#are happy that they’re part of the reason my friend is in danger.

[astronomy-two-worlds-apart]

i hate people. i hate the people at my school so fucking much. they should just shut the fuck up if they don’t know what happened and don’t know the people involved.

#there’s a video going around of my friend. of an incident that happened. and there’s people sharing the video. #then those same people are going around like ‘omg i feel so bad for him 🥺’ #SHUT THE HELL UP YOU DONT CARE AND ALL YOU ARE IS AN ASSHOLE #if you cared and felt bad you wouldn’t be spreading the video you dumbass #i hope all the people making memes and laughing and everything #are happy that they’re part of the reason my friend is in danger. #i hate them all so much #quill.txt #vent

[luxaofhesperides]

Please continue ghostlights multiverse constant au with Earth 0 having a happy ending together cuz halfa Danny is impossible to really kill anymore pleaseeeeeee 😭

(part one)

Danny is destined to die once he meets Duke. He knows this; he’s seen how their friendship leads to Danny’s death is so many different lives. There’s no doubt in his mind that the only way to ensure Danny lives a long life is to stay away from him.

Which is why the universe decides to make Danny pop up constantly. It’s clearly trying to get him killed, and Duke refuses to let that happen!

It starts innocently enough. They cross paths briefly at a bus stop, bumping into each other as Duke gets off the bus and Danny moves to go on it. He recognizes Danny immediately, feels a little spark go through him when their shoulders brush against each other. Something in him says I know you. I miss you.

He pulls back a step and offers a quick apology. Danny waves it off and looks at him as through searching for something. He opens his mouth to say something, but Duke can feel the threads of fate tighten around their throats and hurries away. 

He waits until he hears the bus pull away, then glances behind him to watch it go before he slows down to a normal walking pace and heads for the mall where he planned to meet his friends. 

Duke’s heart pounds in his chest. He can’t get Danny’s eyes out of his head; so painfully blue, so nostalgic, so doomed. 

This is for the best, he reminds himself. This is so Danny can live. That’s all that matters.

The moment’s passed, anyways. They’re still strangers, and they’ll stay that way. 

He takes another minute to collect himself, then plasters on a smile and heads into the mall to find his friends.

The next six times, Duke has to save Danny as the Signal, appearing just in time to stop a mugging, an armed store robbery, a car trying to run Danny over, and fighting off Man-Bat who, for some reason, took one look at Danny and went fuck this guy, actually.

Duke is stressed. He’s Stressed™ and if anyone tries to take out Danny again he’s just going to start screaming. 

For whatever reason, the universe is just out to get Danny now that they’ve run into each other once. Duke’s life is a cosmic joke, and he’s stuck in the center of it all waiting for the moment comedy turns into tragedy. 

It’s gotten to the point that Duke expects to find Danny in some sort of dangerous situation as soon as he starts patrol. He’s starting to dread going out, but he needs to; Gotham needs the Signal to keep the streets safe during the day, and Danny needs Duke to save his incredibly unlucky ass nearly every single day.

The first two hours go fine. He stops an armed robbery and a car jacking, chases away some creeps from the working girls, and gets a blueberry muffin from the bakery that’s been around forever, on account of the old woman running it thinking he’s a good lad who needs to eat more.

Duke begins to hope that he’ll have a quiet patrol. He begins to hope that Danny is safe and not in mortal danger for once.

His hopes are immediately dashed when he spots Danny on a rooftop, standing way too close to the edge.

Heart in his throat, Duke crosses the space between them in an instant, slingshotting himself forward through shadows.

He intends to pull Danny back, to say something, to try and shake some common sense into him so he actually has a chance at living a long life. Duke doesn’t get to do any of that; as soon as he steps out of the shadows, Danny turns to face him with a tired smile.

“There you are,” he says. “I knew you’d find me.”

“What? I—listen, can you step back from the ledge for me?”

Danny steps back, keeping his eyes on Duke. He doesn’t seem to mind that the Signal is so hesitant in this moment, keeping his distance. 

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he says, as if he never stopped talking, “But I had a feeling. You’ve probably had it too, right? It’s why we keep being pushed together, and why my luck has been so awful ever since I came to Gotham.”

He knows, is the first thing Duke things. But how can that be? If Danny knows about all those other universes where they had each other, then he knows how it ends. If he knows, then he should be trying to keep his distance from both Duke and the Signal before he gets killed.

“It’s you under that mask, isn’t it? Duke.”

The way Danny says his name brings him back to all those other lives where they had each other from the start. He sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s always known Duke.

It’s only when Duke says, “How?” that Danny falters, fear briefly crossing his expression before it settles into something more neutral. His fingers begin to pull at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, confidence melting away. 

“Do you… not know me?”

The quietness of his voice, the fragility of it, breaks Duke’s heart. He doesn’t stop to think before he answers, “I know you. Of course I know you, Danny.” Then he blinks, shakes his head, and says, “Wait. No. I know of you. We haven’t really met this life.”

“It’s the dreams, right? They make things so confusing.”

“You’ve been getting them too?”

“I may be the cause of them,” Danny says with a wince. “Due to some, uh… ghostly magic shenanigans. It wasn’t on purpose! But it is kinda my fault.”

Ghostly magic? Okay, sure, why not. Who is Duke to judge the bizarre things that exist in their world. He has superpowers and his biological father is an evil immortal. He has absolutely no leg to stand on when it cames to the weird and the unexpected. Might as well roll with it, since this is his life now.

Besides, there’s more important things to focus on, such as: “Okay, so, just to be on the same page, you’ve been getting the same dreams as me, yeah? The ones where you always die? Those dreams?”

And Danny, very casually, answers, “Yeah.”

“Dude,” Duke says, pained, “If you know that meeting me leads to your death, then why are you seeking me out?!”

“What?”

“Have you not seen how you die young in every single universe? Because I have! And it’s messing me up!”

Danny blinks at him, then looks guilty, hunching in on himself. “Oh, yeah. That. Uh, yeah, so…” he trails off and bites his lip, gaze kept downwards so he doesn’t have to meet Duke’s eyes. “I do die young always, yeah, but it’s totally not your fault! I just do that!”

“You just do that,” Duke repeats, pained. 

“Yeah. I just die young.”

“Is this somehow not a problem for you.”

To his immense displeasure, Danny has the nerve to shrug and say, “Eh, not really.”

“Danny.”

“It’s okay! Really!” Danny says, a little frantically, “And also it has nothing to do with you! None of my deaths have been your fault, it’s just a thing that happens to me!” And then, in a quiet, rushed mumble, “Also I already died in this universe so it’s fine.”

A strangled sound bursts out of Duke’s throat as he tries very hard not to start yelling. He puts his head in his hands and holds back a heavy sigh because the boy of his literal dreams is stressing him out so much he’s about to dissolve into ashes and ascend to a higher realm where he has no worries. 

Unfortunately, he’s not quite there yet, so Duke has to deal with living in the reality where Danny admits he already died because that’s just what he does: die young. 

Which is, apparently, not Duke’s fault at all. Cool. 

Cool cool cool. He’s definitely not going to have a breakdown about this.

A hand gently tugs on his wrist, making him lift his head to meet Danny’s worried gaze. “Hey, you alright? Do you wanna sit down for a minute?”

And you know what? Duke does want to sit down for a minute. He’s earned it. 

He nods, and Danny carefully guides him back to where the roof access door is, so they can sit with their backs against something and be away from the edge where curious eyes might spot them. It feels easy, practiced, as if they’ve done this a thousand times before instead of just now having their first conversation. Their lives have been linked and twisted together, though only for a short time before death takes Danny away. 

He knows Danny, despite how illogical it is, and that’s what makes him take off his helmet and exposure his face to the world. 

Danny knows him too, after all. 

There is no hiding from someone who is meant to be in his life.

Danny’s smiling softly when he turns to look at him. “Hey, Duke. It’s good to see you properly. Is it weird to say that I’ve missed you even though we’ve technically never met in this life?”

“Nah,” he replies, “I missed you too. Please stop scaring me like that.”

