#yeah i really could not bother to make this but.. i do it for MOST members of the kennedy fam..(besides joe sr + rose + rfk JR + etc)

[setmeatopthepyre]

♠ for Bucktommy pls?

coming right up!

♠ One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/etc. [bucktommy | 944 words]

“Evan?”

Buck looked over his shoulder, caught sight of Tommy’s puzzled frown, gave the sauce another stir and then turned down the heat. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“What are you wearing?”

Buck glanced down at his apron. It was… just an apron. One of the aprons he usually wore when cooking. “An apron?”

“No, I mean-” Tommy stepped in close and Buck’s hands automatically drifted down to Tommy’s hips, settling there, warm and familiar, feeling the muscle below shift with each breath. Tommy’s hands came up and Buck leaned in, ready for those big hands to cradle his face, drag him into a kiss. Maybe this was some pick-up line from a movie Buck didn’t know and, honestly, he didn’t care as long as he got kisses out of it.

But Tommy didn’t kiss him. Instead, his fingers traced along Buck’s throat, sending goosebumps down his arms and spine, and that’s when Buck remembered.

“Oh! Right. I, uh, washed your flight suit? This was in the pocket and I didn’t want to forget where I put it-”

He fumbled the silver chain out from under the collar of his shirt, the tag dangling from it still skin-warm. Scrunching his chin down to look at the embossed letters, he wondered if they’d left their mirror-image mark on his skin, wondered if he’d been temporarily branded with Kinard, Thomas somewhere on his chest. He was tempted to check. “So, you’re O positive, huh?” he said instead, deciding that was probably a little less weird.

“Yep,” Tommy said, popping the ‘p’. He tapped the metal tag. “And now you know my Social Security number, too.”

“And that you’re, uh-” he angled the tag. “NO PREF? What's that?”

“No religious preference.”

“Why? I get blood type, but...”

“Same reason it’s got my name. In case I can’t tell them and arrangements need to be made.”

“Arrangements?” Then it dawned on Buck. Right. Oh. “Like-- Like for a funeral?” Just thinking about it made him want to grab hold of Tommy again and never let go.

“H-hm,” Tommy hummed, apparently not as bothered by the thought as Buck was, and that just wouldn’t do. Buck let the tag fall back against his chest to free up his hands so that he could tangle his fingers into Tommy’s shirt, his sides, pulling him closer. Tommy went easily, squirming just a little when Buck’s fingers traced over his ribs. “Menace,” he chided with a soft little smile.

“That’s me,” Buck grinned. Then glanced down again. “So you wear this when you’re flying? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t really wear it. Never did, honestly.” He frowned a little, thoughtful, and Buck wondered if this was one of those army things he didn’t want to talk about, but he seemed OK for now and Buck would happily take whatever Tommy facts he could get. After a moment of Tommy tracing his thumb over the letters of his name, he continued, “I laced them into my boots most of the time, back then. Don’t want the chain getting caught in anything when you’re doing maintenance.” He said it with a little what can you do?-shrug that felt like an understatement to the gruesome mental images Buck’s mind was helpfully conjuring up for him from a sprawling selection of calls. People got jewelry caught in spectacularly stupid ways sometimes.

“Yeah, makes sense,” Buck said, blinking away the memory of the guy with all the pendants who’d gotten himself stuck in a rotary saw. “And now?”

“I just keep it in my pocket,” Tommy says. “Right where you found it. Though I usually remember to take it out, too.”

“You also usually don’t wash your flight suits at home, so...”

“That’s a great point,” Tommy said, eyes scrunching at the way Buck knew his face was lighting up with the praise. He knew it was kind of stupid, but it was the way Tommy complimented him, like it was the most natural thing in the world, that really did it for him.

Still, a thought nagged at him.

“S-So you have it on you in case you, uh, crash?”

Tommy shrugged again. “No, it’s more of a…” He looked a little embarrassed, all of a sudden, and Buck was immediately intrigued. Tommy didn’t really get embarrassed much. He knew what he liked and what he wanted and if anything, he got defensive instead of embarrassed about his guilty pleasures if he felt like he was being judged. But this didn’t feel like that. Buck desperately wanted to know more. If he could, he'd open up Tommy's brain and examine every last cell of it under a microscope. But he couldn't, at least not in a way that would be at all good for anyone.

“More of a…?” he prompted instead.

Tommy sighed, met his eyes with an exasperated look. “I just figured, I survived the army with it on me, so, I might as well have it on me now.”

Buck grinned, absolutely delighted, and draped his arms over Tommy’s shoulders, pulling him closer still. “Kinard comma Thomas, are you telling me you have a good luck charm?”

“No. Maybe. Fine.” Tommy huffed a laugh and pulled him in by the waist. “What, jealous?”

Buck pulled back a little. “Why would I be jealous?”

Tommy wasted no time closing the distance, said into his ear, “Well, because that would mean you’re not my only good luck charm, Evan.”

Warmth bloomed in his face, across his chest, where the tag was pressed between them now, and Buck laughed.

“Yeah, I’m so jealous. I’d maim its ankles if it had any.”

[sweetdispatch]

Step 7 - L. Hughes

Seven Steps | Step 6 pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader summary: After a year, you and Luke decided to try for a baby warning: none

Whole year went by since the wedding. You two took this time calmly. For the honeymoon, you and Luke flew to Italy and spent two weeks there. It was a nice feeling to cut off from the phone and people and just be in your own bubble. You two were joking that if not your and his jobs, you would stay there forever.

You and Luke had been talking about having kids. You knew that he wanted to be a father and he knew that you wanted to be a mother. When the season started, you felt like it’s a perfect time to think about starting a real family with kids running around the apartment. 

“I think we should stop using condoms” You told Luke who was playing with Sully in the living room. 

“Are you for real?” Luke was shocked at your words. 

“Yeah. I think now it’s a proper moment. We are both young and we are both ready to be parents. We don’t need to have sex every single moment to get me pregnant but if it happens, we’ll be ready” You said with a smile.

“Oh I can’t wait to put a baby in you” Luke stood up and kissed you. 

For the first two months since Luke stopped using condoms, you couldn’t get pregnant. You wanted to act like it’s not bothering you but it was. You really wanted to have a baby in you and felt like something was wrong with you. Luke could tell that you’re disappointed when you had your period but he strongly believed that this was going to happen soon. 

During Christmas, you were feeling sick. At first you thought that you ate something bad and this is food poisoning but something forced you to take the pregnancy test. When you saw the result you screamed with happiness. Luke ran into the bathroom thinking that something happened to you but he saw you standing with the test in your hand. 

“We’re pregnant Luke” You said and jumped into his arms. 

“We’re gonna be parents” Luke said, he couldn’t believe it. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle” You kissed him. 

“We’re gonna be parents” Luke repeated his words and started crying from happiness. 

After the doctor confirmed your pregnancy you two shared the news with your families and friends. This also meant that you were dropping work in your mum’ shop to focus your energy on raising the kid. Everyone was happy and they could tell that you’re gonna be great parents. Luke became more protective over you when the belly started showing up but also couldn’t keep his hands from you. 

You were glowing and Luke was in awe of how good you look. He never thought that you can be prettier but you proved him wrong. He was proud of you and he was proud to call himself your husband. You were happy most of the time but sometimes the pregnancy was too much for you. He was always by your side to help you. 

“I can’t do this Luke. I’m so tired and we’re only halfway through” You cried and Luke felt bad for you. He wanted to take away the pain from you. 

“Baby, you’re doing great. It’s hard now but it will be worth it. Tell me what I can do for you to make you feel better” Luke said and you looked at him. 

“Can you rub my back?” You asked him shyly but he quickly positioned himself behind you. 

Your friends made you a gender reveal party. You and Luke were always saying that gender is not important as long as the kid is healthy. Everyone was wearing pink or blue clothes but you two were all in white. It was a nice thing to spend the day out of the house without any worries. Your friend put the cake in front of you to cut it and see what’s the color. Luke grabbed the knife and did the honors. 

“It’s a girl” Luke said proudly and you started crying. “We’re having a mini you” He kissed you. 

“Later we have to try for a mini you” You whispered into his ear and Luke smiled widely. 

Right after the gender reveal party, you and Luke decided that this is the right time for a house search. You were renting the apartment all the time but now, you two wanted that you needed a space that you own. He found a perfect house and decided to buy it. For the next month, you were packing everything from this apartment and already felt sentimental. 

You two moved into a new place and instantly got to work to be ready for the kid's arrival. You picked which room is going to be a nursery and decided to do it at first. Thankfully, you had help from your friends and Luke’ teammates. Two weeks later, the room was ready for the baby and you started working around the house. He didn’t let you do anything except unpacking and placing things on the shelves. 

Months went by, you and Luke were getting used to the new place. You loved the house and already felt the warmth. Your due date was for September and both of you decided to return to New Jersey in August. Patiently, you’ve been waiting for the arrival. You were glad that the due date was when he was still free. 

When your water broke, both of you panicked. Quickly he drove to the hospital and you were rushed to the delivery room. After long hours, you could hear the crying. You started smiling and crying at the same time knowing that you just gave birth. Luke was next to you all the time. After the check up, your daughter was finally given to you.

“We did it” You said quietly to Luke.

“No baby. You did it” Luke kissed the top of your head. 

After three days, you went back home and the smile could’t disappear from your and Luke's faces. You were a real family. You were thinking about the start of your relationship. 

What if you didn’t go to the party?

What if you didn’t agree to ditch the party?

What if he didn’t ask you for your phone number?

Thankfully, this was not important for you. You were grateful that you were here with Luke by your side and daughter in your arms and cat laying on the couch in the living room. You felt that you’re living in a fairytale.

Happily ever after

[sugardollcurse]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓

꒰ pairing ꒱ george harrison x reader

꒰ summary ꒱ you’re a florist’s apprentice. the boys stop in to buy flowers for an interview shoot. george asks you what the meanings of the flowers are, and listens. really listens.

꒰ note ꒱ i'm so proud of this i think

The bell above the shop door jingled with a sound so familiar you didn’t bother to look up. It was the middle of a Thursday, early spring, and the windows were still a little fogged from the morning's chill. Your hands were buried in a bucket of cool water and daffodil stems, fingertips tingling from the cold, when you heard a chorus of vaguely familiar voices. “No, Paul, it’s not for you. It’s fer the camera. You don’t need to pick the pinkest ones.”

“‘Course I do, don’t want my complexion lookin’ grey in that shot.”

“Oh, sod off, you’re always hoggin’ the spotlight.”

You blinked. Froze a moment. Looked up... slowly.

They were there. Not just people. Them.

The Beatles.

