a silky, red red robe.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Levi. Remember?”

Yes, of course he remembers—they’d planned around their schedules for it starting a week ago.

Levi takes in the romance practically dripping from the room itself, and levels Erwin a lazy stare. He shuts the bedroom door without taking his eyes off him, and locks it sharply.

He unbuckles his belt with a soft clink. “Tch, I remember. You just surprised me by sabotaging my own plan.”

Erwin perks up at that, no longer so anxious-looking. Levi knows it took him most of the evening to get all this together. This must’ve been why Erwin disappeared straight after an early supper.

“Come closer.”

Levi does. He’s halfway through with his shirt buttons when Erwin tugs his shirt from its tuck, and undoes his fly.

“Careful with the underwear,” Levi murmurs, low and knowing.

Just as Levi’s trousers fall down his legs, he shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. It falls with a whispered flutter, revealing the midnight-black lingerie for Erwin’s wide, hungry eyes.

Levi is always so stubborn to admit he has curves—he thinks he’s so average in general—but the way the thin silken garters and lace hug his waist, his hips and round thighs is simply unmistakable. Before he even glances at the brazier, Erwin pulls Levi closer by his hip and thigh with a sharp inhale, stroking, admiring the bright contrast against his milky white skin and all its scars. Next to nothing is left to the imagination under his thong.

Erwin kisses his sternum, palms roaming his chest now. Several silky straps cling to his frame, causing the tight lacy cups of his brazier to push up his pecs.

Levi peers down through his lashes with forced indifferent, his cheeks pink. “You like it?”

“Do I like it…?”

“You better… It itched all evening.”

Which means that Levi had all this hidden just from view through their dinner together.

Erwin sits back and opens his robe, revealing his cock laying half-hard on his thigh, all from the mere sight of Levi. He more than just “likes” it.

With Levi’s eyes glued to him, Erwin then lets the robe fall and scoots back, outstretching one hand for Levi to take.

He crawls. There’s greed in the way he presses Levi back against him, nestled in his lap. And shared lust as he guides Levi’s legs apart, pinned open outside Erwin’s thighs.

“Hey… this thing can tear, you know. It’s lace.”

He has the nerve to complain, even with Erwin’s fingers soaked in oil, and sliding in-between his cheeks. Levi’s cock disappears in Erwin’s big fist.

“Those panties could barely hold this anyway…And those garters? Hopeless. I want to see bites on those thighs before the night ends.”

“Mmm…”

Erwin eases Levi’s hole open with four fingers with patient care, one-by-one. He’s the most patient between them by far, always has been. Like with every goal Erwin sets his sights on, when he wants to take his time undoing Levi, dragging out his whines, inching him to climax, he won’t and can’t be swayed.

But how could Erwin blame him? When three thick fingers drag against the spot inside him, Levi bucks his hips with a strangled moan, working his heavy balls that much tighter.

“Fuuckk…” he breathes. “Fuck…”

Erwin moans, low and husky right by his ear. “Are you gonna come like this?”

Levi’s toes curl as his thighs make vain attempts to close. His cock, held tight in Erwin’s fist, is straining now. “You gotta filthy fuckin’ mouth, sweetheart.”

“I think that’s a yes.”

Yes, yes, he’s right. For his first, Levi throws his head back and shakes as he’s thrust under a sea of pleasure. With three fingers plunging in and out of his quivering hole, cum squirts onto his belly and oozes between Erwin’s fingers.

“A-Ahh, ah…!”

That’s it, Lev’, that’s it. My good boy. Come for me.”

Levi cries out.

When he’s finished, he sags in Erwin’s arms. He doesn’t slow down, not for a second, so he shivers through the throes of overstimulation, grabbing at Erwin’s hair or his biceps or everything, panting. At every reaction, Erwin’s heavy breaths hitch by his ear.

When the fourth slides in, Levi’s jaw drops. Erwin sighs in satisfaction. “You always take them so well. And you sound beautiful while you do it.”

“Sh—Shut up…” Levi whines, face burning.

Surprising neither of them, Levi’s quick to bounce back again. His sticky cock lays on his pelvis, hard, by the time Erwin is on top and crowding him in between his biceps, sucking on his tongue.

The base can barely fit in Levi’s fist, but he likes soaking Erwin’s cock in oil before he pushes in. Instead of it being something of a chore, Levi gets to watch his blue eyes float closed and feel the desperation in his slight, needy thrusts.

“Please… Levi…”

And he loves making Erwin beg.

He loves making love with Erwin. That’s something not even Levi himself will let himself hear him say out loud, but sometimes, not even that first, smooth and powerful thrust inside compares to the endless pleasure that stretches on into forever, if that’s the way they want it.

Like lapping waves. Levi lifts his hips when Erwin’s rocks his, pressing in until he’s so full he can’t think of anything else, out until he’s on the verge of emptiness, and then slamming himself so deep inside him again.

One of his garters snapped apart at some point neither of them noticed. Not a doubt in Levi’s mind that Erwin will make good on his comment about bite marks. His pecs practically pour out of the small, lacy cups, which Erwin takes every opportunity to suck and kiss.

And so, the first time they really fuck that evening, they make love. Erwin lays flat on top of him, so not only is Levi full of him, but he’s pressed down by him, all around him, tasting and hearing Erwin moan his praises in his ear. They’re intertwined like a knot. Levi’s ankles close behind Erwin’s lower back, and their hands lay laced beside Levi’s head. They share sweat and heat, and a burning gaze.

But when Levi’s hands rake Erwin’s undercut backwards, and he groans, “Fuck…—fuck me harder,” Erwin gives him harder. They already bend over backwards for each other, but Erwin lives and breathes off pleasing Levi like this.

He whines, then throbs deep inside when Levi starts to babble. He always loses control of his tongue when Erwin fucks him right—which is always.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop—f-feels fucking—just like that.”

“Feels good?”

“Mhm—hah, yeah.”

“You—deserve it. Gods, you’re so gorgeous,” he gasps, lifting up properly now, braced on their interlocked hands and lifting Levi’s knee with the other to hammer into him at the perfect angle.