“I make no promises. Expect for this: dying won’t take me away from you in this life. I’ve got it handled.”

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s someone anyone can have handled.”

“I’ve got it handled,” Danny repeats firmly. 

Duke shakes his head with a small laugh. He got so caught up in the guilt of leading to Danny’s death, of being unable to save him, of losing  him in every universe, that he forgot how stubborn Danny is. 

It is a weight off his chest, though. To know that it wasn’t his fault. To know that the worst has already come to pass long before they met in this universe, so they don’t have to fear the future together. 

“So,” he says, “Tell me more about these magical ghostly shenanigans?”

“At least wait until the second date for personal questions,” Danny jokes.

“Okay. Wanna grab dinner tonight?”

It’s nice to see that Danny blushes easily in this universe too. “Isn’t that moving a little fast?”

“We’ve been dreaming about a bunch of other universes where we’re together. We know each other even though we don’t know each other. We’re well past moving fast, dude.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Danny nods. “Alright. Dinner tonight, then. Take me to the best place for breakfast foods in Gotham. I’ve been craving pancakes all week.”

“Sure, I can do that. Mind giving me your number so I can figure out where to pick you up from?”

Danny nods and begins patting his pockets in search of… something. Duke means to grab his phone and hand it to Danny to get his number, but he’s quickly distracted as Danny gives up on his pockets and shoves a hand directly into his own chest. 

Ghostly magic shenanigans. This is probably part of it?  Danny doesn’t look alarmed by this at all, so Duke rolls with it and shoves away his shock at the sight. 

“Aha!” Danny holds up a sharpie in triumph. He sure did pull that straight out of his ribcage. Duke is so chill with it. 

He lets Danny take hold of his arm, removing a wrist gauntlet so he can write on the skin. The cool ink of the sharpie makes him shiver, but otherwise, he stays still. Danny writes carefully, in smooth movements. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds, then he pulls the sharpie away and blows a surprisingly cold breath against Duke’s wrist to help the ink dry faster.

“There we go,” he says with a smile. “Let me know when you wanna have our date, okay? I’m free whenever, so don’t worry about accommodating me or anything.

“I’ll text you once I’m ready,” Duke agrees. He stands up, looking over the numbers written on his wrist. He memorizes them, then puts his wrist gauntlet back on. It’s about time for him to get back to being the Signal, as much as he hates to leave Danny here when they’ve finally been able to have a quiet moment to themselves. 

“I’ll see you later, then.” Danny hesitates, then leans forward and presses a quick, chaste kiss against Duke’s cheek. Duke blinks at him, stunned, his heart skipping a beat. 

He doesn’t get the chance to return the gesture; Danny flushes red, backs up a few steps with a shy grin, and says, “Okay, bye Duke! Stay safe out there!” And then he’s gone, blinking out of sight, and it’s only his meta powers that let him see a faint wispy outline where Danny was. 

It moves, floating up in the air, then flies away like smoke in the breeze. 

Ah, Duke thinks, Ghostly. He’s a ghost. I’ll worry about that later.

His fingers brush against the spot where Danny kissed him. Then he puts his helmet back on and focuses on swinging through the streets of Gotham, ready for anything. 

The sooner he gets done with patrol, the better, after all. He needs all his focus to do that so he can start getting ready for his date with Danny, the literal boy of his dreams. 

This time, this life, this universe, they’re gonna do it right. They’ll make up for all the time their other selves lost. They’ll cherish every minute together, one pancake date at a time.

And to think, it only took a couple dozen different lives to get here.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #the dreams were bc danny messed w magic stuff he found in the ghost zone #and since duke is so heavily involved in all the other lives he got involved in this one too #basically the magic being like oh u want ur boy? here he is! #dannys bad luck has nothing to do w magic tho he just lives like that lmao #thanks for the prompt!

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

After pizza—and after El wakes up and eats her own pizza—everyone gathers around again to listen to Steve and Robin. “So I think by now we’ve proven we’re from the future,” Steve says. “We’re here, four years in the past, because a lot of bad things happen, and if we can, we’d like to stop those things from happening. The big one, and really the recurring problem, is a guy named Henry Creel who essentially took control of an alternate plane of existence we call the Upside Down.” He motions El over beside him, and she goes gladly, tucking her feet up onto the couch as she leans into his side, trusting him to hold her up. He does, sliding a protective arm around her shoulders as he says, “He’s also One.”

He watches as one by one the lightbulbs come on. “Oh, shit,” Dustin whispers, and Steve doesn’t even call him on it, just nods.

“Beyond Henry, though, there are creatures in the Upside Down that can and will kill you.” He rolls his eyes fondly at the boys. “For some inexplicable reason, you came up the names, so they’re called demogorgons, demodogs, and demobats. Demogorgons are what took Barb and Will, but they both got away. That doesn’t mean they’re safe, though. Like El said earlier, Barb was safe in the moment, but it’s still a very dangerous place. There are vines everywhere that are connected to a hive mind. You step on one, and Henry knows you’re there.”

He continues telling the story, Robin interrupting when there’s a detail he misses. It’s silent when they finish. Finally, El speaks up. “So, it is… my fault?”

“No, El,” Steve says softly. “None of this is your fault. Things out of your control happened that made you who you are. Those same things created all of this.”

El frowns. “So I am bad? Like One? Like the Upside Down?”

“No,” Mike says sharply. “You’re good, El.”

“He’s right,” Steve murmurs. “You made yourself good.” He pokes her arm teasingly, and she smiles, leaning back into him.

Steve looks around, catches Nancy’s eye, and sighs. “Nance? A word?”

“Steve?” Robin asks.

He shakes his head. “I’ll yell if I need you,” he promises, rubbing her head as he passes. She squawks and bats his hand away.

“Asshole,” she mutters, and he laughs as he disappears down the hallway, Nancy in tow.

They end up in a room Steve thinks was meant to be a study. “You have questions.”

“Understatement of the century. There’s just one that’s really bugging me, though.”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

Steve sighs and leans against the wall. “On Halloween, Tina throws a party. We didn’t know what we do now, about the Upside Down, and you were still looking for her. I was an asshole, self-centered and unhelpful.” He blows out a breath, crosses his arms, and looks away. “You got drunk, called me, and my love for you, bullshit. Left. I tried to talk to you the next day at school about it and you couldn’t say you loved me. I was still hopeful. I’m a romantic at heart, y’know? I thought maybe if I could be everything you needed, if I changed enough, if, if, if…” he shakes his head. “So we stayed together. I tried. You slept with Jonathan Byers, then broke up with me.”

Nancy looks horrified. “Steve-”

He shakes his head. “I made my peace with it. And maybe this makes me an asshole, I dunno, but Nance, I can’t go back. We’re okay, we’re friends, but I can’t pretend I still have feelings for you. I’m sorry, but we both know I was just convenient for you.”

Nancy takes a breath. “So that’s it?”

Steve shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know what you want me to do. I tried and got my heart broken for it. I moved on, found someone I think I can really be happy with, without changing who I am. And for the record? It gets rocky for a second, but I think you and Byers are it, too.” He smirks. “Plus Mike likes him better than me.”

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Oh, well, if Mike likes him better…” they both laugh, and she looks at him. “No more feelings?”

He shakes his head. “We make much better friends.”

Nancy grins lopsidedly. “And Robin?”

Steve snorts. “Purely platonic, I promise. Neither of us want anything else with each other.”

Nancy looks at him then. Studies him. “You’ve been through some shit,” she decides. “But you look happy.”

He smiles. “I am, for the most part. I know who I am.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

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Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @str4wb3rry-guy

#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual steddie #nancy wheeler #past stancy #robin buckley #platonic stobin #eleven #Steve and eleven #yallll this one. this one was hard to write #please believe me Steve does NOT hate Nancy #he’s not even really upset anymore #but he’s GROWN and MATURED and knows he can’t do it anymore #he’s making such a mature decision!!!! #also no Nancy is not okay but she’ll deal in her own way #Steve knowing who he is can be something so personal TO ME- #like listen. he didn’t know who he was for a LONG time #which means he let himself be whoever anyone else needed #which is NOT healthy #he’s doing SO MUCH BETTER now #I love him #starambles

[linos-luna]

My Queen (Pt. 6) 🔪

Yandere!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

(Pt. 5) (Pt. 6) (Last Part)

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Yandere, delusions

—————————————————— 👑

"I'm so excited to see Jihyo today," you said happily as your boyfriend helped you change. His response was silent, unsure of what to say.