Real. In your shop. Or at least, the shop you apprenticed at, tucked on the corner of a street just shy of town center. They looked like they'd just wandered in off the street, which, well, they had. No entourage, no screaming fans. Just four young men in tailored coats and those mop-top haircuts you'd seen in magazines and on telly and... right there. In front of the hydrangeas.

You dried your hands on your apron without thinking, watching as Paul turned a bunch of roses this way and that, critiquing the hue like he was selecting paint for a living room wall. John was already halfway to bored, poking at the baby’s breath and pretending to sneeze dramatically into it. Ringo peered curiously at a row of chrysanthemums.

And George was standing still.

He wasn’t talking. Just looking around. He had one hand in his coat pocket, and the other gently grazing the edge of a display bucket filled with lilies.

You moved forward before your brain fully caught up.

“Um. Can I help you?”

They all turned toward you like a school of fish changing direction, but it was George who answered.

“Yeah, ta. We’re doin’ a shoot later. Some magazine thing. They want us holdin’ flowers. We wanted to look for the flowers ourselves.” His accent was thick with Liverpool, low and smooth like the underside of a river stone. “Don’t know why. Just want us lookin’ ‘springy’, apparently.

“Oh,” you said, nodding. “Seasonal.”

“Yeah. Flowers ‘n all. Makes sense, I s’pose.”

You expected him to wander off again, maybe nudge Ringo or roll his eyes with John. But instead, George kept looking at you. Curious. Not impatient. He leaned a little closer, chin tilted toward the bucket you’d been sorting.

“What do these ones mean?” he asked, gesturing.

You blinked. “The daffodils?”

“Mm.”

You hesitated a beat. “Rebirth. New beginnings. Some say unrequited love.”

That made his eyebrows lift. “S’pose they couldn’t make up their minds either, eh?”

You smiled faintly. “It depends on the culture. But yeah, most flowers have a few meanings. Layers, I guess.”

George hummed like that meant something to him. Then turned toward the rest of the display, eyes scanning slowly.

“What about those?” he asked, pointing to a cluster of delicate white blooms... sweet alyssum.

“Sweetness of soul,” you said. “And serenity.”

He nodded once, then twice, like he was filing that away. Not just hearing you, listening. You could almost see it, the way his attention lingered. Not on your apron, or your hands, or your face in that glassy, half-present way most customers did. But all of you. As if your voice, your knowledge, your presence, all of it held weight.

“What’re you gettin’ all poetic for?” John called from the corner. “It’s just a bunch of petals, George.”

George didn’t even turn. “They’ve got meanings, y’know.”

John made a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “So do I, but you don’t see me wrapped in cellophane.”

Paul shook his head, still fussing with a bouquet. “Can we just pick somethin’ already? We’ve got to be at the studio in half an hour.”

“Go on, then,” George said. But he didn’t move away from you. He pointed to a spiky stalk of delphinium. “That one?”

“Dignity,” you said. “Sometimes grace. But in the old Victorian guides, it could also mean fun, or lightness.”

He gave a small smile. “Nice mix, that. Like a posh joker.”

“I guess so.”

He went quiet for a moment, then offered his hand. “I’m George.”

You shook it before thinking. “I know.”

He tilted his head. “Do you?”

Your fingers slipped away, a bit too warm now. “Everyone does.”

“Dunno about that,” he said, but didn’t press it. “What’s your name?”

You told him. Something about the way he repeated it, quietly, as if testing the shape of it in his mouth... made it bloom behind your ribs.

“I think I’d like a bunch that means somethin’,” he said. “Not just for the photo. You’ve got a good sense for it.”

You nodded. “Alright. Give me a minute.”

You moved on instinct, half-aware of his gaze following as you plucked stems from across the room. An iris for wisdom. A sprig of lavender for devotion. A single hellebore for serenity in the face of challenge. You weren’t sure why your fingers chose those, only that they felt right. Then something softer, a wild pansy, delicate and thoughtful. And at the last moment, a bloom of peony. Passion. A quiet flame.

You handed them over in a tied bouquet, no frills. George took it gently, like it was a glass bird.

“Thanks,” he said.

He looked down at them, then back at you. “Think I’ll remember this.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you just nodded. A beat passed. Then another.

And then Paul whistled. “Come on, George, don’t fall in love in the flower shop, we’ve got telly to do!”

George rolled his eyes, but still lingered another moment.

“See you ‘round,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.

Then the bell rang again, and they were gone.

You didn’t expect him to come back.

But he did. A week later.

You were arranging window baskets when the bell chimed, and you glanced up, already speaking.

“We’re out of tulips until Tuesday, I’m afraid-”

“Wasn’t comin’ for tulips.”

You froze. Then turned.

George stood in the doorway, hands in his coat pockets again, hair messier than last time. A little windblown. A little tired.

But smiling.

“Oh,” you said. Brilliantly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

There was a pause. The air smelled like eucalyptus and lemon balm, and your knees suddenly felt like water.

“I liked the flowers,” he said, after a beat. “Didn’t just look good in the photo. Felt… right. Like they meant somethin’.”

“I’m glad.”

Another pause. He stepped closer, slow. Like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“D’you mind if I ask about a few more?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Of course not.”

So you did. You walked him through meanings again, deeper this time. Into forgotten symbols, language barely spoken anymore. He listened like it was music. Like your voice had chords. Sometimes he’d ask strange things, like:

“If you were a flower, which one would you be?”

You thought. “Maybe a thistle.”

He laughed. “Prickly?”

You shrugged.

He tilted his head. “Yeah. I see that.”

And sometimes he'd point and ask, “What would you never give someone?”

You answered. “Yellow carnation. Rejection. Contempt.”

George raised his eyebrows.

“Brutal, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” His gaze stayed on the flowers a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Flowers’ve got more bite than I thought.”

You nodded. “That’s why people used to take them so seriously. Whole courtships, built on what someone handed you in a nosegay.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “Suppose I’d best brush up, then.”

“You planning to court someone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave you a small smile and changed the subject, easy as water slipping through cracks.

It was two days later when you opened the shop early, fog still hugging the pavement, keys cold in your palm, and found something leaning against the front door.

A single bloom. Pale, soft, and unmistakable.

A moonflower.

You crouched without thinking, brushing a finger along the velvet white petals. It had been left gently, carefully, wrapped in a twist of brown paper and twine. Not one of yours. Not from your buckets or any arrangement in the shop. In fact, you hadn’t seen a moonflower around here in months. Not since late summer, when they crept open only at night, shy and glowing under moonlight.

And yet, there it was. Waiting.

You unlocked the door with your breath held and brought it inside like it might dissolve in your hands. There was no note. No explanation. Just that singular bloom, unfurled with something like trust.

You pressed it into water, heart thudding.

George didn’t come that day.

Or the next.

You tried not to wonder about it too much. He was famous. Busy. You told yourself he was probably in another city. Probably recording, or flying, or being asked to smile for someone else’s camera.

But you couldn’t stop looking at the moonflower. Turning it over in your mind. In the language of flowers, it meant dreaming of love. Of waiting in the quiet dark, hoping for something that blooms when no one’s watching. It must've been from him. You knew it was.

He came back the morning after that.

The bell above the door rang, and you were elbow-deep in ivy stems, not expecting anything. Not anymore.

But then there he was. Same coat, collar upturned. Eyes a little tired. Hands in his pockets.

You stared. “You left a flower.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Did I?”

“Moonflower.”

“Sounds romantic,” he said, and his lips twitched like he couldn’t quite hide the smile. “D’you like it?”

You tried not to beam, tried not to let it show, but you knew it was already there in your voice. “Where’d you get it?”

He shrugged, but it was a loaded one. “Got a bloke I know. S’pose I could’ve asked you, but I wanted it to be... right.”

“You remembered what it meant.”

“‘Course I did.”

He moved closer, quiet, careful. The hum of traffic outside seemed very far away. And then:

“What’s your favourite?” he asked, low and rough-edged, like it cost him something.

You looked at him, really looked. His eyes were soft but searching, wide with a kind of wonder you weren’t used to being the subject of.

“I don’t know,” you said. “It changes.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You hesitated. Then: “Snowdrops. First ones to bloom in winter. They’re not flashy. They just… come back.”

George nodded slowly, the answer sitting somewhere deep in his chest. “Hope,” he murmured.

You smiled. “You remembered that too.”

Another pause, close enough now that you could smell his cologne, soft, musky, clinging faintly to the lapels of his coat.

Then he reached into his pocket.

“I brought you somethin’,” he said, almost shy.

He pulled out a single sunflower. Like he just plucked one on his way here. Like he’d taken painful care of it.

Your breath caught.

“George-”

He didn’t hand it to you yet. Just looked at it. Then you. “D’you reckon that’s a bit too obvious?”

“No,” you said, voice small. “It’s nice.”

This time, when he passed it to you, his fingers lingered.

You took it like it was something sacred.

He stayed after that.

Not every day. But enough that your coworkers stopped asking. Enough that your boss raised a brow once, then smirked and let it go.

He didn’t bring flowers every time, but he brought other things. Stories, poems he’d read, a sandwich he thought you might like. Once, a record he said reminded him of you. You never told him how many nights you played it on repeat, how your room filled with his voice and the soft thrum of longing.

He told you about Liverpool. About the road. About how everything felt fast and far too loud sometimes.

You told him about your old garden. The one you left behind. How you still missed the smell of wet earth after it rained.

He said, “I think that’s why I like you. You talk like you’re rooted in something.”

You said, “I think you’re still growing.”

The first time he kissed you, it wasn’t a moment. Not like in books.

It was just after closing, and he was helping you sweep. You’d turned off the front lights, and the whole shop was dusky with the last light of the sun. You said something about peonies again, how they always reminded you of quiet wants. Of things that aren’t said, but felt.

And then he was kissing you. Like the answer had bloomed inside him all at once.

It was soft. No fanfare. No rush.

Just yes.

Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, his coat collar, the edge of his cheek. And he held your face like he’d always been meant to.

When you parted, he rested his forehead to yours. “Took me too long.”

You whispered, “You got here.”

━━

Months passed.

Spring faded into something warm and golden. You got used to waking with flower petals in your pockets, your hair, sometimes your sheets. George would leave them like breadcrumbs, a violet on your windowsill. A primrose tucked into the strap of your bag. Once, a clover pressed between the pages of your notebook.

You started to learn him the way you’d learned flowers.

What his hands did when he was nervous. The weight in his voice when he was tired. The way he said your name, soft and reverent, like it was already part of a lyric.

And you knew. Deep down. That he’d never just breezed in.

He’d seen you.

Chosen you.

The same way you chose each flower: not for flash. Not for show.

But for meaning.

One evening, as summer stretched lazy across the horizon, he walked you home.