“Feels—good.” He coughs out of a cry, eyes shut tight. Then whispers over the harsh smack of skin on skin, “You make me feel so good…“

Levi doesn’t have to tell Erwin he’s beautiful or that he’s perfect, or even that he loves him, because it all means the same with that line. With the look in Levi’s silvery-blue eyes. And the sweet sound of Erwin’s name dripping off his lips.

You make me feel good.

“I love you,” Erwin whispers.

And finally, Erwin loves gazing into him when they go over the edge—seeing Levi’s eyes cross or roll back, and a cry Levi would rather muffle in Erwin’s neck bouncing off all four walls. Erwin is even worse at keeping anything less than a shout from escaping, and when his soft walls squeeze his cock tight, and when the rapid slapping of skin against skin is the third loudest sound on this side of the building, and all Erwin can chant is Levi’s name—that’s how they show this kind of love. When their chests heave. When their eyes well up with tears.

Coming down means next to nothing when the candles are still burning bright and they have a whole night to cherish, like fire slowly consuming fine parchment it starves for. It’s not emotional the whole night either—something neither of them would stand. It’s already understood. It’s always. It’s passionate, or begrudging and needy, playful—some special love exclusive to just Erwin and Levi.

Erwin will chuckle when he’s moving the third or fourth time, and Levi’s hole quivers around him. They’re spooning now, and taking it slow with no goal in mind. He teases Erwin for his neediness, all while his soft cock visibly throbs.

“Ah, you’re the horny one…” A warm, wet kiss to his neck. “Always so horny for me, honey…”

“You make me horny,” Levi breathes in utter bliss. “Don’t blame me.”

Even done, they’re not finished. In a peaceful, hushed lull in the sex, Levi leans up over Erwin’s shoulder, and bats off the red petal sticking to his sweaty back. They’ll just go again in the bath.

“Was killing all those flowers gonna be worth the clean-up?” he scoffs.

“Did you like them?”

"So what if I did?"

"Then yes." Erwin leans down and smacks the next kiss of many tonight to the side of Levi's mouth.

[chemtrailsoverthrcountryclub]

all too well

PAIRING cristiano ronaldo x fem!reader

GENRE angst; reader is a little delulu

CONTENT WARNING swearing, toxic relationships, cristiano more like crizztiano, reader talks to herself a lot, reader has hair you can put in a ponytail, readers race is not relevant nor involved

AUTHORS NOTE the first paragraph is doubled and i apologize, I’ve tried everything but its super late so i cbb

It wasn’t rare; moments like this. Sitting in your small apartment, alone with your thoughts as a lifeless phone lay on the coffee table to your left. He’s busy, is what you convinced yourself. He can’t always make time for me. You gave him time.

It wasn’t rare; moments like this. Sitting in your small apartment, alone with your thoughts as a lifeless phone lay on the coffee table to your left. He’s busy, is what you convinced yourself. He can’t always make time for me. You gave him time.

Yet, time went on, and still no response. The candle lit near the television was being drowned in it’s melting wax, a candle lit not long after you sent the message. You let your eyes shut.

When you awoke, the sun had yet to rise. It was roughly four am, your throat was dry and your eyes watered. An unfamiliar blanket was wrapped around your frame and a sloppy, lazy note was left on the coffee table. The candle was blown out. Giving your eyes time to adjust to the lighting, you tried to make out an outline of what the piss-poor handwriting had intended.

‘Sorry I missed tonight, sweetheart. Reschedule tomorrow?’ A sigh left your lips. It’s the third raincheck for this very date— Was all this even worth it? Was truly the only thought you could think. It was getting exhausting, and you considered yourself a patient person.

That was until the next Sunday. Which followed a Monday where he had to fly out to God knows where for God knows what. That Sunday evening, two of you sat in uncomfortable silence in an overpriced restaurant while your pasta grew cold. Cristiano pokes at his own meal, avoiding eye contact. It was a very awkward dinner; the waitress evidently being solely interested in making sure Cristiano was pleased, and the man only played along. Entertaining her as she bites and licks her lips while he talks, chewing her gum slower and extending her lips with every tense of her jaw.

If you wanted shit like this, you guys would have went to Hooters— or in other words a god damn strip club. At some point, when you placed your hand on top of Cristiano’s, his immediately flocked away while he continued the conversation. But what really threw you off was when he starts, “Hm.”-ing and “Mm.”-ing gruffly for every little thing, the lack of eye contact making you go quiet. Your barely touched pasta lay before you, and you scoff.

Getting up, you blink grimly at his confused expression and make your way to the door, removing your heels once you make it outside. Alright, you settle, so I’m walking. The overwhelming scent of everything invades your nostrils and it makes you nauseous. It isn’t long on your voyage before you hear footsteps approaching you from behind, and a hand sliding across your waist to embrace you.

“What was that?” He queries, and you scoff once more. Does this man really not have an ounce of respect for you? It feels more like a rhetorical question, and you push his invading hand away by force, yet he places it once more.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and he follows. He’s unbelievable. “You’re what’s fucking wrong, Cristiano. Do you ever hear yourself? I mean, seriously, you take me out after no-show’s three times in a row, you ogle the waitress the whole time we’re there and you don’t even acknowledge me— then you come out here and ask me what’s wrong? You make me feel fucking stupid!”

He stares at his feet. “I didn’t know that was how you felt,”

“Why would you? You only ever care about yourself. I can’t stand it. Leave me alone, Cristiano. I mean it.” Your feet are on fire, the cement digging into your soles. You’d rather endure this feet pain than stay with him any longer.

“Can you— can you at least, let me take you home? Please? I can’t leave you out here…” He inquired, although you were quick to shut it down. But Cristiano was faster. “You live miles out from here, sweetheart. Let me take you home, and I’m out of your hair.”

You sighed and accepted the invitation. It was another awkward ride. The radio wasn’t lively, a slow song from his native language played softly in the background. Throughout the ride, Cristiano had managed to get his rough left hand to rest on your thigh and caress it apologetically. The sensation made you think. Do I really want him gone forever?

Cristiano must have been thinking the same thing, because once the car was in park, his seatbelt was off and he was rushing to get your door open.

“I want to make sure you get in safe,” was his excuse, and you hummed. Arguing wasn’t on your to-do list at the moment. When the two of you reached your door, you fumbled with the keys to get the door unlocked, pushing it open after the latch clicked.