"It's been so long since I hung out with her," you added as Hyunjin slipped a sweater over you.

"I hope she treats you well," he said quietly, kneeling to tie your laces.

"Oh, I know she will."

"We'll be away from the castle; I'll have to be on high alert."

"I know," you nodded.

"I wish to please you, but if it's unsafe, we have to leave."

You nodded again, watching him getting changed himself. He was stuck between the need to make you happy and the need to keep you safe.

"I just want you to be safe," he mumbled, a trace of anxiety in his voice.

"Yeah, I know—" you began.

"Outside—it's dangerous... don't take her away," Hyunjin snapped, he was looking elsewhere as if lost in his own worries.

"Jinnie—" you started.

"Don't take her away!" he snapped, holding his head, leaning against the wall, and sobbing quietly. "Don't take my Queen... don't leave me."

"Jinnie, don't worry," you reassured with a frown, attempting to reach for his arms. He kept them still against his head, groaning a bit.

"Are you okay?"

"Headache," he muttered.

"Do you want to take something?"

"Don't worry about me," he sighed, lowering his arms. "I-I'll get it."

You worried for Hyunjin—I mean apart from his delusion that you’re actually a queen and this was actually a castle. He gets these headaches often and seems to get really anxious on the rare times you go out.

In all honesty, you did too. The outside world just seems so scary. I mean, why would you need to go outside? Everything you could ever want or need is here.

"We don't have to be out for too long," you suggested, following him to the kitchen.

"No... you deserve to get what you want," he replied, looking down at you, holding your hand, and raising it to kiss. "My dear Queen, you're always so kind... this world doesn't deserve you."

~~~~~~~~ 👑

It was a little tense… to say the least.

Meeting up with your friend Jihyo at the local restaurant brought a mix of happiness and awkwardness. The place required ordering upfront, and a server would bring the food. As you waited, Hyunjin kept a cautious eye on Jihyo and your friend stared back.

“It’s been a while, y/n… we missed you.” She said, finally speaking up after some awkward silence.

“I missed you too Jihyo.” You responded. “Sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“With what?”

“With Jinnie of course.” You giggled. “He brought me back to the castle! Did you know we’re currently working on a garden? We started growing strawberries!”

“You don’t go out much. Why?”

“Well…”

“She had no reason to.” Hyunjin finished. “I serve her.”

“I just don’t understand—”

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that!” Hyunjin blurted out. “After all, it’s the queen’s birthday.”

Your friend was a little unnerved and confused. Did he just call you the queen?

“How’ve you been, Jihyo?” You asked sweetly.

“I’ve been fine…” she started before noticing your ring. “Wow that’s pretty. When did you get that?”

“A few weeks ago.” Hyunjin answered. “We will be getting married soon.”

You nodded as your boyfriend stood to go to the restroom. When he left, you leaned in close to talk to your friend.

“Jinnie doesn’t want anyone there but I think I’d want you at my wedding.”

“Just me? What about your parents?” She replied, a bit confused.

“Why would I do that?” You responded with a disgusted expression.

“… because they’re your parents?”

“I wouldn’t want to invite abusers.” You said bluntly. “My dad was so mean. Did you know he would beat me?”

“What?! No he didn’t!” Jihyo was taken aback, not sure where this was coming from. “Y/n, your parents love you! How are you not remember your childhood right??”

“I actually can’t remember too much. Jinnie says when you can’t remember your childhood, it means there was trauma.” You said with a shrug. “He says they were bad to me.”

“Well he lies.”

“No he doesn’t.” You frowned.

Jihyo sighed. What has he done to you??

“Y/n! He’s brainwashed you!” She snapped.

“He loves me, jihyo.” You said with a frown. “No one loves me like he does.”

“Y/n—”

“What’s going on?” Hyunjin came back, looking between the two of you with an annoyed expression.

“Nothing Jinnie.” You replied. “Just talking about the wedding. I want her there.”

“My love… are you sure?”

“Yeah I think she’s sure.” Your friend mumbled with her arms crossed.

Before anyone could say anything else, a server came over and dropped off the food.

She watched in confusion as he fed you. It was odd how you acted like it was completely normal. You’ve never been like that before.

“You know… she can feed herself…”

“Yes.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “But she prefers me to feed her.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah I do.” You said suddenly looking back at your boyfriend with a small giggle. “I love you, jinnie.”

The room fell silent as everyone ate. Hyunjin watched your friend closely, she was bothered by how you seemed so willing and submissive to him. She remembered when you used to be independent and handle yourself. Now, it felt like you were a different person, and she couldn't shake the frustration and resentment building inside her.

Jihyo thought about going to the police but figured it wouldn't help. You're an adult, after all. You just need to say you’re there willingly. Things got a bit weird when Hyunjin whispered something to you.

As you finished, you turned to Jihyo.

"I'm tired. Maybe I should go back to the castle for a nap."

"With no cake?" Jihyo asked, raising a brow.

"I'm full," you replied, looking at Hyunjin.

"Okay," Jihyo said, getting up. "Nice seeing you again, y/n."

"I'll text you the wedding details when we finalize it, okay?" you told her.

"I look forward to it," Jihyo nodded, and that was that.

~~~~~~ 👑

Once home, you were filled with excitement for opening your friend's gift. Sitting on the bed with Hyunjin, you quickly removed the tissue from the bag, revealing a plushie.

"It's so cute!" you cheered. "She always knows exactly what I like!"

"Cute like you, my darling," Hyunjin added, making you blush.

"Take your afternoon nap, my love," he suggested, patting the pillows. "I'll get your cake for later."