The street smelled of jasmine and distant bonfires. He held your hand, warm and steady.

“D’you think we’ll last?” he asked suddenly.

You looked at him. “Us?”

He nodded.

You thought for a moment. Then:

“Some flowers bloom once and never again. But some come back every year.”

George looked at you like that meant more than anything. Like it was the kind of answer that could keep him going when the world spun too fast.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

He leaned in, kissed your temple. Then your cheek.

And finally, your lips, like a slow season turning, like a new petal unfolding in the dark.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps

[defuckingthrone-dot-com]

Hi! So I’ve been into shy nerdy Noah lately. Can you please write a one shot about Noah who’s really shy and geeky like he’s never had any womanly contact before, but turn it into a smut

Nerdy Noah you say? I got you! (And I'm sorry this took entirely too long to post) I hope you like it!

Tag List: @bloody-spades @chey-h

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please go here.

Smut below the cut!

Noah had spent most of his life mastering playing video games but zero-time mastering women.

For being a tall boy that was heavily tattooed much less the singer of a very prominent hardcore band you would guess that what you couldn't see from his twitch streams how he adorns the other side of the wall with comic book and action figures

But that started to change after he met you. his neighbor.

You had both crossed paths once or twice, just casual good morning or good afternoons, but nothing more.

So, he was just as surprised when one day you knocked on his door.

"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, I'm having trouble setting up my new tv on the wall, and I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't know who to call, I'm new here" you take a deep breath, "oh god I'm rambling. So would you be able to help me?"

There was no denying you thought he was handsome and the thought of having to ask for his help made you nervous but here you were.

"Yeah... yes. of course, no problem i will help you." he said a bit shy which was something you didn't expect all

Of course, you knew zero to nothing about it except for the fact that he lived next door to you.

With a smile you signaled him to follow you into your home. you showed him the living room where you had already unboxed the tv.

"Thank you once again for helping me, I don't know what I'm doing with this sort of thing," you said and gave him a sheepish smile.

All he could do was nod. You quickly realized that maybe he wasn't much of a talker as he got to work on setting up the tv on your wall.

You watched as he got to work and you tried to not ogle too much but something about him made your eyes be glued to him. His bright tattoos, his comically large hand. the way he focused on the task? you couldn't quite put your finger on it but there was something.

After about 40 minutes of you just staring at him while he worked, he finally finished.

"Uh, it's all done, tv is on the wall now, you can take a look" he said in quite possibly the smallest voice he could do. You find it a bit odd how he behaves. You would think that by the way he looks his confidence level would be out of this world, and he probably would have a line of girls waiting for his attention.

"It looks perfect thank you, i appreciate it so much, let me pay you for this, just let me grab m...." you started searching around for your wallet before he cut you off.

"Please don't. I don't. need to be paid.."

"Please? at least let me do something for you, i would feel horrible with you walking out of here and not getting nothing for your work"4

He just stared at you without saying anything.

The silence was making you a bit anxious, so you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Your girlfriend must be very lucky to have you and be able to do things like this."

He chuckles so subtlety that you barely noticed "I don't have a girlfriend actually"

"No way, you're tall, handsome and tattooed" you say without thinking and watch as he begins to turn a bit red.

Your feet started moving involuntarily towards him and in a matter of seconds you were standing in front of him.

Once again, he stayed silent just looking down at you with the softest bobba eyes you had ever seen.

You don't know what came over you but you grabbed his hand and felt the smallest twitch from him.

"You seem nervous, are you okay?"

"No... I mean yes... i mean, I've just never really been with this close to a girl before" he says with a nervous laugh

" How close?" Now you're intrigued.

"Like this" he looks down at your hand grabbing his.

"Oh" you say but don't make even the slightest attempt to move your hand. The little devil on your shoulder whispered into your ear to make a proposition that even you wouldn't dare say out loud but something came over you that you couldn't resist. "Okay you haven been close or touched by another woman?" you make a small pause not really expecting an answer. "Do you want to change that? I could help you out if you would like"

You could see the wheels turning inside his hand and before he could turn you down you started speaking again

“Ok I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.. i don't know what came over me” you nervously laugh

“Yes i want you to help me” he blurted out before you could continue

“You do? Okay yes i can do that” you guided him over to the sofa where you had him sit down and without a second thought you straddled him. “Is this okay?” you wanted to make sure that he was okay

He nodded quickly. “Please tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable” he nodded once more.

You started to let your hand roam, first up his tattooed arms, next down over his clothed chest. He made no move so you decided to make the initiative and grab his hand to place it directly on your ass. 

“It's okay Noah, you can touch me too.” he nodded and with the smallest movement he squeezed on tenderly. 

Your left hand found the hem of his shirt and tugged on it. “Can I take this off?” you asked in your sweetest voice.

“ye.. yes…” 

You fisted the hem of the shirt in your hand and raised it to pull it over his hand once it was off you threw it to the floor behind you.

As you looked down at his chest you started to trace all the intricate ink adorn it. “I love your tattoos, they look so good on you”

“Thank you, i love getting tattooed, my best friend is a tattoo artist and he has done most of them, if you want one i could let him know..” 

You chuckled at his response.

“i'm sorry i tend to yap when im nervous.” he says apologetically

“Don't be, I think it's cute.” you said, leaning into him, lips just inches from his. 

Hands still roaming you decided that for now you would leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth and leave a trail down from mouth to his jaw, down his neck and moving down his chest. 

You were now down on your knees in between his legs looking up to him. without breaking contact you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. You could feel the shivers he was getting. 

“Do you want me to stop Noah?” you asked once more to make sure he was really okay.

“¡No!” he blurted so fast. 

That's all you need to hear, you grabbed onto the waistband off his boxers and pulled it down to free his now throbbing cock. Pink at the tip and veins running down to the base,

This time you decided not to ask and moved your hand to touch it and with small up and down motions you started to stroke it. 

A smirk grew on your face as you saw Noah's eyes roll back.

“Does it feel good Noah? Do you want more?” 

“It feels so good oh god” he threw his head back “Please more”

You saw a few beads of precum on his tip and used it as lubrication to move up and down a bit faster. 

You moved your head down so your lips could meet the tip.You gave a quick lip while maintaining eye contact with.

“Will you be a good boy for me Noah? Will cum in my mouth?” Hearing yourself saying it outloud shocked you a bit , you never been like this with anyone else but the feeling of dominating Noah and teaching him new things had you on a high.

“Yes, I'll be a good boy! yes..” he said with heavy breathing.

With that you went to town. You grabbed his cock at the base and brought the tip up to your mouth again. You licked once, twice before you fully opened your mouth and put it in. You started slow at first, moving your head up and down and licking all around. 

As the minutes passed you started to set a faster pace, now going down past the tip and to the middle almost reaching the base. You moved your hand that was at the base in unison with your mouth and moved it along up and down. 

You can feel Noah starting to shake and if it wasn't for all of your senses being heighting you would have heard him saying he wouldn't last much longer.

With your free hand you gripped at his thigh which still had his pants midway. as you make sure now to reach the base of his cock with your mouth. One small gagging sound you were knowing hitting his pubic hair with your nose.

A few head bobs later you felt the string of cum hitting the back of your throat, slowing down the motion off your head you detached and made a swallow sound, your hand grabbing on to him once more to give him a few last strokes. 

“Wow, that was…incredible…” he said in his shy voice again “no women has ever touched me or like this” he said turning red again

You chuckled while whipping your mouth  and said “Yeah? Maybe i can help you out more often, we can make it into a few lessons” you finish with a wink

“I'd like that…yes!” he said without hesitation while buttoning his jeans again. 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 47 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

CW: Domestic Al, the usual Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!

“Why are we buying books?” Mimzy asked as she followed Alastor through the small shop. “Don’t you have enough?” 

“They’re not for me,” Alastor said, explaining the absence of books in your home and how Laurence had discouraged reading since your marriage. 

“That’s a right shame,” Mimzy said, halfheartedly. She wasn’t personally fond of reading. It wasn’t a way she liked to pass the time. That didn’t matter, though. The idea of a man telling a woman what she could and couldn’t do to pass her time got under her skin. 

“I told her I’d bring her a few,” Alastor added, “Nothing too big to hide.” 

“She still locked away in her cage?” Mimzy asked, annoyance with your circumstances fueling her to look at the books with just a little more interest. 

“Unfortunately,” Alastor settled on a selection, tucking it under his arm along with his personal choice, a new mystery. “But we’re making do.” 

“Al,” Mimzy followed him, paying the shopkeeper no mind as they exchanged pleasantries. 

“I’ve got it handled, Mimzy.” Alastor’s voice was cheery, hiding the poor mood the questioning risked putting him in. 

“You need to stop seeing her,” Mimzy spoke softer as they stepped out onto the street. He had wanted to pick up a few groceries. Laurence would be gone for a good while, having to run deliveries for a few hours in the afternoon. 

Alastor hated the fact that his time was so limited with you. Between preparing for his shows, maintaining his own residence and broadcasting, it cut into the time he had secured with Laurence away more than he liked. 

That was alright, he kept telling himself. It had gotten you more time without Laurence hitting you, and that was what mattered most. It made the sting of knowing you were away from him hurt just a little less.

“And why are you getting so much stuff?” Mimzy questioned as Alastor moved onto purchasing seafood a few stores down. 

“I’ll be making gumbo for a late lunch,” Alastor didn’t bother glancing at Mimzy to see her disapproving look. 

“At your house, right?” Mimzy said as he handed over a few coins. “Or at mine?” 

“At her’s.” Alastor answered, setting out on the mission to get sausage from the butcher next. “Why ever would I be making it at your house?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mimzy followed, hot on his heels, “Because you used to come over and make your old gal gumbo once in a while?” 

“But now I have a gal!” Alastor laughed, delighted to get to say it. 

“A gal,” Mimzy hissed as she pulled him down by the arm so she could nearly whisper into his ear, “whose husband you’re planning to kick off.” 

“I’ve got it under control.” Alastor assured her as he stood again. “We’ll be starting that little event in a week or so.” 

“Why waste time?” Mimzy rolled her eyes as they stepped into the butcher shop. “Really, Al?” 

“It wouldn’t look good if it happened too soon.” Alastor answered before directing his attention to the butcher. 

“And you think it’s not a risk to be spending so much time over there?” Mimzy asked as the butcher packaged up the order. “Won’t it, you know-” 

“Raise suspicions?” Alastor whispered, leaning down for the shorter woman to hear him. 

“Yeah,” Mimzy whispered back as he straightened. “Cooking there and being there.” 

“I’m being careful.” Alastor said simply, putting the conversation to bed. 