“I’m here. And ‘m safe. So you can leave now. Goodbye.” You excused him, although Cristiano had other plans. His hand found its way behind your hair, his thumb under your earlobe. It was hard to say goodbye, when his eyes held such passion, he had you practically melting in his hand.

Cristiano leaned in, until his lips met yours and you two were in the doorway. The kiss was broken when he had both of you in the apartment with the door shut. “I’m really sorry,” he kissed your knuckles, and began leaving a trail of them all over. “Really sorry.”

He led you to your bedroom, and sat you at the foot of the bed. On his knees, he kissed your ankle, and once more led a trail going up from there. Cristiano’s tenderness made your insides turn inverted, and your face felt like it was on fire. He kissed your cheek, then the corner of your lips before fetching some comfortable clothes for you to change in. He didn’t let you change yourself, only ever instructing you to put your hands up or jump. After treating you with such care, Cristiano pulled a scrunchie from your nightstand and put your hair in a comfortable ponytail, knowing you can’t sleep with it in your face.

Cristiano puts you under the covers with a peck to your forehead, soon changing into a pair of sweatpants he owned that was left at your home. It isn’t long before he’s in bed with you, grasping you in his arms and putting you to sleep. Mumbling a small, coherent thank you, he hums in response.

When you wake, Cristiano is not to be seen. This feeling is all to familiar. You know it all too well.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Afterlife Lessons

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen/Epilogue:

“Hey, Tuck,” Sam said.  “Hand me that butter knife, would you?”

In response, Tucker dropped the knife from where he was lounging on the ceiling, and Sam just managed to go intangible before it stabbed her in the head.

“Uh, fuck you?” she said, raising her hands up at Tucker.

“You’re already dead, stop being such a baby,” Tucker said, flopping back against the ceiling he was laying against and taking another bite of his chicken sandwich.  “Plus, it’s a butter knife.”

Sam picked the knife up and tossed it right back at Tucker, who yelped and turned intangible to let it get stuck in the ceiling.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sam said, reaching through him to grab it.  She turned back to the jelly and started spreading it on her sandwich bread, after wiping the ceiling off the knife.

“Uh, guys, if we could not leave holes in the ceiling that’d be great?” Danny said, from his own spot making a grilled ham and cheese on the stove.

“Oh please, you know you could just pass it off as a stray shot from your parents’ latest invention,” Sam said.

“That excuse only works so many times!” Danny exclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tucker said.  “Hey Sam, could you put the mayo away?”

He drops it, only for Sam to shoot it right back up at him with an ectoblast, just one not strong enough to actually damage it.  “Fly over and do it yourself, lazy butt,” Sam said.

“Ughhh,” Tucker groans, but hovers back over to the fridge and drops the mayo inside.

“Alright,” Danny says, flipping his grilled ham and cheese onto a plate before turning to face both of them.  “My parents aren’t gonna be gone all night, so if we’re doing this we need to eat and go.”

“Of course we’re doing this,” Sam said.  “We did your observatory thing, now it’s my turn to sneak into something fun.”

“Hey, I thought I won with the tech lab,” Tucker said.  “I want to make ‘em all act up so they lower the price.”

“Nah, Danny vetoed that because he’s boring.”

“You guys can’t just mess with products that people pay for!” Danny said, throwing his hands up.

“Booo,” Tucker called.

“No one’s gonna be scared by that, Tucker,” Danny said, carrying his sandwich over to the table as he sat down.  “You can do better.”

“That wasn’t a haunting, I’m booing you!  And why do you always get to decide the morals anyway?”

“Because I’m the leader,” Danny said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Oh please!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!” Danny said.  “I got here first, that makes me the leader.”

“Oh, that is so not how that works,” Sam said, carrying her own sandwich over to the table as she finished making it.

“Why are you complaining, you get to pick the activity.”

Sam considered this, then nodded.  “Okay, you can be the leader for tonight.”

“What?  Sam, you traitor!”

“We’re going to a goth bookstore after dark!” Sam called, ignoring Tucker’s protests.

“We’re still not stealing anything,” Danny said.

“We’ll see,” Sam said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Danny rolled his eyes, but let it slide.  Probably because he thought she was kidding.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to finish eating and head out, with Danny giving a quick call to Jazz that they’d be back late.  And not long after that, they were all flying through the air, half racing and half just joking around.

And sure, maybe Danny was still being really boring with his insistence on sticking to hero morals, but Sam could live with that for one night.  Besides, stealing things they wanted couldn’t hold a candle to seeing Danny actually laughing and having fun as Phantom.

Things weren’t perfect yet by a long shot, but they’d gotten a lot better.  Danny had followed through on “no more secrets,” and reluctantly started teaching them both a little about fighting ghosts.  It was difficult, like he’d said, but it could be fun sometimes too, and Danny seemed like he agreed with that a little more lately.  She’d started to see him bantering back and forth with the ghosts they fought and making puns during fights again, which, while annoying, was a good sign.  And while he was still harder on himself than Sam would like, she could tell he was doing better than before.  They could work on the whole “keeps a mental list of everyone who’s ever gotten hurt during a ghost fight” thing.

And in the meantime, they could all do intentionally stupid teenage things, dead or otherwise.  Though in Sam’s opinion, the dead ones were more fun.  And having two dead best friends to do them with didn’t hurt, either.

[strykingback]

Jaune Arc- The Most Horrendous Knight Ever. (Twin Revisions)

Silence My Minions!! Now as you know yesterday night I did a why Jaune is a horrible knight post and the what not. But today I deleted it cause some stans really just wanna say that he is "isnt a knight." but knight inspired. Aight. Aight! I might as well hop onto the rewriting post and use everything to my knowledge. Cause holy hell almighty this was giving me a headache.

and having me in my bed like:

"I know this motherfucker did not just cherry-pick my whole post"

So yes, I deleted and a few of my replies and decided to get some help for this one. By the way huge thank you @burgers-and-diatribe for giving me a helping hand on this one. Y'all go check'em out and giv'em a high five. Cause they were a huge help for this revision.

So without further ado. Lets get into it.