"Okay," you agreed as he kissed your forehead. As he left the room, you examined the plush; it’s an old teddy bear. It felt oddly familiar, like you've had it before, but you couldn’t figure out why…

~~~

After a nap, Hyunjin gently woke and guided you to the dining room, revealing a small cake with candles representing your age.

"What did you wish for, my love?" he inquired.

"I wished to stay in the castle with you forever!"

His happiness radiated as he heard your words. He always knew you were his queen, destined to be loved by him for all eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 👑

I have a thing against finishing on even numbers(unless it’s 10) so last part coming soon.)

#kpop #kpop x reader #fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop smut #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids x poc reader #stray kids yandere #yandere hyunjin #yandere skz #skz yandere #hyunjin x poc reader #kpop yandere #yandere kpop #kpop fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin stray kids

[aspd-culture]

Welcome back. You’re very informative.

I’m very confused about how numerous people, from you, to other antisocial people speaking from their experiences (some of which I learned are actually friends) to prosocial researchers of ASPD say that antisocial people see relationships as transactional. It’s not weird that you guys see it that way, it’s more like “and prosocials… don’t???” Because I’m certain I’m prosocial. I’m neurodivergent, sure, but no signs of ASPD. So, how do most prosocial people typically view relationships if they’re not transactional?

So I find prosocials and pwASPD both tend to think “but doesn’t everybody” when we hear this - it’s a super undescriptive term - but we’re thinking different things define something as transactional. We also see the reason for that transaction to be different.

From a prosocial generally, they’ll mean “I only want to be around people that ‘don’t drain my energy’, that don’t just take take take, that we mutually enjoy the friendship/relationship and want to be around each other”. That’s kinda their definition of getting something out of it, and they want everyone to get something out of it. If they’re draining you, they want you to be free of it so you can be happy, and the transactions involved can be purely emotional/vibes. The reason they feel this way is a desire for positive and enjoyable social connection; the consequence for an uneven/bad/missing transaction is discomfort and wasting their time in negative experiences and generally feeling bad in association with that person.

PwASPD see those transactions very very literally. There’s no vibes nor emotions in the transactions, those are either a reaction to the transaction or a bonus. We mean that we are getting something tangible or practical out of it. Rides, help with things we can’t or don’t want to do alone, sex, maybe even the social relief from the annoyance of “why don’t you ever talk to anyone?” coming from all sides. We also don’t always care if it’s even on the other person’s end. If they’re ok driving me everywhere/if they do it and don’t say or show they’re uncomfortable, then I will assume they are fine with that piece of the transaction. If I’m taking more than I’m giving and they seem chill with that then I’ll accept it. However, I won’t give them *nothing* and that’s because of our reason for transactions - it’s dangerous otherwise. First off, I have shit I need I can’t get myself as much as it sucks, so I need to be around people. But if we need something from them, what we learned in our childhoods is that we don’t get that for free. There’s always something over your head. A lot of pwASPD had friends or caregivers that would hold favors or even *basic, legally-mandated caregiving* over our heads as though we didn’t deserve it. Often our value was determined as a child by what we provided, and since children can’t provide much, we were worthless and not deserving of good treatment.

This is part of the reason (TW non-descriptive CSA mention, skip to the next paragraph if you want) that people thought ASPD was directly correlated with CSA for a long time - many cases of long term CSA come from either “I’ll give you x/do x for you if you help me with this” or worse, doing something first then saying “but I gave you X!/did X for you! I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d act like this”, often call us selfish if we tried to say no and maybe get aggressive or forceful after, and that is an easy lead-in to our view of interactions.

So a lot of us see it that if we want to be safe/know we can continue to get what we need, we HAVE to be giving them something. If you claim you like being around me “just to be around me” or worse that you’re willing to do something for me “just because I want to”, that’s not safe. You want something from me and I’ll give it to you - just tell me what it is. If you’re not telling me, that means it’s not good or you’re just gonna decide later that I’m selfish. You might hurt me to get what you want and justify it with this. Take something from my side so we’re even, because even means safe. Even means I get access to what I need and you get access to what you need - so now we’re both using this relationship/friendship/etc for something and you wouldn’t wanna mess that up by putting me in danger any more than I’d want to mess it up by putting you in danger.

Of course, not every prosocial sees it the first way and not every pwASPD had those experiences and/or sees it that way. But that’s what I’ve found to be common. If you see “they make me happy” as what your or their end of the transaction is, it’s definitely a prosocial response, maybe with the exception of thinking of it as “getting their brain to dopamine/oxytocin” vs caring how they’re actually feeling. If not, if you need it to be practical, that’s definitely transactional.

It’s important to note this is personal relationships with no practical consequences to ending the relationship - most people see relationships (platonic) with coworkers or managers as transactional and that’s a way I usually explain it to prosocials (“do you deal with your boss bc you like them or bc they sign your check - and would your boss keep you hired if you didn’t do your job because you make them happy just by being there?”). But with a romantic or sexual partner, a friend, etc. this is not a typical view of relationships.

That said - you can *absolutely* not have ASPD and have transactional view of relationships. It’s not a 1:1 thing there; not everyone with ASPD has it and not every prosocial doesn’t. It’s just a really common piece of the puzzle that is this personality disorder.

Edit: ack I’m so sorry I forgot to add the csa tw tags they’re there now.

Plain text below the cut:

So I find prosocials and pwASPD both tend to think “but doesn’t everybody” when we hear this - it’s a super undescriptive term - but we’re thinking different things define something as transactional. We also see the reason for that transaction to be different.

From a prosocial generally, they’ll mean “I only want to be around people that ‘don’t drain my energy’, that don’t just take take take, that we mutually enjoy the friendship/relationship and want to be around each other”. That’s kinda their definition of getting something out of it, and they want everyone to get something out of it. If they’re draining you, they want you to be free of it so you can be happy, and the transactions involved can be purely emotional/vibes. The reason they feel this way is a desire for positive and enjoyable social connection; the consequence for an uneven/bad/missing transaction is discomfort and wasting their time in negative experiences and generally feeling bad in association with that person.

PwASPD see those transactions very very literally. There’s no vibes nor emotions in the transactions, those are either a reaction to the transaction or a bonus. We mean that we are getting something tangible or practical out of it. Rides, help with things we can’t or don’t want to do alone, sex, maybe even the social relief from the annoyance of “why don’t you ever talk to anyone?” coming from all sides. We also don’t always care if it’s even on the other person’s end. If they’re ok driving me everywhere/if they do it and don’t say or show they’re uncomfortable, then I will assume they are fine with that piece of the transaction. If I’m taking more than I’m giving and they seem chill with that then I’ll accept it. However, I won’t give them *nothing* and that’s because of our reason for transactions - it’s dangerous otherwise. First off, I have shit I need I can’t get myself as much as it sucks, so I need to be around people. But if we need something from them, what we learned in our childhoods is that we don’t get that for free. There’s always something over your head. A lot of pwASPD had friends or caregivers that would hold favors or even *basic, legally-mandated caregiving* over our heads as though we didn’t deserve it. Often our value was determined as a child by what we provided, and since children can’t provide much, we were worthless and not deserving of good treatment.

This is part of the reason (TW non-descriptive CSA mention, skip to the next paragraph if you want) that people thought ASPD was directly correlated with CSA for a long time - many cases of long term CSA come from either “I’ll give you x/do x for you if you help me with this” or worse, doing something first then saying “but I gave you X!/did X for you! I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d act like this”, often call us selfish if we tried to say no and maybe get aggressive or forceful after, and that is an easy lead-in to our view of interactions.

So a lot of us see it that if we want to be safe/know we can continue to get what we need, we HAVE to be giving them something. If you claim you like being around me “just to be around me” or worse that you’re willing to do something for me “just because I want to”, that’s not safe. You want something from me and I’ll give it to you - just tell me what it is. If you’re not telling me, that means it’s not good or you’re just gonna decide later that I’m selfish. You might hurt me to get what you want and justify it with this. Take something from my side so we’re even, because even means safe. Even means I get access to what I need and you get access to what you need - so now we’re both using this relationship/friendship/etc for something and you wouldn’t wanna mess that up by putting me in danger any more than I’d want to mess it up by putting you in danger.