You hummed as you worked, listening to the upbeat jazz playing through the radio as you kneaded a lump of dough that would become pasta. It wasn’t a favored meal of Laurence’s but it put up well and would make for a filling dinner tomorrow. 

What exactly you’d make with it? You were not sure. Raviolis perhaps? Regardless of what you picked, Laurence wouldn’t be pleased by it. He would have to deal with it though, and you with his raging and cutting words. 

Like it or not, he hadn’t taken you out to shop nor had he brought home groceries for you to cook with. Unless he did one of those two things or heavens, if he granted you a little funds and the simple pleasure of leaving the home without him by your side, it would be pasta for dinner. 

Today’s dinner- oh you looked forward to it. You didn’t know what you would be having or how you’d be cooking it. Alastor’s letter promised that he’d have everything planned. All you had to do was leave it to him and wait. 

It was all you could think about. There was so very little to occupy your thoughts while you were trapped in the home. You spent your days cleaning, cooking, and sitting on your bed, rereading the letters Alastor left for you. 

The sound of someone knocking at the front door startled out of your thoughts, nearly causing you to drop the dough you were midway through transferring to the bowl. Carefully, you set it into the bowel and tossed the cloth over it. You grabbed another towel to wipe the flour from your hands as the knocking resumed. 

“Coming!” you called out as you crossed into the living room, shoes click clacking against the wooden floors. The sound muffled slightly as you crossed the large rug that sprawled out from under the sofa as you neared the door. 

Opening it, you smiled wide to see Susan standing behind it. Alastor warned you that someone would come by, but not who. She held in her hand a bag in hand, clearly containing something large. Alastor had a plan for today, but it wasn’t one he let you in on. 

“For you,” Susan said, handing the bag over. “If anyone asks, I came to check up on you since you haven’t been by the shop in a while. He would believe that, wouldn’t he?” 

“Yes,” you said, wanting to ask how much she knew. It felt like suddenly, somehow when you were not looking, everyone knew about what you were doing with Alastor. There was freedom in that thought, but also fear. 

All it would take was one person opening their mouth for the house of cards to fall down. You didn’t know if Susan figured it out herself or if Alastor had told her. At least if he had told her, you could tell yourself you were not obvious. How could you even ask, though?

Susan made the fourth person to know, if she even knew, outside of the two of you, that you were aware of. Plus, Laurence had his suspicions. Thinking about how many people knew or could know, it made it feel like the walls were closing in on you. 

“It’s okay,” Susan whispered. “I’m on your side.” 

“Thank you,” you said, lifting the bag as she stepped away. To anyone who saw or somehow heard your words, it would seem you were thanking her for delivery and not for keeping your secret. “So very much.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Susan said, turning and walking down the walkway as you heard the backdoor in the kitchen open. 

Glancing over your shoulder as you closed the front door, you saw the impressive form of Alastor step into view. You realized again how handsome he was. It felt like something that you should get used to and yet there were moments where your breath was still locked in your chest as you looked at him. 

It was amazing every time you looked at him. Your heart felt so full whenever you got to spend time with him. He was the one man you wanted, above all. You didn’t deserve him, but for as long as you could, you were determined to cling to him. 

“Welcome back,” you said as you turned to the man who was already quickly crossing the living room. “Susan just dropped this off.” 

“I know,” Alastor said as he wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his other hand against your neck. The side of his hand pushed up against your jaw, urging you to tilt your head up. It wasn’t as if you needed that encouragement. You were eager to recieve his sweet kiss. “I sent her.” 

“She knows?” you whispered, lips brushing against his as you formed the question only to have them stilled by his. Sighing, you ran your hands up his chest and along his shoulders, sinking into the kiss. Your back arched as you curled into his touch, allowing him to support you. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing that all day,” Alastor admitted when you let your lips free. He helped you stand, smiling cheekily at the flush on your face. He wondered if he would always have the power to cause you to flush as he took the bag from you. 

“So have I,” you confessed, fingers reaching up to caress your lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss as you followed Alastor into the kitchen. He moved through your house as if he belonged. You dearly wished he did. 

“About Susan,” Alastor started after clearing his throat, “She knows, just not to the extent of our… entanglement.” 

“Entanglement.” You parroted, not liking the word. It didn’t do justice to what you had between the two of you and yet you struggled to come up with something more fitting. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after setting the bag on the workstation. Turning, he swept you back up in his arms, holding you tightly against him. “Entanglement. My heart is entangled in yours. My fingers long to be entangled in your hair. My limbs long to be entangled in yours.” 

“Suddenly, ‘entanglement’ doesn’t sound so bad.” You couldn’t resist leaning into Alastor’s embrace. “What’s in the bag?” you asked, allowing him to still hold you. There was some easy comfort being held by him. It felt safe. You always felt so safe with him.

“I went shopping for lunch. You’ve not eaten yet?” Alastor rocked, almost dancing with you in the kitchen but not quite. It was a relaxed, intimate moment. This is what you felt like marriage should be, though you only had your own marriage and that of your parents to compare it to. 

This was what you wanted out of your married life and who you wanted it with

“I’ve not,” you allowed your head to rest on his chest, tucked against him with his arm around your waist. “I just set pasta aside to rest.” 

“Oh!” Alastor’s smile grew, “And she can make pasta!?” 

“Do you like pasta?” you asked as you watched him unpack a few wrapped packages, brown butcher paper neatly folded and tied with twine. Next to them he set celery stalks, onion and a pepper. 

“I do,” Alastor looked down at you, tucked into his side and clinging to him. This was something he could get used to, though he never thought he would desire it. “It’s not something I make often.” 

“My mother often made pastas.” You looked up at him only to have his head dip down, curling around you to place a soft kiss on your lips. “I learned from her.” 

“Will you make me pasta someday?” His thumb caressed your jaw as you gazed up at the man you loved. 

“As many times as you want.” Alastor looked back to his ingredients, spread out on the kitchen worktable in front of him, freeing you from the spell of his eyes. “What are we making?” 

“I-” he stressed the word as he pulled one last package from the bag, “Am making you a pot of gumbo. Lunch for us and a dinner for him.” Alastor’s lip curled up in a snarl as he referred to your husband. “Susan’s been talking all day to anyone that’ll listen that she was going to bring you a pot of gumbo for a cover.” 

“You’re going to make it?” You blinked at him and then down at the wrapped package he set in your hands. 

“I am,” Alastor nodded, easily undoing the apron from behind your back. The strings slipped down, and the fabric fell loose, no longer hugging your form. “You are going to relax. Aren’t you going to unwrap your gift?” 

“My gift?” You looked from him to the package in your hand, wrapped in simple paper and tied in place with twine. It was small but solid and in your heart, you know what it was. 

“Go on,” Alastor urged, fetching a small folded knife from his pocket. He held it out to you. “If you need it,” he said. 

You tugged at the twine, the neat bow quickly dissolving in to what amounted to a tangled knot. How he had tied something that had been so pretty upon presentation and not actually functional, you didn’t know. 

“Bows are not my strength.” Alastor chuckled as you gave up, taking the knife from him. His eyes followed you as you slipped the blade under the twine. The blade was so sharp that you didn’t have to do anything to slice the twine free. 

The paper crinkled as you unwrapped it from around the item. It had concealed a book, as you had suspected. The title was that of some romance you had heard women speaking about a few months prior, before you had spent much of your free time not on running your errands and shopping but on Alastor.

It had felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like Alastor had always been there, in your life, walking alongside you in the shadows. It was just a matter of time before he stepped into the light and laid claim on your heart and your life. 

You looked from the book’s simple cover and up to Alastor’s soft smile. “I thought perhaps you would like it. If you don’t, we’ll try another if you’d like.” 

“Alastor,” his face wavered in your vision, dancing along the tears that gathered in your eyes. 

“It’s small, so you can hide it. The paper is waxed. If you need to hide it outside, it’ll be alright as long as it’s not-” 

You launched yourself into his chest, arms wrapping around him as you nuzzled your face into him. Tears fell, wetting his jacket as the weight of his arms settled around you. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you, Cher.” Alastor placed a soft kiss atop the crown of your head. “Go sit and read. I’ll start the food.” 

“Are you-” 

Alastor silenced your words with a kiss, soft against your lips. “I am sure.” 

It had been his intention for you to sit on the couch, somewhere comfortable and relax a he stood over the stove, mixing oil and flour over the flame. The whisk scraped softly against the bottom of the pot, rhythmic sound paired with the musical whistling of Alastor. 

It made a beautiful chorus over the sound of the instrumental music playing from the radio. You sat in the hard wooden chair at the kitchen table, though Alastor protested for the sake of your comfort. There was nothing he could say that would send you to a more comfortable seat because what you wanted most was to be near him. 

The world fell away as you were absorbed in the book and the sounds of cooking. This was what you wanted your life to be. You could picture it, taking turns with your husband, making meals together and listening to the other. 

“How’s the book so far?” Alastor asked, drawing you out of the world of balls and spring courting. There was a click as he lit the flame to the stove. 

“It’s good,” you answer, carefully putting a piece of twine between the pages and closing the book. “I think I’ll like it.” 

“What are you doing?” Alastor asked, glancing over his shoulder at you as your chair scarped against the floor. 

“At least let me help chop?” You wrapped your arms around his waist, slotting yourself against his side. “And then I’ll go back to reading?” 

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” Alastor chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you. “Even if I tell you to go sit back down?” 

“I am.” You leaned into his embrace, looking up at him. “I missed you.” 

You could feel Alastor’s warm laugh as it rumbled through his chest. “I’ve not gone anywhere.” 

“But I did,” you spoke into the side of his chest. “I got to leave here without going anywhere at all.” 

“That is the magic of books, isn’t it?” 

There was so much love and warmth in his eyes as he looked down at you. It made your heart feel full to bursting and yet you couldn’t look away. Alastor leaned down, curling to brush his lips against yours in a soft kiss. 

“I love you,” Alastor said simply. “More than I ever thought I could.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[lightlycareless]

warnings: highschool au. fluff. small proofreading.

Sometimes I wonder how does your father take the fact that Naoya is, first of all your boyfriend which although supportive of him because he’s a hopeless romantic at heart too, he can’t help but worry and from time to time. He doesn’t want you rushing things that might lead to some dreadful regrets, after all!

But what surprises him most is probably the fact that he gives you all that you want??? No matter what it was, whether a drink from your go-to boba shop or the newest installment of your favorite videogame franchise—consider it done.

Saw a pair of shoes you thought they’d be cute with that new outfit you got a few days ago? Wonder no more, they’re yours.

A plushie you were considering whether to pre-order, or wait until it’s released to see if you really want it? Naoya’s got you covered, one less thing to worry about.