Now before hand we're just going to get into it a huge part of RWBY's characters whether it be extra, protagonist, or antagonistic characters are inspired by either Fairytale, Historical, or Mythological figures. This can also include the Romanticization of Fairytales as well.

Now Jaune Arc is based off the historically legendary female knight of the Hundred Years War. Joan of Arc. Who was well known for having been granted a vision by the Archangel, Michael to save France from British Domination. This would later on culminate into her arrival at Orleans and participating in major battles and even after her death it would pave the way for the French to claim victory in the Hundred Years War several decades later.

Jaune would immediately trip over and fall flat on his face cause he can't even hold a candle up to Joan of Arc. Because it would better fit the historical allusion if he:

His Semblance was based around seeing into the future Which despite Transitioning Into A Woman In Later Volumes or Being Born as A Woman and being called Jeanne. Having erratic visions of Fire, being related to Cinder and a possible future of her death or a battle that could lead to her death.

Possibly her death inspiring others or paving the way for a major victory.

At the same time, they dont allude to their historical counterparts unlike how Jaune does so. Instead they go for the Paladin route due to it being such a huge Dungeons and Dragons concept as he achieves Aura Amplification which is none other than the Lay On Hands ability minus the healing factor of its ability.

I know Jaune is a Fantasy Knight but at the same time in Volume Nine he is called the RUSTED KNIGHT. in which at that point he either is or inspired by the romanticized concepts of the Code of Chivalry.

Before I hop into this lets just get this out of the way

Real Life Knights =/= Fantasy Knights

This is because Real Life Knights are by far not the romanticized concepts that we read or watch in media. As Real Knights were just overall horrendous, cruel, and even lazy. This is because most knights that we know in real life were in fact noblemen born into knighthood beginning their training no less than the age of fifteen. Then made into a squire and then into a knight.

Now knights in our world pillaged, murder, or even did many more horrible things in order for their status to be seen during the Middle Ages. As there have been many many accounts of knights doing horrendous atrocities as well.

As one account during the Age of Chivalry (The 11th to the 12th Century) as a historian recounts Sir John Arundel and his band of knights taking refuge in a convent violating the Nuns and stealing from them and throwing them overboard once they were all but used up. Not to mention real knights would usually face off against other knights. Sometimes in duels to resolve petty conflicts, entertainment or in festivals as well.

As the book Chivalry in Medieval England by Nigel Saul states; "Knights only fought for three things. Land, Gold, and War Booty."

Now as for Fantasy Knights this is not applicable to their Real Life counterparts as they are no means perfect as well. But its once again those romanticized concepts of what we see knights as. Noble, Kind, Understanding and Powerful altogether.

Now do they follow the concepts of Code of Chivalry? Ehhhh. Maybe depending on the character(s) in media.

As some Fantasy Knights are either, Sellswords, Free Knights/Paladins, Servants to a Lord, King or Queen, or Baron. Hell or even just bandits.

Now there are only two accounts of the Code of Chivalry

Song of Roland’s Code of Chivalry: 

Fear God and His Church Serve the liege lord in valor and faith Protect the weak and defenseless Live by honor and for glory Respect the honor of women

King Arthurs version of the Code of Chivalry: 

Honor Honesty Loyalty Valor

Now in my last post I did say Jaune should have been following those concepts of chivalry and how he falls flat in some areas of it. Until I was corrected saying that I shouldnt be applying those especially with how "vague" it is for something that is from a romanticized fairytale. It was then when I realized that if Jaune were to be a true knight he would have swear fealty for a Lord or King to follow those Codes of Chivalric Faith.

Now can I not apply those things to Jaune. No.

But Can I make him to the point where he was inspired by the Codes of Chivalry. Since Rooster Teeth made Jaune as a fictional character following a real life concept (Aka the Romanticized Concepts of the Codes of Chivalry), such as Knighthood.

Also the fact that monarchs did exist in Ancient Remnant in Volume 6 which further cements the fact the knights existed and with Ozma/Ozpin being a knight during that time.

Its almost as if saying Robyn Hill isnt based off of the Romanticization of Robin Hood because this, this, and that. Or because it does not in exist in Remnant. Once again RWBY's characters are based off of Fairytales, Historical, or Mythological figures we know of IRL. and yes even Romanticized Fairytales can count as well.

Yes I know some people will come at me and call me a Jaune Hater just because me and many many others rag on him. But at the same time... I rooted for him to become better. And due to idiotic writing decisions from Miles Luna and making him into a Ron Stoppable, shoe horning him into important scenes and the like. It only made me hate him more. The

I Like Him For the Character He Could Have Become.

Instead he is a failure to live up to his historical allusion and even fails at being a knight/ paladin archetype.

TL;DR: Another revision on how I explain why Jaune fails at being a Joan of Arc Allusion and a Knight Allusion

[quill-pen]

A Father's Regret

Based on one of the many, many, many impromptu RPs/character convos @rom-e-o and I get wrapped up in.😅 Honey, I've RPed more in half a year with you than I have my entire life of fandom. I suppose there's no stopping now.

Warnings: Depression mostly, I guess; nudity and implied sex, but nothing at all graphic. Um... hauntings maybe?

Summary: Marley returns to the Scrooge household to deliver a very important message.

Theme:

Jacob Marley was a damned soul, doomed to wander the ends of the earth for all eternity; no rest, no peace. A soul riddled with regret for things he hadn't done, things he had done, and things he was now unable to do as he traversed the world and witnessed its many horrors and hardships.

Not among the least of these regrets were the ones he had in terms of his attempts at being a husband and a father--i.e. attempts he hadn't made. And for his folly, the pain and suffering in the world had only grown and claimed yet another innocent victim; that victim being his own daughter. If he possessed any right to call her that or think of her in such way; he'd abandoned her after all.

Perhaps that was why the ghost had decided to return to London, yet again, on this stormy, August night; making his way through the gloomy, rainy streets of the old city to the familiar, three-story, brick house on Craven Street, his chains and safes rattling and clanking behind him.