Of course, not every prosocial sees it the first way and not every pwASPD had those experiences and/or sees it that way. But that’s what I’ve found to be common. If you see “they make me happy” as what your or their end of the transaction is, it’s definitely a prosocial response, maybe with the exception of thinking of it as “getting their brain to dopamine/oxytocin” vs caring how they’re actually feeling. If not, if you need it to be practical, that’s definitely transactional.

It’s important to note this is personal relationships with no practical consequences to ending the relationship - most people see relationships (platonic) with coworkers or managers as transactional and that’s a way I usually explain it to prosocials (“do you deal with your boss bc you like them or bc they sign your check - and would your boss keep you hired if you didn’t do your job because you make them happy just by being there?”). But with a romantic or sexual partner, a friend, etc. this is not a typical view of relationships.

That said - you can *absolutely* not have ASPD and have transactional view of relationships. It’s not a 1:1 thing there; not everyone with ASPD has it and not every prosocial doesn’t. It’s just a really common piece of the puzzle that is this personality disorder.

Edit: ack I’m so sorry I forgot to add the csa tw tags they’re there now.

#tw mentions of sex #tw csa #tw csa mention #tw abuse mention #tw sa #tw sa mention #tw child abuse mention #tw child abuse #aspd-culture-is #aspd culture is #aspd culture #actually aspd #aspd #aspd awareness #actually antisocial #antisocial personality disorder #aspd traits #anons welcome

[magicbystarlight]

Venomous - Part Eleven

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+, a bit of an angsty one, arranged marriage, age gap relationship, ptsd, war. Minors DNI.

A/N: Our poor reader can't catch a break.

The last days at the Manor passed mechanically. Wedding appointments set for Easter Break—dress, cake, invitations, dinner. A book left unread despite the pages turned. Smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Laughs that were hollow. Unanswered letters. No word from your brother. Nothing in the papers about the Muggle war.

Abraxas was at your side, arm slung too casually around your shoulder as you walked through Platform 9 ¾. Your trunk somewhere behind being dragged along by the Malfoys’ oldest house-elf Honey. Or was it Bunny? An unsubtle reminder to the growing crowd that you were a Malfoy, even if not in name yet.

At least your mother hadn’t come.

His goodbye was drawn out. You smiled and dutifully let him kiss you again and again until he couldn't keep you any longer. You hoped your own face didn't betray your joy as you stepped onto the train. The compartments were full as you dragged your trunk. It took longer to find Larissa and Abigail than usual thanks to the added weight.

Their concern felt wasted on you when you stepped into the compartment. Too much of your friendship had been spent on your petty problems when their families lived in constant danger that you knew nothing about.

You insisted you were fine, that it had only been a bit of stress, and everything was okay now. You brushed off concerns about Abraxas’ behavior, rewriting his jealousy as protection. You were fine, everything was fine.

The conversation veered to them and you listened intently. A funny story about Larissa’s mother getting on the wrong train in the underground. Talk of Abigail’s father’s wonderful cooking. Love letters they found under her little sister’s pillow. It made your heart ache.

“We should set up a dinner or something for the Easter holiday,” you said as the laughter was starting to subside. “So I can meet your families.”

Your friends shared a look that didn’t look pleased with the idea. “Won’t you be too busy? With all the planning? We don’t want to add to your stress.”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

“It’s just,” Larissa said slowly, trying to find the words to say, “well, we know how your family feels about half-bloods. You might not mind, but they’re not gonna be happy with it.”

“They know we’re friends, it’s not that big of a deal anymore. Maybe they’ll be upset if they find out one of Abby’s parents is Muggle, but we can go somewhere Muggle and they’ll never even know. Make a day of it, a real day, show me more of the Muggle world. I’ve never even seen London past the windows in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Larissa went to say something else, another argument against it from the frown in her face, but Abigail cut her off, face lacking its normal color. “We’ll see. I’ll need to owl my parents and ask if they can make the time for it. Easter’s pretty busy for them.”

Your face fell before you could catch it and school it into something false.

“We can do Cambridge instead!” Larissa offered quickly, too eager compared to her hesitation a moment before. “I’m sure Mum would love to have you both over. And it gets so pretty in the spring there—” 

She continued, naming reason after reason Cambridge was the place to be for Easter. You worked your smile back, though it was as hollow as it’d had been at the Manor. A tentative date set for the Tuesday after the holiday—you had no appointments set and Abigail would be too busy helping out around home before then. Color still hadn’t returned to her face.

When enough time had passed, you excused yourself to use the restroom. They didn’t offer to join you.

Scalding water splashed from the tap, causing your hands to retract with a hiss. You waited for the temperature to correct itself and tried not to scratch at the pain.

Abigail didn’t want you meeting her family. Larissa could spend a week with them and you couldn’t even have dinner. You always knew they were a little closer. How could they not be when you barely put any effort into the friendship? They may have been your best friends, but today you realized you weren’t theirs.

That was okay, you told yourself. You would do better.

You looked up into the mirror as you scrubbed your hands. A crack cutting diagonally down it you hadn’t noticed before. How poorly were these restrooms maintained?

The door swung open.

“—almost punched Ralph McLaggen in the middle of Diagon Alley! Over her? Can you—“

The Slytherin girl from Potions cut off abruptly as her gaze met yours in the mirror. The one who loved to tell people about your torrid affair with Slughorn. You’d have to remember her name eventually. 

Her grin was sickly sweet. “You looked great at the Minister’s ball.”

“Thanks, but,” you said, matching the acidic tone. “I don’t remember seeing you there?” Then you laughed, shaking your hands dry and turning to see her now scowling face. “Oh right, you must have seen me in the paper! I’d almost forgotten.” 

You walked to the door, eyebrow raised expanctly at her friend who still stood in its way. She squeaked out an apology before moving aside. “Well lovely to see you, Judith. Hope your holiday went well.” Maybe you didn’t have to learn her name.

—

Dumbledore wasn’t at the welcoming feast. It wasn’t unusual. Since First Year he’d been in and out of class aiding in the fight against Grindelwald. But you felt the absence more now. You’d wanted to talk to him about Warrick. 

There were eyes on you. More than usual it seemed. You kept your back to the Slytherin’s table. 

Abigail had recovered, at least. 

Her smiles were warm again as conversation swirled at the table around the next Quidditch match. Ravenclaw had only had one match the previous semester and it left them at an advantage, same as Slytherin and it was expected the match would be tense. You listened attentively as some of the team’s players explained how many points they’d need to rack up to gain the lead. It surprised you how attentively they listened when Larissa started dissecting Slyhterin’s weaknesses and strengths. Her insight was, well, insightful. 

“We’ve got the pitch on Thursday, you’ll be there?” Erin Lockhart, this year’s captain, asked her as you all made your way back to the tower. 

Larissa’s face was bright. “Haven’t missed one yet, have I?”

It was past midnight when the three of you finally clambered up the stairs to your dormitory. Normal. A truly normal night. Not a mention of engagements or wars or stalkers. Filled instead with Quidditch and school worries and silly little jokes. So many new things noticed about people you’d known for years. Funny how that can happen when you’re not existing solely in your own head.

Larissa was giggling about how good Henry Higginbottom’s hair looked when she stopped abruptly after opening the door. You thought maybe the ladies at Twilfitt and Tattings had outdone themselves and delivered early, but a melodic chirping drowned it out.

On your bed, in a rather large and intricate gilded cage, was Ravenclaw’s emblem. A Golden Eagle.

Their eyes were such a familiar shade of brown. 

“When did you get an eagle?”

“I didn’t.” You felt cold. “I’ll take my chances with whatever gilded cage awaits me rather than whatever crate you’re offering.” Could Tom never stop with his fucking metaphors?

Abigail was the one to investigate. She plucked an envelope from the bed, turning it over. Your name was on the front in familiar handwriting and an even more familiar teal seal.

Of course Azar was still doing Tom’s bidding.

Anger seized as you took the letter she handed over. Blood splatters marred the parchment.  

Found her in Astrid’s owlery. 

A likely story.

Apparently she’d been there a while and now she seems a bit confused about what she is. Thought getting her out of there was for the best,

You scoffed. Of course he would decide what he thinks best.

but the dungeons aren’t a good place for her. She needs to spread her wings. 

One thing he wasn’t wrong about. 

I know Selene said no to getting you an owl, but she never said no to an eagle.

He remembered that? It’d been years since you’d asked. 

Dippet was happy enough to approve her as a pet for you. Unsurprisingly, you’re one of his favorites.

It was a surprise to you.

She prefers hunting for herself, so she won’t be a bother. She’ll even take the post for you. You’ll have to give her a name though. Our aunt only ever called her örnen.

That sounded like Aunt Astrid.

Sinc Love,

Uggy Az

P.S. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry.