Your father was able to tolerate most of these things since they were relatively small to begin with, not necessarily luxuries…

Until you come along with a new phone.

Maybe it was time to step in.

“Dad, it’s not that big of a deal, really!”

“No, young lady. As much as he’s your boyfriend there needs to be a limit to his spending!” He warns.

“But didn’t you say I should look for someone that will always dote on me? That’s what Naoya is doing, right?”

Eiichi hates when his words are used against him. Yes, he did say that… but not to the level of he’s on right now!!!

“What is it that bothers you, dad? It surely can’t be that!”

He sighs. It’s not that, for sure. Might as well be honest.

“Look, while I’m happy that you’ve found someone that is willing to give you the world every single day… I worry that his family might not share the same sentiment.” Your father begins, making you anguished. “I’ve known the Zen’in for quite some time, but their reputation really is… modest when it comes to their actual behavior.”

“O—Oh…” you murmur. You’ve heard of them, mostly through the rumors surrounding your boyfriend alongside his own experiences but… well, you never thought they’d prove much worse than you anticipated.

The last thing you wanted was to cause (more) rifts between Naoya and his family because of you. After all the nice things he’s done for you… he deserves that much.

“What… what do you suggest I do…?”

“Take it easy, there’s other things the two can do together without spending money.”

“…Yeah, you’re right.” You say with a bright smile, suddenly motivated. “This might be my opportunity to finally use that cooking book I got from Nanami!”

“Wait, you’ve never cooked anything for me!”

“Yes I have, I made brownies for everyone on Valentine’s day! Remember?”

“But that was so long ago, pumpkin…” he groans. “But it’s ok, in the end I’ll always support you in whatever you decide to do. I shall even taste your craft before you hand it over to Naoya, just to be sure it’ll be of his satisfaction.”

“I’ll make a bit extra for you, dad. There’s no need to go to that length.” You pout, Eiichi laughs.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy either way.”

And he was, very much so, that it didn’t take him long to start looking forward to what delicacy you’ll bless him with that day. Something he desperately needed to repay with more of his usual lavish gifts, naturally.

…Until your sudden rejection for them stops him dead on his tracks, slapping him across the face like a bucketful of ice that not even your reassuring gestures could warm up.

You tried to play it off as not finding any use in being one-sidedly bombarded with gifts when the two could easily be doing a whole world of things together!

But instead, he took it as a “I’m not impressed by your favors anymore, Naoya” type of thing. Subsequently prompting him to double his efforts if he wished to regain your admiration once again.

However, all that he obtained this time around was the Zen’in’s interest on you.

Oh no, who are they going to send to investigate you?

Or worse, are you getting invited to the estate???????????? hehe.

[floweryvibes]

Puppet Darling - Part 9

I said I was back, and then I was so not back lol (blame college and finals. I am innocent)

Warning: Rhysand is really pulling out all of his emotional manipulation abilities for this one.

Credit: Inspired by @wallflowers-in-the-wind’s post here.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Feyre snuggled close to Nesta, hugging her sister. Nesta groaned softly, but remained asleep.

I am sorry.

Feyre wasn’t sure how many times she had uttered and thought these words by this point but she was pretty sure it was still not enough. 

Apparently while they had been left alone for that week, Eris and Tamlin had been busy staging a coup in the Autumn Court. According to Tamlin, Eris fought his father and won, claiming the throne as his own.

Deeming the court safe enough, they secretly moved her and Nesta into the palace after a couple days.

Nyz snoozed quietly, shifting slightly in his new crib.

He really was taking the constantly changing environment like a champ.

Feyre sat up as the mating bond hummed, throbbing with annoyance. 

Did you trust Mor so much to get me back that you didn’t bother antagonizing me during our fight, or were you busy with something else?

The latter thought made Feyre shiver, forcing her completely out of bed. Quietly, she pulled a shawl around herself, walking down the hallway of the private wing of the palace. 

I wonder if there’s any snacks around here?

She paused before the door to the kitchen space, hearing Tamlin’s and Eris’s voice.

“We can’t simply launch an assault.”

“Well, we can’t wait around either.”

“Then what do you propose?” Eris sighed. 

“We have our men search for Elain and Lucien while we’re at the meeting with all the High Lords. They can scout out and gather information. If we’re lucky they get them out. If not, we shall use the recon work to make a plan of action.”

Feyre knocked, not wanting to eavesdrop.

The two males went quiet.

“It’s me.” she said softly.

Tamlin opened the door, “Feyre, why are you awake? Is something wrong? Is Nesta in pain again?”

“No, Nesta is alright. She’s recovering from her injury well.” Feyre smiled, “I just couldn't sleep. Thank you for having such good healers treat her.”

“It’s nothing.” Eris muttered, looking away.

“Are you discussing how to save Elain?” Feyre decided to not dance around the subject.

“Yes.” Tamlin sighed, running a hand through his hair, “We’re currently creating a list of places where she and Lucien could have been taken.”

“He most likely took them to a prison in the Night Court.”

“He could be hiding them in a separate palace. Doesn’t Rhysand own several homes? Azriel could be using any one of them.” Eris countered.

“Azriel is practical in that way.” she shook her head, “Why waste time on fancy rooms if the goal is to merely contain?”

He’s not Rhysand.

“We’ll prioritize the prison then.” Tamlin nodded, noting it on the map stretched out across the mahogany kitchen table.

“What is this about a High Lords meeting?” she tilted her head.

“Oh, nothing much. A continuation of the previous gathering to be truthful. Not as many trading deals were agreed upon as people would have liked.” Eris chuckled.

“The meeting is in about two weeks but we’ll be leaving early to investigate the kidnapping.” Tamlin said, “Eris has arranged for several servants and trusted officials to remain and watch over you. I will also have some of my people here, just in case chaos attempts to break out. So, just focus on recovering with Nesta, alright?”

Feyre nodded, eyeing the map, “In how many days will you be leaving?”

“Three.”

Soon.

Tamlin and Eris winnowed to the palace of the Dawn Court, arriving at the designated area for High Lords.

Eris stretched, “Good thing that Nesta is recovering.”

“Yeah.” Tamlin nodded.

Although, her justified grouchiness grates on my nerves.

“What’s with you?”

“What do you mean?” Tamlin grumbled, walking ahead down the hallway, ignoring the servants that bowed to them.

“You’re brooding.” Eris sighed.

“Aren’t you rather chipper for someone who just stabbed their father like eight days ago?”

“No, I am in fact not chipper enough!” Eris smiled coily, “The joy I felt…yeesh Tamlin you should have seen me.”

“Yes, yes, I am sure it was spectacular.”

“You can be dismissive all you want but it was. I sat on a bloody throne.”

“Let’s just hope your rule won’t be as such.”

“It won’t be.” Eris’s smile dropped, a serious tone returning, “I will make sure of it.”

Tamlin hummed, “As to what is on my mind…I am concerned about how we’re going to deal with Rhysand.”

“Nothing much we can do in public.” Eris sighed, “Even though we have some of the powder left, we can’t exactly waltz in and just expose this to all of them.”

“We have to be cautious.” Tamlin agreed, “Let’s observe during the meeting and see what Rhysand’s angle will be. We should try and approach Helion in private to try and explain the situation. How is the investigation going?”

Eris nodded, “No news yet but my officers are on it. We’ll hear back from them soon.”

Their conversation died down as they approached the meeting hall, Thesan greeting them first, “Lord Tamlin…Eris, it’s good to see you two. Will Lord Beron be joining us soon?”

“Unfortunately my father has passed away.” Eris smiled, a little too widely, “I am here in his place. Permanently.”

“Ah.”

Autumn’s intelligence works well at keeping things under wraps when needed.

Tamlin couldn’t help but smile at Thesan’s surprised expression.

I am sure your soldiers will have no problems finding what exact cell Elain and Lucien are being kept in.

“Well, I am happy to have you both here.” Thesan smiled politely, leading them over to the main sitting area.

Helion was already there, chatting with Kallias while Viviane laughed at something Tarquin said. 

“Rhysand must be running late.” Thesan noted, sitting down at the head of the table, “While we wait, would anyone like some te-”

The door to the spacious room swung open to reveal Rhysand, with Feyre on his arm. 

Tamlin blinked. He then looked at Eris who was just barely masking his confusion.

What was happening.

Tamlin stared at Feyre as she sat down beside Rhysand.

“Did something catch your eye Tamlin?” the High Lord of Night smirked, wrapping an arm around Feyre.

Eris narrowed his eyes.

“No, just wondering why you’re late.” Tamlin kept his voice even.

Something was seriously wrong. Why in all of Prythian is she here? Was Autumn Court compromised? There’s no way he launched a full on attack on them and won, especially not without one of us getting notified. 

“Well, what a married couple does on their own time is none of your business.”

Who is the one making crass comments now?

Tamlin gritted his teeth, “No it isn’t. However, punctuality is preferred for political matters.”

“Since when are you an expert in what’s preferred for politics anyways?” Rhysand tilted his head, “I don’t think you are fit to be giving me any sort of criticisms.”

Tamlin growled, unable to restrain the rage boiling underneath.

Was it a lie? Just another trick?

He looked at Feyre, the woman’s eyes blank, staring off into the distance with a slight smile. 

This wasn’t the Feyre he had interacted with the past half a month. Not the Feyre he had yelled at or spoken to. Not the mother he watched tenderly take care of her child.

What if she tricked them?

“What game are you playing at Rhysand?” he snarled.

“What do you mean Tamlin?” Rhysand laughed, “Seriously, did you only have enough energy to be presentable and respectful for one meeting?”

“Difficult to be respectful to someone who uses their daemati powers on others.”

A hush went across the group.

“Tamlin-” Eris pulled him down into his seat.

“No. Eris, we can’t just-”

“Do you want a full out war?” Eris asked quietly.

Tamlin didn’t answer.

“Then sit your ass down.”

Tamlin looked back at Rhysand’s smug expression.

I’ll tear out your throat like I did with Amarantha.

I probably should say I am sorry, but I really am not. 

Feyre gently kissed her sleeping baby as he tugged on the blanket covering himself and Nesta.

I will be back before you two know it.

Feyre got out of bed, pulling on proper clothes.

I can’t wait for Tamlin and Eris to go and save Elain.

She shuddered, imagining the possible ‘punishments’ Rhysand could inflict onto her sister or Lucien.

It’s my fault.

Feyre shook her head. 

This is no time for such thoughts. I need to focus! Mor mentioned that Azriel was the one who took Elain and Lucien. He most likely took them back to the Night Court’s prison.

Highly doubt Rhysand would give them a warm welcome.

Feyre glanced one last time at Nest and Nyx.

I promise I’ll be back soon.