Scrooge Manor, as it was called now, was a thriving and bustling home compared to what it had been the first time Marley had ever seen it and the first time he'd visited old Scrooge on that fateful Christmas Eve just a few years ago. The roof was repaired and leakless, perfect for this dreary, stormy night; the windows were all replaced and unboarded with new, freshly painted shutters; the chimneys, one now spewing out a lazy curl of gray smoke, had been torn down and built back up with new brickwork; old crumbling places of the walls of the house had been rebricked as well. And the front flowerbeds, though looking dull at the current moment, were chocked full of a variety of flowers and growing shrubbery. The building actually looked like a place someone might actually want to live in from the outside.

When Marley glided ethereally through the front door, leaving an icy impression of his visage around the doorknocker as he did so, he found the inside to be even more homey than the outside. Floorboards had been replaced and were polished to a sheen; new wallpaper had been put up; the railings and staircases had been repaired and polished; the chandelier above looked cared for and regularly used--extinguished but slightly melted candles adorned it now; a large, plush, round, timelessly stylish carpet graced the floor Marley hovered above. Not only did the house look like a place someone might want to live in--it looked like a place somebody did live in. Or rather somebodies.

Jacob slowly floated up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall. His chains softly clinking, the ghost slowly swept down the hall, gazing about him at countless more changes and repairs that had been made since he was last there, everything bearing a soft and lovely feminine touch. The biggest change of all was that a number of the rooms were now occupied. As he poked his head through a wall or door in investigation of the snoring he heard on the other sides of them, Marley found children in each room, boys and girls of varying ages. They were all soundly asleep, snuggled into big, warm beds under cozy quilts, most of them smiling happily as if right in the middle of wonderful dreams. The littlest girl cuddled a soft, stuffed toy as she slumbered. All of their faces were scrubbed clean, the girls' hair braided neatly back for the night, their sheets looked tidy, their pillows fluffy: They all appeared well looked after and tenderly cared for. Even in his dismal state of existence, it was enough to bring a little smile to the specter's ghoulish face. When he found good, old Prudence deeply asleep at the end of the youngest boy's bed, his smile broadened. The sheer amount of love and affection in this house was palpable, tingling through Marley's phantom body and warming it ever so slightly.

The spook moved on down the hall, past pictures new and old to the next set of stairs. He came out on the top floor. He paused for a moment, gazing at the large, mahogany door in front of him, listening intently both for sounds and to the energy in the air. There was just a hint of electricity lingering in the air that had nothing to do with the storm outside. But overwhelmingly the energy was steady, smooth, warm, mellow, happy, and deeply ensconced in sensations of love and devotion. Ah, that meant to proceed with caution. Marley slipped silently through the door and, for the first time, found himself in the master bedroom of the home, the master and mistress of the manor asleep in their large, impressive, rosewood, four-poster canopy just feet away.

The pair laid tangled together, Bess almost directly beneath Ebenezer as his large, lanky frame curled over and around her smaller, stouter one. Her bare back was flush against his furred chest as the man's long right arm curled about her waist and held her close, Bess's own curling up against her belly to hold his hand on her ribcage. The woman's freckled face was burrowed against the feather pillows, while her man's face was nuzzled into the crevice of her neck, his long silvery locks mingling with the sea of her coal black waves. Their left hands were woven together at the fingers among the tangle of sheets and blankets, their matching wedding rings and Bess' moonstone ring glinting in the strobing flashes of lightning that managed to come through the breaks in the curtains. While the storm raged outside, the couple slept, completely undisturbed and as peacefully as their wards downstairs. Small little smiles creased their faces as well.

Marley couldn't help but notice how perfectly the pair fit together, as if they'd be crafted precisely for each other. Nor did it escape his attention how happy they looked. Terribly, terribly happy.

Though they were quite covered by the swirls of their sheets and each other, it was obvious the happy couple was in the nude, and Marley suddenly felt quite awkward. It seemed seeing one's daughter naked in bed with a man was just as awkward for an absentee father as any other. In all rights, he probably should have left, but he couldn't quite manage to pull himself away from the scene. It was... beautiful; his daughter and the man he'd considered to be a son and a friend, wrapped up together in pure, sweet bliss having finally found much-needed happiness and love in each other's arms. After his actions had helped to sow bitterness and pain in their lives, of course. Particularly Bess'.

The guilt and woe that beleaguered Marley every moment of his forsaken afterlife swelled up in the ghost and made him want to wail out his shame and sorrow, but he held it in. Such a peaceful, happy, and love-filled space as this was no place for such despairing cries, even if that was how he felt. This room, in this moment, deserved to be treated with as much reverence as a cathedral.

What had he done? Much more than damn himself to this misery for all eternity, what had he done to his own child? His selfishness and ignorance had spawned bitter hatred and hardship for the girl her entire life. Of course, much of that blame could also be shared with her mother--not even Marley was woeful and blind enough in his guilt to believe the blame lied solely upon his shackled shoulders; but there was no denying his actions had set the ball rolling down the path.

If only he'd snapped to his senses and realized what a blessing he'd had in Beatrice--a beautiful, young wife who had, beyond all accounts, honestly loved him and wanted to make him happy--and what a blessing he'd had in his daughter--now a clever, lovely, compassionate, strong woman who seemed quite capable of taking the very world by storm--things would have been so very different for all of them. He might never have been in these blasted shackles; Bess would never have grown up to be so scarred, both mentally and physically, and bearing pain no person should ever have had to bear; and Beatrice... she would never have taken that razor to her wrists or been doomed to her long-desired legacy of being a good mother being forever tarnished by her own daughter.

Yes, things would have been very different. Better. But even in his guilt, something told Jacob that a better ending would not have been the best ending for his daughter. And she deserved the best. Looking at her curled up so snuggly and happily in the embrace of her beloved, Jacob was sure this was the best for Bess.

Consequently, it was the best for Ebenezer, too, and he deserved it just as much after working hard to turn around years of ruin and earn his redemption. A redemption he perhaps might never have needed if it weren't for Marley, as well. Yes, many of Ebenezer's past hardships were all of his own doing, but, again, there was little argument Jacob had given that ball a significant push as well.

The chains around the spectre tugged, warning him it was drawing time to be moving on. There was no denying the chains; they commanded all. So, with the urging of the shackles, Marley did what he'd come here to do. It would not lessen his burden or change much of anything, but it was something that needed done regardless.