P.P.S. She was perfectly tame until I put her in the cage. You’ll get along well, I think. 

The anger had dissipated by the end. Not gone entirely, but less. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t some new trap laid, but for now you’d let it be what it seemed. A sincere apology. Those were so rare.

“Uggy Az?” Larissa questioned, reading the letter over your shoulder.

“It’s what I called Azar when I was really little. It was supposed to be Uncle Az.” You reached for the latch, pulling the door open. “Mum hated it cause it sounded like I was calling him an ugly ass.” Cautiously the bird stepped out, stretching her wings and legs. She was beautiful.

You knelt at the end of the bed and she met you there. This close you could see the gold speckled throughout her eyes. When you reached your hand forward, she bent her head and let out a chirp at the contact.

“What should we name her?” you asked, stroking her.

“Princess?” Larissa offered before her face immediately went sour and shook her head. “She needs something more classical. Aethon?” 

That made you shudder. Would that make you Prometheus? 

Abigail’s fingers joined yours to stroke the brown feathers. “How about Drein?”

The eagle let out another chirp.

“You like that?” you asked. “Drein?”

She chirped again and seemed to nuzzle against your hand. 

“Well,” Larissa laughed, joining you and Abigail in your affections to the bird, “Drein it is.”

—

Sweat covered you as you shot up from bed. A nightmare. You couldn’t remember much beyond explosions, screams, and a hand around your throat.

The hands of the clock pointed to a quarter past five. Too early to start the day and too late to try to sleep. Not that you’d be able to sleep anyways.

Drein stirred from her perch atop your wardrobe when you moved. It was odd how comforting it was when her eyes followed you to your desk. Being watched by a predator was normally so unsettling, but for once you didn’t feel like prey.

You took a piece of parchment and your quill and began to write. It wasn’t right. You scratched it out and started again. Still wrong. Dashed through the new sentences and tried again. No. 

Curiosity got the best of Drein, her wings fluttering softly as she landed on the edge of the desk. Her head cocked as you ripped off the bottom, bare part of the parchment.

Why? You wrote. Your quill hovered for a moment more. I miss you. A few tears landed on the parchment before you wiped away the rest. Drein crept forward, pushing her head against your hand.

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask her. She blinks. “Take this to my brother.”

—

Drein had returned by that night. There was no reply. A week passed. Days that weren’t quite bad, but exhausting. 

Transfiguration was the easiest. An essay to write from the substitute instead of hands-on practice. Astronomy. History of Magic. Ancient Ruins. Herbology. Ancient Studies. Arithmancy. Potions. Care of Magical Creatures. None of them required a wand often. 

But Charms and DADA?

Horrible.

Abigail thought you were sick. First you fainted and now you were struggling in class? You’d gone and gotten checked just to ease her concern. You weren’t sure how no one noticed the crack in your wand, but you powered through. It did seem to work a little better as the days passed. Less resistant. A few more days, maybe a week or two, and it would be fine. Like nothing happened.

Whispers followed as they always did. Some with pity, but more with glee. You’d walked into a room more than once to be greeted with hurriedly hushed voices. Thankfully your housemates were more akin to pity.

Saturday afternoon you sat alone in the common room, where you’d been since after breakfast. It was a dreary day outside, but you couldn’t pull your attention away from the window. There wasn’t anything else to do. Abigail had left for some Divination project she had to work on with a Gryffindor and Larissa was serving a detention she’d gotten the last day of last semester. Abraxas had planned to visit, but something had come up and he postponed for Sunday. Homework was done and you didn’t feel like tracking anyone down to occupy time. 

Why hadn’t Warrick written you back?

A very nasally, high pitched noise came from beside you, breaking your concentration. Myrtle Warren stood there, nose high in the air. She held out a folded piece of parchment. “Avery asked me to give this to you?”

Your eyebrow shot up. Myrtle was muggleborn. Azar didn’t like interacting with that sort, let alone entrusting them with anything.

She cleared her throat again impatiently and wriggled the note.

With a muttered thanks, you took it. She still stood there. It simply read: Library?

“He told me to wait for a yes or no. Wants me to walk with you there for some reason if you say yes. Very odd, I think, but he’s paid me ten galleons just to bring this, and it’ll be another twenty once I get back to him with an answer.”

Ten galleons just to get you a note. Thirty in all to get an answer. And an escort. 

“Was there anyone with him?”

She shook her head. “No, he was all alone. Just like you. And me.” She shrugged. “Probably why he asked me.”

Azar must be hoping to apologize in person. There hadn’t been any chance to catch you alone throughout the week. You’d ensured that. While Myrtle wasn’t your first option of a companion, she was better than nothing. And talking it out with Azar was better than staring out a window. You needed to thank him for Drein, too.

Myrtle was surprisingly patient. You’d had to put your things away up in your dorm and she waited without a single complaint. It was unlike her. She hadn’t gained the nickname Moaning Myrtle for nothing. 

It was probably the promise of galleons that kept her so quiet  as you walked down the staircases.

“Do you mind if we stop by the restroom?” she asked as you landed on the second floor.

Had she not been so patient before, you’d have said no. But she had been. So you relented, eyeing the staircase wistfully and hoping she’d be quick. You wanted to see Azar. Know if it had been real.

Her favors weren’t over. “Could you check if there’s anyone in here? I don’t like an audience.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and did as requested. It was empty, thankfully. “All clear,” you called from the end of the stalls. 

“Well that is very,” Myrtle’s voice changed, the nasally high whine turning deep, honeyed, and unmistakable, “convenient.” 

You twisted, wand in hand, to witness as Myrtle’s face bubbled. Her robes stretched to accommodate the added height and width, its blue yellowing to green, Ravenclaw’s emblem contorted into Slytherin’s. You’d meant to Stupify him, but nothing came. A red jet of light shot from his. With horror, your grasp on your wand loosened involuntarily and it shot from your hand. He caught it effortlessly.

“I’m not here to fight,” Tom said evenly. He eyed your wand, surveying the damage. “Not that it seems you’d be able to put up much of one.” 

“Fuck you,” you hissed, despite the pounding in your ears. 

He smiled. “I have missed your quick wit.” When you said nothing, he sighed. “I wanted to apologize.”

You repeated, “Fuck you.” 

“That’s fair.” Your wand clattered on the floor as he threw it back. “I deserve worse.”

You don’t move. You consider it for half a second, hand tensing to reach for your wand, but you don’t. It’s useless.

“I didn’t understand how horrific what I did was. But I do now. And I’m sorry.”

Lies. Lies lies lies lies lies.

“I don’t want your apologies. They don’t mean anything. You regret nothing. You understand nothing!” Your voice rose, angry panic outpacing your ability to quell it. 

“Forgiveness will take time, I know. I’ll be patient.”

Tears seared your cheeks. “Forgiveness?” you questioned. “Forgiveness for what, Tom? For—for trying to kill me? For stalking me? For ruining my life?” Yanking the Malfoy heirloom from your finger, you held it up. “I only have this,” you threw it, aiming for his frozen face that didn’t even flinch and missing by a yard, “because of you. If you’d have left me alone, none of it would have happened. You took everything. And for what? What has it gotten you in the end?” Your arms were shaking as you gestured to the lavatory he’d trapped you in. “Downing polyjuice to corner me here and listen to me tell you that I hate you.”

Quaking shoulders. Terrified and angry and devastated. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I don’t know.”

It came out so soft, yet the words thundered in your head. He’d been so confident months ago. Spewing nonsense about power and freedom and breaking traditions. Now he stood there and said he doesn’t know why he continues to torment you?

“You don’t know?”

Cracking sounds reverberated against the walls.

“You don’t fucking know?”

Glass shards fell to the floor as the mirrors over the sinks shattered. 

You crumbled.

Next Part

Your thoughts & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

HP Tag List: @bamboozledflamplant @squishytomatoes @benonlinear @byelannie @itsccc

Venomous Tag List: @pearlsofme @fck-this @ambria @sheeple @strangunddurm @weirdowithnobeardo @emberenchanted

#tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle x reader #abaraxas malfoy x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x fem!reader #tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader #ravenclaw reader #venomous

[etherealvistas]

Driving in Palestine now is more dangerous than ever.

Yesterday, I drove from Ramallah to Dura, a village near Hebron to attend the funeral of Ahed, my friend’s baby sister, who had just become a mother. She was shot by an Israeli sniper. A heartbreaking loss.

If I could use Israel’s apartheid roads designated for settlers, it would be an 80-90 minute drive, but it took me 4 hours.

Why?

First, we’re forced to take segregated Palestinian only roads which make it a 2.5 hour drive because of checkpoints.

But these days, it’s even worse as Israel has imposed an even more strict strangulation policy over the West Bank, which means even some of those segregated roads are blocked and there are 10 times as many checkpoints.

Taking this drive outside our village/cities of residence is extremely dangerous for three reasons:

Settler attacks: Israeli settlers are in rampage mode, and you don’t know when you could get hit by a rock or bullet from one of their raging mobs.

Soldiers at the end of a wrong turn: There are no signs for what “roads” are currently opened or closed for us, you have to guess or stop to ask locals every few miles. If you make a wrong turn and end up face to face with soldiers, they can shoot you, and claim you attacked them.