Taking a deep breath Feyre began the journey to the Night Court.

Feyre was grateful Tamlin and Eris had left early, permitting her the time to go rescue Elain. 

It would work out well, while they distracted Rhysand at the meeting, I can get them out. She sighed, avoiding a wagon passing through the shimmering streets of the Night Court.

If only I could winnow longer distances. Of all the powers the cauldron gave me it couldn’t have invested a bit more energy into granting me the most useful and practical ability of all?

She felt exhausted from walking and riding her horse but it would all be worth it in the end. Pulling her hood up close, Feyre made her way past the familiar vendors of Velaris. The sparkling light of the lamp posts reflected off the cobblestone, and the stars in the sky shining brightly. Customers haggled with the shopkeepers, and kids happily ran past her, playing hopscotch. 

I missed this place.

Feyre did appreciate the beauty of this city. Adored the liveliness of it. The memories she had made with him…

She shook her head.

I am not here for that. These thoughts will do no good.

Feyre paid for a room at an inn and left her horse there, sneaking up to the palace using one of the many beloved pathways Rhysand had shown her that he had used to avoid his classes or parents when he had the chance.

Carefully knocking out several guards and slipping in through a back entrance of the castle Feyre tiptoed down the hallway, checking corners for fae. Carefully she made her way downstairs to the prison. The floor was moist and slippery. Feyre gripped her hand into the stone walls, making sure to keep herself stable.

The prison was dark. Soft groans echoed off the walls, quieted as Feyre approached the cells, trying to see who was inside. The further she went however, the more her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable pretzel. 

Where are they? They have to be-Wait. Azriel works as a torturer. Perhaps he has his own jail? To keep the people he was interrogating?

Feyre frowned. 

If that is the case, how am I supposed to-

“Feyre?”

She whirled around to face Cassian.

“By the Mother, we’ve been looking for you!” he took a step forward. She matched.

Feyre looked behind him.

No reinforcements. I can run.

“Are you hurt? We heard you were staying in Spring, and then moved to Autumn. Did Eris or Tamlin hurt you? Did they kidnap you?”

“Cassian, I left of my own accord.”

“Yeah, Rhys said you argued and so you left to take a small break. But I know you wouldn’t willingly ‘take a break’ in either of those places.”

I don’t think I would ever choose a fae court as a vacation spot at this point.

“Cassian, Rhysand has been controlling my mind.” Feyre decided to be honest.

In my current state it will be hard to fight. I have recovered partially but…

She eyed the sword on his hip. 

I don’t want to test where his true loyalties lie in battle.

Feyre knew deep down they were not with her.

“Huh?” Cassian gaped, “What are you talking about?”

“It was after he began teaching me how to use my daemati abilities.” she rambled, “It didn’t happen immediately, but slowly he took power from me and I…I confronted him and he just…took over completely.”

Cassian remained quiet.

“I haven’t been in control since then.” she whispered, “Cassian, please. I didn’t leave to ‘take a break’ I ran for my life. You have to help me free Elain and Lucien, I am scared for them.”

“You’re saying he did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Rhysand…hurt you like this?” Cassian looked conflicted.

“It’s the truth!”

Cassian shook his head, “For him to do something like this…there must be an explanation.”

“Cassian…”

“There has to be more to it.”

“Cassian, he kept me trapped inside my own mind.” she felt anger tint her tone, making Cassian look away, deep in thought.

“I didn’t realize a reunion was being held down there.” that obsidian voice, as dark as the walls of the cells around them made Feyre scramble back, her eyes falling on Rhys who descended down the spiraling stone steps.

“Feyre, welcome back. If you had told me you were returning I would have greeted you properly.”

Cassian turned to his brother in arms, a small frown on his face, “Rhys, Feyre just said something…strange.”

“Oh?” Rhysand looked concerned, “Not something bad from Spring I hope?”

“She said you used your daemati powers on her.”

Rhysand laughed, not missing a beat, “That was a part of our argument. A huge misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding my ass!” Feyre growled, “You forced me!”

“I didn’t force you to do anything darling.” Rhysand corrected, keeping his tone collected and even, “You asked me for help and I delivered.”

“So, you didn’t manipulate her mind?”

“Of course not Cassian.”

His brother nodded.

No!

“That’s not true!” Feyre yelled, “He’s lying to you Cassian! He has been lying to everyone! ”

You have to believe me!

Cassian glanced between the two of them, his expression conflicted, “Rhys…maybe we should-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Rhys, are you sure?”

“Yes, my mate looks like she’s about to attack us no? Let me handle it.”

Feyre broke her fighting stance, straightening her back, “You’re twisting this.”

“It’s just an observation.” Rhys smirked, “I admire your spirit.”

Cassian nodded, “I trust you…”

Feyre had nothing to yell at the Illyrian, as she watched with betrayed eyes as he left, his own a bit glassy.

“Shouldn’t you look at your mate rather than another male?” his cold voice brought her attention back to the scene.

Feyre snarled.

“Oh, Feyre, darling, I have missed you.” his voice became sweet again, approaching her slowly, as if she were a wounded animal.

“Stay away from me!”

To her shock he obeyed, raising his hands as an act of surrender.

“Feyre, you’re scaring me.”

I am scaring you?

She backed away from Rhysand even though he didn’t approach her.

I have to run.

“You’re not acting like yourself. I understand the argument we had was serious, but we should stop this madness.”

“Argument…?”

“Yes darling, argument.” he smiled.

“W-What are you talking about?” Feyre felt panic bubbling under her skin.

“We had an argument.” he explained slowly, “You thought I did something that I didn’t do. So, we decided some space would do us both some good. Are you ready to have a proper conversation now?”

“No! You mind controlled me! Y-You…”

The expression of confusion, betrayal and hurt that he gave her made Feyre want to tear her eyes out.  

“I didn’t ‘mind control’ you dear. That’s an over exaggeration.”

She blinked in confusion.

“Do you really think I could hurt my own mate?” he whispered, “It pains me to see you get hurt. My heart breaks. In fact, do you know how scared I was when I heard you went to Spring?”

“I left you willingly. You hurt me. You…you’re the monster here!”

“What is this about going there willingly?” he brushed a stay lock of hair out of her face, “Did you forget how he treated you?”

Feyre gasped, feeling the panic she had felt back then resurge, the scenes of her begging and crying to be set free replaying in her mind.

“Oh darling.” Rhysand cooed, pulling her into his arms. 

Stop that!” she shoved him away, shaking the images out of her brain.

“I am just reminding you of what happened dear.” he smirked.

“I don’t need a reminder.” she growled.

“Everyone sometimes does.” Rhysand hummed.

She glared, “Where is Elain and Lucien?”

“Elain…? Darling, what are you talking about?” Rhysand chuckled.

“Where did you take my sister?!” she yelled, grabbing him by his nice dress shirt.

Rhysand looked bemused, “I don’t know because I didn’t take her, sweetest. However, you’re welcome to check every cell in here if you like?”

Feyre narrowed her eyes and the man raised his hands in surrender again, “Promise, no games. Every room is yours to check down here.”

She took a step away from him, seeing if he would try to stop her. When he didn’t, Feyre continued further down the dark hallway, scrunching her nose at the rotting and moldy scent that hit her nose.

But no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find them.

Feyre turned back to Rhysand with narrowed eyes.

He merely raised an eyebrow in response, “Well? Any luck?”

“Fuck you. You’re hiding them somewhere else!”

“Maybe, maybe not.” he drawled, “Does it really matter when you’re not going to find them anyways?”

“What?”

“I mean, can you actually do anything by yourself successfully, Feyre?”

“What kind of question is that?!”

“Well, whenever I see you try to do something independently, you need help.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is it not? It’s okay to need help Feyre. You’re doing your best but you need someone to do the heavy lifting. “

Her heart skipped a beat, feeling his hot breath against her ear, “All you need to do is ask and I am right there for you.

“Fuck off, dickhead.” she shoved him away, walking back to the staircase.

“What are you without me?”

“What?”

“I mean, what can you even do?”

“I protected my family. I fed us.”

“Ha…protected? You sure are one hell of a protector. Ran off with a fae the moment he gave you the chance at a better life.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Is it not? You seemed happy to enjoy your time at the Spring manor.”

“I was taken, I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t been lied to!”

“You thought you deserved it. The luxury, the power.” he leaned in, “I concur my dear. You do deserve all that and above. With me you can actually have those things.”

“I helped defeat Amarantha!”

“Feyre, darling, please…truly, what were you under that mountain?”

“I…”

Because what I recall is a pretty little thing dancing in the palm of a faerie’s hand. Ah well, and in other places too.

Feyre went red.

“No need to be ashamed darling. It was quite pleasant, and when it comes to skills it’s something you’re actually good at.”

She looked away.

“You could barely read before me. You only got through those puzzles because of my generosity, my love for you.”

Feyre couldn’t come up with a rebuttal.

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forward with you.” he brushed her hair back again, gently turning her to face him, “I know how sensitive you are.”

“I am not-”

“You must have been so frightened all alone.” his fingers felt nice against her scalp, “Tamlin can truly be a brute.”

What…can I even do?

Feyre stared down at the ground.

I always thought I was a good fighter, but I can’t fight him off. He’s right, I didn’t beat Amarantha…I had so much help.

“Darling, look at me, please.” his voice was soft, so gentle. 

Feyre obeyed, tentatively looking up at Rhysand.

“There are those pretty eyes I missed so much.” he smiled, “You had me so worried. We searched everywhere for you. Knowing the way you are, I couldn't just let you get hurt. You understand, right?”

I constantly need help. When was the last time I actually rescued myself? Have I ever even done such a thing?

Feyre felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I am sorry.” she mumbled, “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry-”

“Shh.” he pulled her into a tight hug, one that Feyre couldn’t help but find comfort in, “It’s okay. I am here now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

I am scared.

“Relax for me darling.” he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. 

Feyre felt so tired. Everytime she tried to help or do something to change her situation it only got worse. She only mustered a wriggle as his power gently creeped into her mind, slowly enveloping her thoughts and worries.

I am weak.

I am powerless against him. 

I am nothing.

‘Where the fuck did you put Nyx you poor excuse of a mother?’

She blinked inside the void, watching as he sifted through her memories of the time she had been away.

Nyx.

He can’t know where Nyx is. 

She grabbed onto her recent memories of her child, pulling them down with her into the dark abyss.

The last thing I want to be is a terrible mother. I won’t let you know where he is.

Feyre blinked slowly.

Rhysand hummed, “Have you calmed down now darling?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he kissed her, “Cauldron, how I have missed you.”

“I missed you too…” she mumbled.