Moving down, closer to the bed so that he was just hovering above the sleeping couple, the ghost reached out his bony, clammy hand and stroked it ever so gently over the woman's dark crown. A few, faint ice crystals formed on the coal-black strands of her hair, creating a hauntingly beautiful effect: A tiara for the daughter of a ghoul. Then Jacob brought his hand down to just barely caress the backs of his fingers against Bess' cheek. If phantoms had been capable of shedding tears, Marley would have shed them as the regret welled up ever more greatly inside him.

"I'm so sorry," he declared in a ghostly whisper. "I am so sorry, Bess, my most blessed child. I know an apology from beyond the grave from a fool you never knew and have no reason to hold any regard for will mean little to you, but I am most heartily and humbly sorry for the heartache I've helped bring upon you, my girl. If it is any consolation at all, know that abandoning you and your mother is my greatest regret. There is nothing but regret in me--regret and sorrow and shame."

He bowed his head closer to kiss the woman's temple, leaving more frost on her hair. "But also know," he rasped right into her ear, "that, in the brief moments between regret, sorrow, and shame, is nothing but the most brilliant pride for you, my daughter. Pride for the woman you've become; pride for how you haven't allowed the world to corrupt you as it has so many others; pride for the strides you have taken and those I know you will take in making this harsh globe a better one. You've already made a decent start--keep going and, for the fear of rattling chains, never let the momentum stop."

He kissed her once more. "Goodbye, my Bess. I doubt you shall ever see me again, but I shall see you. And I shall be filled with greater pride each occasion I do."

With that, Jacob turned his attention to the sleeping man wrapped almost double around his daughter. "You've done well, Scrooge, old boy," he said. "Very well done indeed. I see no chains. For the sake of everything good and decent, keep that weight off."

Jacob's gaze fell back to his daughter, and he thought of all those precious little souls asleep downstairs. "Take care of them, Ebenezer," he murmured. "Take care of them and cherish them forever. Take it from a regretful old fool: You never know what you have until it's gone."

The chains jerked, pulling Jacob away from the bed and to the windows. The phantom let them take him and wailed for misery as he passed through the curtains and glass back out into the torrential night.

At a particularly loud crack of thunder, Bess stirred and cracked open her eyes with a moan. The vague impression of a ghostly voice whispered through her sleep-addled mind as she slowly rose up onto an elbow and blearily gazed around the darkened bedroom. She saw nothing. Could it have been nothing more than a dream? Perhaps mixed with the sounds of the storm? Possible. However, Bess had never experienced any such dream before.

The sensation of cold--bitter cold--finally registered in Bess' mind as it came more into the present and out of the warm darkness of slumber. She reached up and touched the side of her face where the sensation seemed to emanate. It, in fact did emanate; her cheek was frozen and numb to the touch, as if she'd been standing out in a blizzard in the dead of winter. But it was only isolated to the left half of her face--the rest of her was snug and toasty, tucked into the cocoon of her sleeping hubby.

Peculiar. It all got even more peculiar when Bess felt ice crystals in her hair as she brushed her finger through it. Frost? In August? And just on her hair in a couple different spots?

She had to be dreaming. Surely she had to be dreaming! This had to be some sort of lucid dream-state where she only thought she was awake but was actually still sound asleep. Yes, that was it--lucid dreaming.

Her sleepy brain satisfied with that explanation, and with Ebenezer sleepily tightening his grip around her to draw her back in again, Bess rolled over and lay back down. Snaking her arms about her man, she snuggled as close as possible into his broad chest and closed her eyes as she nuzzled into his chest hair. A deep sigh of contentment left her as her lungs filled with his scent. She lazily pressed kisses to the man's sternum, her mouth curving slightly into a soft smile again. By the time Ebenezer had enclosed his arms around her again, Bess was already slipping off to Dreamland to rejoin him. But even as she did, in the back of her mind was the voice she could have sworn she'd heard, whispering great regrets, but also great praises in equal measure. And, somehow, that made her feel even warmer and more content than ever before.

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[feverinfeveroutfic]

blood & wine | chapter three of six

ao3 link

I prided myself on the devil’s food cake, especially when I made a pair of ganaches for it, a dark chocolate one as well as a white chocolate one to make a series of rings to create a target. It was going to have a single candle right in the middle: this little gateau about the size of a can of oatmeal with three layers inside. Something devilish for my little devil.

Alex strode up to the lazy Susan on the counter with a twinkle in his eyes as if he was a young boy at one of his birthday parties again. He ran his fingers through his black curls and licked his lips.

“It looks utterly indulgent,” he declared.

“Make a wish, birthday boy,” I encouraged him. He paused for a few seconds, and then he glanced over at me for a brief second. He leaned into the candle and blew out the flame in one breath. I clapped my hands together, and then carefully, I picked up the knife and sliced the blade right into the top, right before the base of the candle. I plated him the first slice and handed him a fork, but he never ate into it right away. I gave myself a fair slice, and then he gestured for me to follow him outside.

“Here… wanna come with me to the bridge?” he offered me.

“The bridge?”

“It’s not too far from here,” he assured me. “We’ll eat our cake on the way over there.”

I was unsure as to why he would want to take a walk like that, especially when we had plates of devil’s food cake with us as well. But I trusted him, and once I had locked the door, he led me out of the apartment and down onto the street. All the while, he sank the tines of the fork into his piece of cake, and he closed his eyes at one point, even though we were walking.

“Oh, man,” he said at one point. “This is amazing.”

“Delicious?” I asked.

“Beautiful,” he remarked. “Sinful, even.”

For a moment, I thought that we weren’t going to be able to make it to the bridge in question because he was enjoying that slice of cake just a bit too much, but he led me about three blocks from my apartment complex to a cluster of trees near the mouth of Lake Merritt. The bridge wasn’t very big, even though it stretched clear across the black waters and gave us just enough room to walk along the wooden railing off to the right. Alex continued to indulge in his birthday cake all the way to the middle of the bridge, and then I offered to hold onto his plate for him.

“So, you just come here and toss some bread crumbs into the water here?” I asked him.

“Yup, and we say all the things that we did wrong over the past year. We don’t eat all day from dawn to dusk and spend the day with our parents.”