Arrests for social media posts: If you’re stopped at a checkpoint, soldiers these days are taking folks’ phones and checking their WhatsApp’s and telegram and instagram. If you have a message standing in solidarity with Gaza, or anything the Israeli soldiers see as offensive, they’ll beat you to a pulp, and could even arrest you. My friend Diala, a human rights lawyer, was just arrested at one of these checkpoints this evening. We don’t know why, but it likely relates to her work and messages they found on her phone about it.

On my end, driving back at night was a nightmare, mainly because I had a friend in the car and was worried about him.

As we drove back, these historically busy streets were ghostly empty because nobody is taking the risk of driving at night unless necessary.

Every turn I’d take, I’d slow down to a crawl to make sure there was no trigger happy soldier or angry settler ready to pounce.

I got lucky as, although we waited at a checkpoint for an hour, the soldiers got bored and literally opened the checkpoint for all the cars to pass without any security check — proof they’re using these checkpoints arbitrarily as collective punishment.

In Dura, I saw where Ahed was shot.

The soldiers had stormed her village as part of their intimidation tactics in the West Bank to keep people anxious. Ahed ran to her roof to warn her husband to come home. An Israeli sniper shot her in the head.

As I drove home, thinking of Ahed, her heart broken family, the families of my friends in Gaza, all the souls we’ve lost, and how easy my life could be taken for simply driving across my ancestral lands to help my friend in her grief.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but our lives are precious. They’re beautiful. They’re equally worthy of joy and basic dignity.

I’m committed to one day being able to drive across my people’s ancestral land a free man, surrounded by my liberated people.

If Israel’s death machine is haunting us around every corner, we might as well live fighting for a life worth dying for.

#palestine #israel is a terrorist state #free palestine #free palestine 🇵🇸 #west bank #apartheid

[natimiles]

Hellooo it’s the same anon from before :)

I was wondering if you could write (only if you want to! No pressure whatsoever :D) platonic headcanons or scenarios for your favourite IkemenVampire boys with a gn!reader (age is up to you). I feel like our vampire men, however handsome they are, would also be great older brothers (albeit a bit outdated on technology ahaha)

Again, please don’t write this if you don’t want to :) it was just a thought in my head and I really enjoyed your work of the IkemenVampire characters with the reader that has a tattoo, but you take priority :D

-🥀 anon (if you allow it ofc)

Hii, dear 🥀

Sorry, I’m a slow writer haha. I was finishing another fanfic, but here we go!

Sometimes I feel they have a brotherly relationship when we’re not in their routes, so I really liked it! It's my first request, so that adds to the excitement, hahaha.

I wrote them separately, I hope it's how you wanted it (:

A gn!reader with a sibling-like relationship with them | Isaac, Mozart, Jean, Arthur, Theo and Vincent, and Napoleon

Tags: gn!reader; minor spoilers from their routes.

Isaac

He accepted Comte’s offer to have some alone time for peaceful work. With the little school he and Napoleon had set up, he didn't want any more responsibilities in his life. However, as always, things never seemed to go his way.

You’re stubborn and clumsy, and he can’t make sense of half the things you do. However, for some inexplicable reason, he’s intrigued by the challenge of understanding you. Before he knows it, you’ve become a part of his daily life.

You make sure he has all his meals and encourage him to leave his room sometimes, at least to go to the garden and get some sun on his skin. You even took care of him when he was sick, never leaving his side until he was better. You talk about what you remember studying about him in school and how he should consider being a professor here. You pester him until he does what you want and pretend to cry when he runs out of patience, just to make him feel bad for the outburst; but you’re also there when he needs to talk and always defend him from others (you’re the only one allowed to tease him about the apples).

“Hey, Newt, fancy a slice of apple pie?” You managed to get Arthur to stop calling him that. You might’ve even threatened him.

He always looks for you now, whether he needs advice about his new job, has a problem, or wants to grab a meal at that downtown cafeteria. He’s happy when you seek him out for advice or to hang out on a day off. Having you around is comforting; he’s no longer alone. You’re the family he’s always wanted, and he’ll protect you with everything he has, which mainly involves glaring at others while blushing (this man is not a fighter). He still enjoys spending time alone, working. He’s aware that you’ll come looking for him if he spends too much time locked in his room.

He probably won’t say much if you meet someone you like; he’s not overprotective. However, he’ll attempt to meet them to determine if they’re a good person (he might even call Napoleon to help him with this).

Mozart

When you arrived at the mansion, things were lively, and he despised it. You’re a troublemaker; it’s obvious. Comte once warned them about how dangerous it could be to cross the door without him because they could get lost. Yet, you managed to cross it by accident! Looking back, that was a red flag already, but you keep doing stupid things every time, so it’s hard to say which one really is the red flag. He should stay away, but for some reason, he feels an urge to protect you.

As time passes, and he grows accustomed to your presence (and your chocolates, ahem), he realizes that you’re not only his new best friend but also family. In his first life, he was the youngest son and was very close to his sister, so he finds solace in your company and the new sibling-like relationship you share. 

You two are joined at the hip in no time. You’re definitely his favorite person in the world now. Congrats, you got yourself an overprotective brother — but he means well. Arthur touches you? Mozart’s there in a second with a handkerchief in hand, ready to clean you of those scoundrel’s germs. You cut your finger? He helps you bandage it. Are you taking care of the violets in the garden? He’s there beside you, keeping you company while he composes a new piece.

He loves playing for you and always shows you his new pieces first. Your opinion means a lot to him, even though you may not be as versed in music as he is. If you encourage him to play and attend more aristocratic parties, he might even give it a shot. His trips downtown have become easier since you helped him overcome his fear of carriages, so he’s gradually getting used to them.

He might even teach you a thing or two on the piano if you’re interested, so you two can play together for the residents, just as he used to do with his sister. He’s a surprisingly patient and kind teacher. It’s a side he only reveals to you and Jean, and even the soldier never sees his friend smile fondly at anyone else.

God help the person that falls in love with you. He won’t be creepy about it, but he’ll be condescending until he’s certain they deserve you and his trust. The two of you now understand Theo and Vincent a little bit better.

Jean

He’s confused about why you want to be friends with him. He doesn’t think he deserves it, yet you persist, and something inside him just allows it. As you start teaching him how to write and read, he notices how patient and kind you are.

He’s the sweetest brother you could get. He feels like you’re his older sibling (and probably is, considering how young he died). He will protect you whenever you need, after all he’s a trained soldier. He shows you his diary and everything he writes. He asks for advice and always listens intently to what you have to tell him, because you don’t judge him even when he’s having a bad day. He’s interested in your stories about the future, he can’t understand how there’s such technology (the poor guy lived in a century that didn’t even have electricity yet).

You help in his shop when you can and you take care of him. You’re the only person who can actually make him eat/drink something, at least some blanc so he doesn’t starve himself again. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. He doesn’t want you to leave him and lose another family, so he makes an effort to care at least a little bit about himself, and you praise him every time you notice it.

A customer asks for something he doesn’t know how to write yet? “Wait a minute, please, I’ll ask my sibling how to write it.” And the customer is confused, because he didn’t know Jean had a sibling.

If you fall in love, he’ll be so happy for you! Obviously, he’ll be wary of them at first, but he’s such a chill brother. He’ll miss spending more time with you, but he’ll be happy to know you’re happy.

Arthur

Chaos. That’s what happened ever since you two met. Comte might have lots of gray hair now, because of you.

He tries to scare you out of the mansion, but you laugh. He hits on you, you yawns. He threatens to bite you, you bite him first and he yelps so loud, everybody came to see what happened. And when you challenge him to a game, he doesn’t lose but it’s really close.

He is observant and really smart, so he notices fast that he really enjoys your company and wants to hang out with you more, even though he doesn’t see you in a romantic way. You make him feel confident about himself again, like his own writing, and even consider being a doctor once more. He protects you from the idiots and teaches you all he knows about card games, and you actually win twice. That’s his sibling!

You become his partner in crime, but don’t think he lets you do everything you want. He’s actually really responsible when it comes to you. He locks himself in his room sometimes, but when you do it he drags you out and makes you eat something. If you’re sick, he takes care of you and sleeps on the floor beside your bed until you’re good again. Once Isaac tried to bite you when you cut your hand, and he just put his hand in front of Isaac’s mouth to protect you. When you go out to the pub with him and Theo, no one dares coming close to you, they know your brother can be scary when he wants.