“Let’s get you to bed, you must be exhausted after everything you’ve been.” his eyes narrowed, still searching for where exactly Nyx was being kept, “Although, I must say, I would love to not only have you back but our son too.”

“Of course dear.”

“Mind telling me where you put him?”

“I…” her body blanked, unable to recall the memory with Feyre hiding it.

“Hmm, maybe I shook her up a bit too much.” he said quietly, “No matter darling, we’ll get him eventually, just focus on remaining calm for now, okay?”

“Okay.”

‘Have any fun fighting words for me now dearest?’ his triumphant voice echoes throughout her mind.

Feyre said nothing.

‘Darling?’

I am nothing.

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1, @planet-faerie, @fox-in-flowers, @bookishfeylin, @mythuzalasheir3, @ahsnazg, @lifeisabiscuit, @wildinspring, @impossibelle, @thefatesofspring

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know :D

[curseofbreadbear]

[Cassidy gave a bewildered look at Steven's question; had they met while she was alive? She...didn't remember. She'd barely retained any memories from her life ( a fact that she also blamed on Afton ). In fact, the ONLY thing she remembered was her slow, agonizing death. Trying to recall anything before that was next to impossible...she didn't even know if she had a family, or if anyone had given a damn that she'd died.]

[She didn't bother trying to conceal her curiosity; she actually hoped that he'd be able to tell her something, anything about her life. If he'd really met her -- then what was she like? Her only emotions after death were sorrow and terror. She...couldn't remember a time when she'd been happy. Did it even exist?]

❝ I...I don't know. ❞ [She admitted quietly.] ❝ Do you remember meeting me? Um...what was I like? ❞

[Cassidy relaxed slightly when Steven assured he'd been trying to help -- he didn't, but that had been unintentional. He didn't know, and he wouldn't do it again ( if he valued his afterlife ). It'd be okay.]

[A proud smile weaseled its way to her face as he described the feeling of going insane because of her; she'd never had confirmation before that her haunting affected the guards, so this knowledge encouraged her. She'll make it a thousand times worse next time! Thanks, Steven!]

[That said, the message he wanted her to try and convey was way, WAY too long. And annoying. Just like his calls!]

❝ I can't say all that, idiot. Do you know how hard it is to communicate with a living? I can say something short like "Afton killed us," but not much else. ❞

[Steven seemed genuinely offended by her simple insult, which actually got a laugh out of her. Yeah, she'd have to keep doing this -- it was just distracting enough to cover the fact that she was warming up to him.] ❝ Yeah, right. Name one other thing you did -- and being a night guard doesn't count! ❞

[Thankfully, Steven agreed to try and communicate, too -- if his abilities allowed him to get out more than a few words ( and they probably would, given that he was a real chatterbox ), then he'd actually be super helpful. Then he asked her to teach him "ghost tricks," which...would be rather difficult, actually.]

[Cassidy had a number of powers herself, most of which were dangerous enough to scare Sammy ( she wasn't allowed to use Fredbear's hands most of the time ), but she didn't really know how any of them worked. She could kill somebody by touching them ( the instigating event that had terrified Sammy ), she could make the lights flicker, she could make the guards hallucinate...but she didn't really know what prompted her powers. Besides -- she wasn't really sure where she was at any given time. It didn't help that she couldn't interact with the objects around her. Actually, the only way she could tell that she was inhabiting the suit was when she heard it move...or when Sammy guided her back to it. He was more important to her than she'd care to admit.]

❝ I dunno...uh...th-that's a Sammy question. ❞ [It wasn't, but maybe he knew something she didn't. He'd be able to connect the dots on what activated her powers, right?? As much as she teased him, he was pretty smart. He'd know for sure.]

[She raised an eyebrow at Steven's surprise...up until he mentioned the "Fredbear" incident. Instinct made her want to hush him for fear of upsetting Sammy, but fortunately, Sammy was still off on his own.]

❝ Yeah, Sammy. That kid. And don't you dare talk to him about it. I don't even wanna hear the name "Fredbear" when he's around, got it? ❞ [Yeah, she might be a little bit overprotective, but only in a "I'M the only one who gets to make fun of him!" way.]

[Wait -- did he say "Afton"?]

❝ He's an Afton?? ❞ [No, he -- he would have told her if he was. He'd been her only source of information on the outside!! He wouldn't have lied, right? Or- or maybe he didn't even remember! There was no way he'd hide that from her!!] ❝ N-No. No, he's not an Afton. Don't you ever fucking say that about him again. ❞

[Her knowledge of Sammy's character was the only thing keeping her grounded right now. He'd comforted her through thick and thin. He was her best friend, and he really, really didn't seem the type to betray a friendship. She just couldn't...there was no way. He wouldn't be an Afton. He couldn't be.]

[Cassidy expressed even more confusion when Steven implied that Sammy was another of William's kills -- he'd been tethered to the suit after the bite, hadn't he? He'd said as much, but...had he maybe forgotten his own death? ( Boy, wasn't he lucky? ) Or was it somehow covered up by Afton...?]

[...Maybe she shouldn't look too much into Steven's claims. He didn't seem totally informed on their deaths, and she'd trust Sammy's word over Steven's any day.]

❝ I mean, if that was true, I'd agree...but Sammy died when he got bitten. He told me so, and I believe him. ❞ [She nodded confidently, crossing her arms. Sammy wouldn't lie.] ❝ So, yeah- his brother is a piece of shit and deserves any blame that comes his way. Actually, if you see him around here, would you mind telling me? Sammy doesn't want him hurt, buuuut...I'd say he deserves a miserable, PAINFUL death. Don'tcha think? ❞

❝ ...But yeah. It'd be fun to pin another crime on Afton, but Michael deserves the blame for that one. He should suffer, too. Maybe we can even tell the next guard to bring Michael here! I think that's a good idea. ❞ [And yes, Cassidy seemed way more excited about this than finding Afton. In fairness, tormenting Michael would be like practice -- a baby step before she went after someone as scary as Mr. Afton. It'd be perfect if things could work out that way.]

It's nice to know he won't be shunned for the rest of his ghostly existence, at least. He met some of the children in person before their deaths, too, so, it'll be nice to get to see them again and apologize in person. Hopefully they'll believe him when he says he wants to help.

...wait. He met some of them in person. Cassidy... she was one of them, he thinks. Not a regular, like Fritz, at least not that he can remember, but definitely someone he interacted with a couple of times. The memories hit him hard. The way she looked when she was alive versus this--

"Cassidy, do you, um. Remember seeing me? Before everything. When I was a daytime employee? I think... we met. Back then."

"Sorry! I'm sorry. I was just trying to help!" She's not a fan of sudden animatronic touches. Noted.

"I heard, yeah. I-- heh. I thought I was going crazy, to tell you the truth. It didn't make much sense, but I guess that's because you thought I was someone else. Now that you have the name of the guy who you're really after, I think, uh, saying something like 'hey, by the way, there are a bunch of kids stuffed in the suits over here and William Afton killed us' might be more, y'know. Helpful for your cause."

Huh??

"What? No, that's not all I did!" Come on, now, Cass! Steven Bell didn't make employee of the month for years straight just to be labeled as the phone guy! Rude and mean!

"But, yeah, the security office is kind of like a second home to me. Or I guess my only home, now. I could-- I could definitely try talking to the guard through the phone or the monitors or something." As soon as he figures out how to detach himself from his corpse.

"Can you teach me ghost tricks? Help me float around so I can get into the office, or, uh, how to speak with living people. That sort of thing." It'd be a win-win. Steven would learn valuable death lessons, and Cassidy would get a boost to her confidence, seeing that she doesn't need to rely on Steven for everything.

"Sammy?" Sammy?

Holy shit.

"As in Sammy Afton? The Fredbear kid? That's 'Crybaby'?"

What the fuck? Had William murdered his own child and blamed his other son? There goes Steven's theory about him being a grieving father; it's starting to seem as though William had been deranged from the start. Is that why he helped start Freddy's? Just to murder any kid he chose?

Steven shivers, feeling sick again. Mr. Afton had always been an intimidating sort, but Steve liked the guy well enough. He liked the founders' vision and dream, and he liked the way William's praise was sparing enough that it really meant something when he set his hand on Steven's shoulder or offered a "well done."

The things Bell had done for his approval...

"...we need to make sure this goes public. I don't know how much you know about what happened, but everyone ended up blaming Sammy's brother for the 'accident.' I mean, it's not like Michael was a saint, but to lose a sibling and then be blamed for his death? That must have driven him crazy. We have a chance to give you revenge and clear his name."

[joansiesbeloved]

Somewhat Happy Heavenly Birthday to the "Lion of the Senate", Edward Moore Kennedy. He would have been 93 today.

Collage Source: Pinterest.

[evanescentsun]

I WASNT ABLE TO FINISH THIS BUT…… I STILL WANTED TO POST FOR MY GIRL…. (I mean I probs could have finished the lineart within the two hours left BUT…..I sorely needed a break ahaha)

(also writing that ALT going me laughing so much. so many unfinished hands/arms going around.)

sketch under cuz I liked it… it was cute….;

[magicalgirl6]

I'm sure it's been talked about to death, but I just finished yuki yuna season 1 and wanted to talk about it. To be clear, this is fully my own thoughts and opinions. I think it's fully valid if other people feel differently. Also, I don't have the same disabilities as any of the characters, so I can't speak on representation of anything specific.

There were things I liked about the ending for sure. Yuna and Tougou had some very sweet moments, and I liked the emphasis on Yuna recovering through her own willpower rather than the gods' influence

But man I cannot overlook their disabilities being cured…

I understand, from a narrative perspective, that if a major part of the conflict is the gods taking away functionality in parts of your body as offerings, than the solution is taking it back from the gods. I understand that, if they didn't, it might feel like they lost. But they could still fight to break out of / change the system without all their losses being undone in the end!

I don't like disabilities being cured at the end of a story because it sends the message that you can't be disabled and have a happy ending. Like, being cured is the only happy ending. And I know the show wasn't trying to send this message, or at least I don't think it was, because Tougou had plenty of happy moments throughout the series. She was well-written as a wheelchair user, at least as far as I can tell as someone who doesn't use one. I think they did really well with her. But the ending still leaves a bad taste in my mouth because it does still imply that this was the only solution for them.

And I don't think there's anything wrong with the characters being upset after becoming disabled, or it messing with their self worth. Disability can be scary, especially when it's new, and in cases like Itsuki's it can mess with people's aspirations and drastically change the trajectory of people's lives. I think that that's accurate and real. I think they're allowed to be angry and upset for having so much taken from them. But I don't think them getting it back sends the best message to the audience. (And I feel like some of the stuff the characters said about Sonoko seemed kind of offensive? But idk if that was just the translation in the version of the subtitles I had)

I don't think I'll ever recover from my disability. It drastically messes with my life, it makes many things way more difficult, but I know it's not going away. I'm not mad about it anymore. I'm okay. I can still be happy and have a good life. So a story where the characters fully recover doesn't feel inspirational or motivating to me, it feels uncomfortable. I know disabilities can sometimes be recovered from, and I'm not trying to dismiss anyone's experiences, but as someone who won't recover, I'd find it much better to see characters thrive AND stay disabled.