We were right in the middle of the bridge when he stopped and gazed out to the waters below us: the cold black rivulets gently washed underneath us as if we had a bit of runoff in the meantime. The wind picked up behind us, such that I shivered a bit. I clutched at the plates and held them up to my chest as if they were going to get away from me. I looked over at Alex and the way that his hair seemed to twirl around on the sides of his head: his gray streak fluttered a bit, like that of a little feather.

“Legend has it that when you meet someone on a bridge, you’ll never see them again,” he said, and his voice seemed to float on the wind. Stray ringlets of his black hair twirled about behind him.

“But we’re not necessarily meeting each other, though,” I pointed out.

“Of course,” he assured me, and he glanced over at me with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we did, though. I meet a guy who likes to feed me and entice me, and yet we never see each other again once we leave this bridge.”

“And then you come back here to repent for Yom Kippur,” I added.

“I come back next week with the stale bread and my parents, and we talk about our grievances and let them out of the bag, and right before we head on back home, I see the reflection of jet black hair in the black waters below. The feeling of a stout body embedded in the wood here. The ghost of a boy whom I believed would love me the way that I wanted to be loved…” His voice trailed off. I took a quick glimpse up at the sky overhead, at the cloud cover over us. I swore I felt a temperature drop right then. The talk of ghosts made me shiver even more.

“As long as we’re not going over to the Golden Gate Bridge,” I said to him.

“We could go there on Halloween,” he suggested, and all the while, he kept his voice down low. This was a side of Alex I had never seen before, and I was enticed by it, perhaps more so than his appetites. The wind blew through his hair and made his curls twirl around before him, the sunlight gently kissed his head and face to make his skin resemble to porcelain: the shadows lifted away from his eyes and eyebrows to make him look like a little doll with bright glassy eyes. Strands of his gray streak swept over his right eye and the right side of his forehead. The thoughtful look on his face never lifted away.

He looked like a ghost. The ghosts of millions of people who had graced the earth before us.

I swore I heard sirens behind him against the wind.

“What are you going to make me for Halloween?” I asked him again, and that time with a tremble to my voice.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” he replied.

“Maybe I should whip out a few calacas,” I suggested.

“Calacas?”

“Living skeletons that are big and bright and colorful,” I said. “The Day of the Dead skeletons. I could make us some cookies in the shape of them.”

“Cookies and cakes and everything oh, so delicious,” he quipped, and then he glanced over at me.

If I only knew.

“Eric, let me ask you something,” he began again. “What exactly possessed you to feed me all the delicious food in the first place?”

“I don’t really remember,” I confessed with a shake of my head, to which he squinted his eyes at me.

“You don’t remember… other than maybe giving me something nice and decadent for my appetite without realizing that I am a boy of flesh and blood, and I can, will, and have gained a little weight as a consequence. My clothes are tighter, my body is a bit rounder, fuller, and softer than usual. Sometimes I wonder if you’re a warlock at all.”

“I like dragons, I kind of am a warlock on principle,” I joked with a straight face.

“It’s like you don’t realize that there’s a monster inside of me,” he said with a hand on his belly. “Something inside me that could… dare I say, sink its claws and teeth into someone if it doesn’t get what it wants. It can get drastic if I am left unsatisfied.”

I swallowed at that.

“A devil, a demon… something along the lines of the Leviathan, the fearsome fifty-foot-long sea monster that can swallow the two of us whole at the end of the world.”

“You’re bluffing,” I quipped with a shiver. I knew he was trying to scare me, but I had to remain grounded, especially when it was that cold out there and he seemed to be in no hurry to head on back to my place. He placed his other hand on his belly: he was still so soft there, I could tell, even after he had lost most of it.

“Oh, am I?” he quipped back. “Sometimes I feel like, even after all this time, you still haven’t figured me out yet, Eric.” He slid his hands further onto his belly as if to protect himself from something. “I have noticed that when I don’t eat anything for a long time, I start to itch for… something else. It’s like this instinct that kicks in. The ‘survival instinct’ as my parents call it.” He moved his hands again, that time to his hip bones so his shirt spread over his belly to accentuate the slightly rounded shape. Still very slim, albeit with some softness.

“The survival instinct fused with a bit of the killer instinct,” he continued, and he placed his left hand right over his waist: “the two intersect every so often, you know. They come together into a foul-smelling serpentine creature, much like the Leviathan itself. It’s primal, having been around since our earliest ancestors when they were hunter-gatherers and fisherman.” He never moved his hand as he turned towards the wooden railing and the black waters down below us. “When you realize that there’s no food in the house and you’re short on money, what do you do?” 

He reached into his pocket and showed off his Swiss Army knife with a sleek black handle that looked to be made of volcanic glass. “I’m sure you’ve been in that position before, Eric. Growing up mixed race in a cozy neighborhood of Berkeley, not too far from me. Some nights, there was probably very little in the house to eat.”

I swallowed at that, and I froze when he flicked open the main blade: the edge shone against the gray sunlight.

“It helps that you and I are both minorities,” he continued, and all the while, he kept his voice down low, low enough for me to hear over the winds. “To leave us without food or anything sufficient and leave us to die unless our primal desires rise from the dead. Centuries of oppression for Latin Americans, millennia of oppression and destruction for the Jews… it’s only a matter of time before one snaps and sends the side of the knife—” He switched the handle around with those long fingers so the tip of the blade pointed down to the wooden railing before us. “—into the ones trying to destroy them and rip them to shreds.” He hurled the blade into the wood before us, to which I stumbled back away from him a bit. But he never moved a muscle for a good long minute, that is until he calmly released his grip on the knife handle.

“The sands of time don’t always heal the wounds of the persecuted,” he continued. “Forgiveness never erases memories and history, and I have watched far too many people completely destroy and obliterate themselves all for the sake of forgiveness.” He raised his gaze towards me, those eyes as bright as blood diamonds. “Soft animals as we are, even as my belly still remains soft, and you yourself as thick as a mighty bull, there is a side to us, tucked away in the furthest recesses of our minds, that tells us to kill to survive. Forget fucking to survive: we must kill to survive. A severe lack of food means a desire to do something horribly drastic for our own benefit.”

I held still with my hands rested upon my chest. My heart pounded away at the sight of him, and more so when he gripped onto the knife again to wedge it out of the railing: a small slit was left behind in the wood, but it was enough for me to realize the sharpness of the blade.

He closed his knife and sighed through his nose.

“Shall we?” he offered me.

“Back home? Yes, yes, yes.”

“Besides, I promised my mom that I’d be back home for dinner,” he clarified. “I’m going to be eating more cake tonight.” He flashed me a wink, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him, albeit a nervous smile.

Alex may have been sexy but there was something more to him, however. Something he never told me.

I started to wonder what exactly happened back there at his grandparents’ house.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Tell me a story about Godzilla being confused by a coconut.

Jonah was a three-foot-tall French bulldog in a trenchcoat. He was drinking a paper cup of hot chocolate. Next to him was a bartender named Nancy. Nancy was talking to an iguana with a halo made of pearls. The iguana was drinking a Long Island iced tea.

"The problem is," Nancy was saying, "if we let him do this kind of thing, he'll want to do it all the time."

"I might want to do it all the time," Jonah said.

"Did you ever stop to think about, like, how boring of a life you'd have if all you ever did was eat coconuts?"

"I can imagine a whole life of eating coconuts," Jonah said.

"Why?"

Jonah just looked at her.

"Is it that good?"

"I don't know," Jonah said. "I would be eating a coconut right now if you hadn't grabbed that thing out of my hand."

"I think it would get old pretty fast," Nancy said.

They were sitting in the Living Room of the house where Nancy lived. The Living Room had a fireplace, chintz, a coffee table, and a TV mounted on the wall. The room was decorated with a mix of possessions that belonged to all of them, and furniture they had bought when they moved into the house nine months ago.

Jonah saw Nancy's concern. He had an emotional attachment to this place, which was starting to feel less like a loaner and more like home. But he couldn't stop thinking about eating coconuts all the time. The idea had been in his head for a long time, since before he met Nancy, but it wasn't long before Nancy was a real person, rather than just a vision he had. The first time he had seen her, she was an anthropomorphic cartoon character in a comic book. There she was, a French bulldog in a fanciful long coat, trying to buy a magical candle from a lazy-eyed shopkeeper. Since then, he had met dozens of Nancy-lookalikes. But it was only when he went looking for the real Nancy, the first time he met her, that he felt the true pull of her magnetism.

Later, Jonah had found out that they were both born on the same day, and had been in school together as kids. Later still, they had met in adulthood, after both had moved to an island that they would both call home. They had gotten together as soon as the oceanic ice sheet melted, resulting in an irreversible drought.

When he pictured the start of the story, there was already a coconut in his hands. He and Nancy had moved in together, and she was sleeping in the next room. The night was warm, so he had gotten out of bed and put on his coat. Then, he had remembered the coconut. He had gone to get it, and so on.

The first coconut was right there, on the table. Nancy could see it. But she was staring at the Long Island iced tea in the iguana's hand.

Jonah screwed the lid back onto the hot chocolate. He drank it in a single

[dancinginfreedom]

Today, I woke up feeling lethargic. My back and shoulder soring more than any other day that it did. But, I got up anyway. Went for my favorite mug in the kitchen, poured my usual morning hot karak into it. Rummaged through my plastic of groceries underneath my bed and found a pack of wafer to eat with my hot drink to welcome the morning. I reached for the book I’m reading these days, and just like that, I deliberately tried to start my day in a peaceful manner.

I was browsing instagram yesterday, and there was one particular reel that reminded me while clicking my loud keyboard at this very moment. It was about conventionally finding a reason to wake up each morning no matter how trivial it is. It was, in summary, finding your purpose each passing day. Today, it was freaking hard to do that especially with a back ache that screams “notice me, i need to be mended!”.

As I was slowly scanning my eyes through the words of the book in front of me telling “when you’re in an emotional state, empty your mind and take a break”, I unconsciously stopped and found myself staring blankly at the three-wick scented candle I lit at my bedside table while lying down on my stomach. Suddenly, everything felt so strange to me. Then, I knew, in that moment, I’ve never experienced this before….in a long while.

Afterwards, I just wanted to fall back to sleep even after having a full eight hours of sleep last night. I wanted to empty my mind and just give in to my desire of sleeping again despite not feeling sleepy. I was indeed in lethargy.

Yet, after that short peacefulness, my mind started to go full cycle at work again. I randomly wanted to write while my chaotic brain cells are somehow in sync with each other. I tried to save all these conceptual thoughts as much as I can that just kept flashing in a snap through my mind.

Just like that, in the rarity of all days, today was the day that my heart was at it again telling my brain “you’re still gonna achieve that dream to write your own book one day”. And unlike any other rare day, my brain agreed responding “I trust you, despite the chaos and messiness I bring to you every time you try to put all the floating thoughts in me altogether”.

I got out of bed, decided to take my shower to freshen up. And, here I am — typing a piece of my life story by sharing what my day looks like. Well, pretty much a day of choosing to first embrace my own emotional creases, without forcing myself to be positive nor to smile, bearing in mind the phrase “repressed emotions build up over time and would start to rot, blocking the way for all our feelings, even the positive ones”, from I’m Not Lazy, I’m on Energy Saving Mode.

It is better to release what you feel, deal with them head on than avoiding them by digging a hole to pile them up. Prevention is indeed better than cure. And when it comes to our emotional wellbeing, prevention might look like this:

“deal with me now, even recklessly is okay. it is better that way than not acting upon it at all”

Dealing with our emotions, fortunately, doesn’t need to be a grand gesture. It is making a space for a break — to feel and sit in with all that we feel. It is not even about understanding WHY nor figuring out WHERE they are coming from.

I do think that our emotions should not be left to harden and get swept to the side. Sometimes, just trying to understand our emotions AS THEY ARE without even knowing the answer, is THE ANSWER.

Stomach cramps just said “HI” to me while I’m trying to finish up this blogpost, unlocking the key why I’m feeling blue since last night and lethargic since this morning. Oh well, of course, I’m no exception to the hormones attack that every woman experiences whenever that period comes every month. And this makes me have the right to say…

ANSWERS do show up, from time to time, oddly most times, when we’re not even looking for them (ughh, but yeah, being a woman is so weird too, don’t you think? 🥺😬😅)

(this is the first ever post i’ve published on this platform after being on an unintentional hiatus for exactly a year and a half)