It would still be a victory for them if they didn't have to fight and sacrifice anymore. It would still be a victory for them to keep on living after everything. They don't need a full recovery to be heroes.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

was thinking about the incident (see my pinned for details) again and decided it would be fun to make a tier list about life series arospec headcanons. please feel free to contribute your own thoughts on the matter.

[tardis--dreams]

Me panicking because i have 9 missed calls and 5 emails talking about my absence and how "a colleague could take over for me" vs. Me knowing it's really not that important no matter how pushy a client is and that on top of it I'm underpaid and have way to much overtime so i shouldn't even care

[atsu-i]

Hello, I just saw the anon ask talking about you not being on tumblr that much anymore and we don't really talk to eachother (I think we only ever exchanged messages once), but I wanted to say, while I can, that I have wonderful memories of this website and a lot of them include seeing the mangacaps that you reblog or reading your tags, including all of the occasional venting and even some of the adorable auntie stories.

If you allow me to ramble a little bit, I want to talk about the blog that you called "shitty" and how I think it is actually really cool.

You might not think that you do much because you mostly just reblog stuff, but I feel like all the mangacaps that you reblog are more meaningful than most people think. I think that they are an act of self-expression and throughout the years I've felt like those kinds of posts express a desire that people have to be more honest with their feelings and put them out into the world. I've felt like the mangacaps, combined with all of your text posts, probably do accomplish some of this.

I am not going to say that your blog changed how I view life or anything like that, but I can say that your blog, along with many other similar ones, have seriously been a part of my journey of better understanding myself.

For example, today I liked a post that had a guy feeding a cat in it. And I didn't like the post because the art was amazing. I liked it because I thought that the guy is gentle and that aspect of gentleness resonated with me personally. And obviously, there are times where I might like a post just because I think that the art looks cool, but I think that a lot of times when I'm browsing through tumblr I'm just learning more about myself through the things that I like.

Maybe the whole thing isn't supposed to be that deep, but sometimes (not always) for me it is. I think that this whole thing feels unreal for you because you don't put a lot of effort but I think that it is pretty cool that a bunch of people like the blog despite that.

As always, have a nice day and drink some water.

;-;

[angstyentropy]

Jason was taking on most of Dick's workload while he was recovering. His gang could mostly run itself and Bruce promised to patrol Crime Alley for him. Dick didn't want him donning the Nightwing suit so he didn't even have to pretend to be an acrobat. So Jason didn't understand, why was he absolutely drained?

Jason: I thought when people said Bludhaven was as bad as Gotham they were making a joke!

Tim: Gotham has more rogues?

Jason: The rogues aren't the problem! There's just so much crime, it's almost as bad as Crime Alley all around the city!

Tim: Really?

Jason: I didn't even have time to solve half of the cases Dick works on.

Damian: So you admit Richard works harder than you?

Jason: Yes, damn it! He has a whole city as bad as Gotham to patrol and he still has time to visit us and help around Gotham!

---

Wally: Oh, I was expecting to see Nightwing.

Jason: Well you have me

Wally: I was going to ask Wing for help on a case I'm working on.

Jason: Do you always go to him for help on cases?

Wally: He's the first person I go to if I can't solve it myself, the others tend to aswell.

Jason: ...You have got to be kidding me.

---

Damian: Todd, I request you take me to the museum.

Jason: Can't someone else take you?

Damian: Drake is busy, Richard is recovering and the others aren't here.

Jason: Isn't Bruce upstairs right now?

Damian: I do not wish for Father to take me.

Jason: ...Fair, okay get ready.

---

Jason: Why is Bruce like that?

Tim, glancing at Bruce who's eye is twitching: He gets like that sometimes, usually Dick deals with it.

Jason: Okay...

---

Bruce: Hood, Joker has been sighted.

Jason: No

Bruce: What do you mean?

Jason: I'm not going.

Bruce: It's the Joker?

Jason: Currently I'm more concerned about getting sleep then punching him in the face.

Bruce: wh-

Jason, disconnecting the call: I don't have the energy to deal with you right now.

---

Jason: Why is everyone so... Negative?

Cass: Dick isn't breaking up fights or cheering anyone up.

Jason: Should've known *groans*

---

Haley: Woof! Woof!

Jason: At least one good thing came out of this experience.

Jason: Awww look at you!

---

Damian, who had a bad nightmare: Todd?

Jason, sleepy: It's.. 2am what do you want.

Damian, shuffling his feet.: Usually I would bother Richard but...

Jason, lifting the blacket: Just c'mere brat... did Dick ever tell you you're not a bother?

Damian, relaxing: He says so a lot.

---

Jason, hung over the side of the couch, exhausted: I don't think I'll be able to patrol for a week after this.

Tim: Are you okay?

Jason: What do you think?

---

Steph: Dick! Buy me a shake!

Steph:

Steph: oh yeah.. Jason!

Jason: NO!

---

Dick: Alfie said I'm ready for patrol again!

Jason: Oh thank god.

Dick: Thanks for taking care of 'Haven for me.

Jason, walking away: You're welcome, just never make me do that again.

Dick: Okay?

Jason, from far away: The Titans broke the front door, by the way!

Dick: Again?

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: break-up, angst, hung-up yandere, anger issues, insecurity, threats to regrets

♡ GN reader

Thinking about pro-athlete ex-boyfriend… 

You know, the one you broke up with because he couldn't focus on anything but his career, the one you just couldn’t stand by and watch any longer as he nearly ran his health into the ground—not to mention your relationship—all to reach his goals.

He’d been so mean—meaner than you ever thought possible when you told him you couldn’t do this anymore—said it was a real class act of you to abandon him now when it mattered most. He’d made it about you not wanting a pipe-dreaming wannabe sportsman for a boyfriend, how you never believed in him anyway, how you never cheered for him, how he thinks you don’t even want to see him succeed. 

He’d been so loud and so ugly you’d been in shock for weeks afterward, unable to wrap your head around it. You didn’t even dare tell anyone—feeling it was a beast of burden you ought to keep for yourself. Oddly enough, you felt that if anyone knew or saw him like that, it would be not just detrimental to him and his image but embarrassing for you both.

And you hadn't spoken to him since. At least not face-to-face. He’d sent you a few drunk texts then and there, which you’d replied to in short, though mostly ignored. You’d thought about blocking him at one point, but you didn’t want to be dramatic, either. And suppose, in some way, you were still waiting for an apology.

But months passed, and nothing like it ever came, and so, instead of being bitter, you accepted that was just how the two of you ended. And that was that. 

Still, it's a little awkward. You wonder if you should congratulate him on his rise in popularity, how he’s finally getting all those long hours spent training back in full—but somehow, you feel it would just sound petty coming from you. And so, you don’t bother.

He’s got other people in his life cheering him on now—he doesn’t need a measly text from his ex. No, it's better to leave it be, is what you think.

Which is why it’s surprising when you get the dinner invitation. 

And following the initial surprise, you don’t really know what to expect of it either. But you end up accepting—some part out of curiosity, wondering what he might want after all this time, and another part hopeful it was to finally address the awful break up so that the both of you could move on without it hanging heavy over your heads and hearts.

This, however, was the last thing you had in mind when sitting down with him for the first time in a long time.

“Will you marry me?”

Your whole body flares up with something reminiscent of the feeling when you trip and fall—that type of split burn that rushes through you from head to toe and then leaves you feeling cold all over. Heart in your throat, you’re speechless.

Or no, you just don’t know where to begin.

“What are you doing?” you end up accusing—a little too harshly, maybe, but who could blame you? Looking around, you’re glad your table’s in a more private sector of the restaurant before you look back at him, eyes wide and brows knit. 

“I–we broke up a year ago and haven’t seen each other since—and you’re—” Your eyes fall back to the thing in his hands. It’s an outrageous ring. “Asking me to marry you?”

He makes no move to withdraw the offer—keeping his hands where they are, on your side of the table. “You said yes to the dinner. That must mean something. I thought—”

“Yeah. It means that I still worry about you,” you say. “It doesn't mean–”

“I fought my way up. I’m finally at the top,” he cuts you off in earnest. “I’m the best, and the world finally knows it now–”

“I don't care about any of that,” you state, feeling it should have been something you told him from the very beginning. “I'm sorry. But I never cared about you being the best. I just wanted…”

You just wanted the two of you to be like other couples—together and happy. You just wanted that to be enough, but it never was for him.

“Never mind…” you end up saying. “I think I should go.”

You’re about to get up when his hand, suddenly around your wrist, tightens in a harsh grip.

“I don't think you understand,” he utters, voice lowered with a hint of a growl. “It’s either this ring or I bury you in rumors that won’t leave you a moment’s worth of peace.” 

You go stiff while looking back at him.

Did he just… did he just threaten you?

You blink. He's got that same warped expression you remember from the last time you saw him, that very odd look as if the guy you know has been switched out with someone entirely different.

Only this time, it just as quickly disappears, and he lets go of your wrist, quickly pulling his hand to himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–I’m just—” he apologizes with a stutter, looking startled.

He puts his face in his hands. Then there's a sound—close to a sob.

“I’m just a mess without you.”

Goosebumps rise on the surface of your skin when hearing it. And swallowing thickly, you sit back down again, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But spotting how he trembles, you just can’t stop feeling sorry for him.

You sigh. “No, you’re not. You just…” Reaching across the table, you stroke his arm. “You just lose your head a little sometimes, that’s all.” 

He peaks up from his hands. A sheen under his eyes reflects the ceiling light, and your heart twists in your chest.

He really is a mess.

“But I know you…” you try smiling. “You were always destined for greatness.”

He takes your offered hand in his, stroking it, then sniffs, voice fluttering weakly, “Yeah, well…”

He keeps his head low, resting it in his other hand as if he just couldn't muster the strength to sit straight or even attempt to pull himself together.

“If I'm so great, why wouldn’t you stay?”

He sounds as if he’s been holding things back for the entirety of the year since you left. Broken now... it's all spilling out.

“Because," you start, even though your throat’s tight and you’re fighting back tears of your own, your mind hasn’t changed.

You didn’t come here to get back together. 

"You want to go places, I just can’t follow.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Aki ♡ BLLK – Reo, Isagi, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Karasu, Shido ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo, Kaji

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