You’re going out with someone? He won’t pry much, but he wants to know if you need some advice or if something happens. He knows very well how people can be with their desires, and he just wants you to be ok. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t want you to keep your chastity nor anything like that, he just wants to make sure it’s all consented and protected. Are you in love with them? Oh, that’s nice! He can’t wait to meet them! 

Theo and Vincent

First of all, you can’t become a sibling to just one of them. Theo would be devastated and Vincent would certainly miss his brother. That’d end up with the three of you as a family anyway, so…

Vincent’s been nice to you since the first moment, so it’s not hard to befriend him. But Theo is a different story. He actually just starts to try being nice to you when he sees you defending and helping Vincent with his emotions. You also help him with his work and some problems from his previous life, and he ends up grateful. And the three of you are inseparable now.

Theo likes to hear you talk about the arts from the future, Vincent hears your ideas for painting and likes to use you as a model, and you make sure they’re healthy and eating while working. They have a strong protector feeling towards you, you’re their youngest sibling. 

You're really proud of your new family. The first art exposition you help with is actually a success because you talked so much about your brothers that everybody got curious. You protect them with everything you have. Theo still calls you hondje, but you can’t blame him. You bark and bite anyone who tries to mess with them, and he says he can almost see a wagging tail when they come home, and you greet them.

You start painting, even if you don’t know how to do it. Vincent is patient enough to guide you and teach you the basics. Theo tries to be supportive, but what the hell is that paint supposed to be? If you look upset about his comments, he’ll apologize and give you a stack of pancakes to cheer you up.

May the lord have mercy from the person that falls for you. Vincent is an angel, but he doesn’t want you getting hurt, so he’ll find out if they’re trustworthy before being too nice. Theo is savage from the first moment he meets them. You’re upset with him and he can’t stand it, so he’ll try to be a little nice. Keyword: try.

Napoleon (I already see him as an older brother)

He tried to help you from the first second you passed the door, so you bonded quickly. He has the urge to protect you since you seem pretty reckless on your own. He likes taking care of others; he already has Isaac as a younger sibling, so he certainly doesn't mind having you too.

He helps you get used to this new century, giving you a tour through the city and assisting you with some chores. You help with his and Isaac's school; the kids love you so much that he can't help but find it endearing. You quickly come to rely on him, as it's really easy to trust him. You ask for his help whenever you need it, even if it's as simple as teaching you how to dance so you can go to a ball, and he gladly helps you.

He’s not overprotective; he offers his advice and trusts you’ll make good decisions on your own. However, he makes sure to draw the line for Arthur, he doesn’t want you getting hurt or bitten… Ok, he might want to overprotect you sometimes. He’ll teach you self defense, just in case.

He’ll try not to pry too much if you fall in love with someone, you’re a nunuche but you’re trustworthy. He knows you’ll come to him if you need something or if your heart gets broken — and may the Lord have mercy if it actually happens.

Masterlists

#🥀 anon #request #platonic #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp jean #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp hc #ikevamp request #ask me #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader #ikevamp requests

[madstronaut]

prepareth thineselves for another doozy of a ramblecommentating

obligatory alphalist link:

the pining. THE MOTHERFUCKING PINING IN THIS STORY is enough to power a standard size nuclear plant imo and madstronaut is here to do her civic duty as a staunch supporter of the environment and fighting fossil fuels, yes, truly the main reason i read smutty/yearny fic-

Reading: Christian Woman by @kneelingshadowsalome

“You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.” 

this is basically reverse tinder iykyk

“You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe.”

 this very aptly desscribes how this story makes me feel. i cried the first time i read it through fully; just made me feel so many emotions 🥹🥹🥹

Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

i hope everyone experiences the happy accident of a spontaneous deep conversation with a stranger - feels like God/the universe just gifting you a random act of kindness

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.” girl you about to do a lot more than that very soon 

You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue.

*when God sings with his creations, will not König's ass be part of the choir*

You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little.

just speaking personally quite a heady experience to have someone attempt to better themselves for you but way too easy for this dynamic go from sexy/flattering to emotionally off-kilter - how does the phrase go? with great pus-power comes great responsibility

Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet.

🥰🥺🥰🥺

He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. fucking LOVE THIS LINE

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking.

this is such a great description of how a good ole crush feels - “you feel both safe and in danger with him”

 It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

total sidenote but since I was just recently there - you wanna talk bright bubbly cafe next to dim cellar cafe - bedford cheese shop next to irving farm coffeeshop on irving place off union square in nyc fits these descriptions exactly lol

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way.

why did the following description make me think of john cena peacemaker, who does indeed own a fleshlight in the show 😂😂😂

And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve. a whole moooooood

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

we all need a friend like this 😂

 If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else.

omg it me????

You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him.

recalling all those worship songs nicknamed “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs in youth group growing up😂😂😂😂

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

I want to banghang out with this Jesus tbh amigoingtohellfortypingthatmaybesavemeJesus😉

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 

i knew she was a goner when she started talking about his hands

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. like i said WE ALL NEED A FRIEND LIKE THIS 😂

There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought. 

WHY NOT BOTH?

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete. 

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

i appreciate how fleshed out our nun reader is <3 i found myself in a weird limbo of wanting her to remain true to herself while still navigating her faith (as someone also on a post(idk tbh?)-faith journey i find her spiritual self-wrestling very relatable and familiar)

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

probs goin to hell for this (but im on tumblr so im already here??? lmao) but S i r if u invented the whole concept u can at least watch and give me pointers/tips

And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

truly the absolute dirtiest sluttiest thing you can do fr fr let me say it once again with my whole chest 👏HOLDING👏HANDS👏IS👏FOR👏 SLUTSSSSSS👏 (it's me, the slut, im the slut)

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart. 

i remember my first innocent hand holdings/cheek kisses and they felt EXACTLY like this, reading this felt like salome went digging into my brainfolds and pulled the sensations out and put them in writing 🤯

The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake. omg nun reader your innocence is adorable all the better when watching it break

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. holy self-sabotage, batman - NUNREADER DONT DO THISSSSS

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”  excuse me while i mop myself off the floor; melted right off my chair

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

nun reader can i interest you in an alternate, similarly unpaid career trajectory of…*drumroll* SMUTTY FIC WRITING???? pls i will send u an ao3 invite and comment on every 5th syllable of your stories and be your 2nd-biggest personal hypebae (first one being her own bff who would be over the moon ofc)

The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers.

im deeefinitely picturing nun!aubrey plaza from the little hours below

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. spit my fuckin tea out at this, fucking hilarious

the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it. 🥺🥺🥺reminds me of old crushes/lovers who broke my heart. did u know how much you held when you had a piece of it? steadfastly not thinking of the ones i broke too🤪

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone.

i have often heard it said both in a spiritual and practical context that when your peace leaves a place, you should pay attention and leave with it and it’s still a very relevant and wise piece of advice imho

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose. 

tw for churchish talk so pls skip if its not your cup of tea but without getting into all the fucked up stuff that is the monstrosity of evangelical churchianity, personally speaking one of the earliest places (and most constant sources) i learned about self-worth and compassion and love and extending it to myself and others was through people of faith (i know this might be ironic/offensive to some because believe me i have also been there in being traumatized/antagonized by ppl of faith as well but trying my best to hold all our different experiences and perspectives in hand to be able to see listen and understand the good the bad and grey and everything in between in a nuanced way, anyway story of my life); i wish i could offer similar encouragement i heard to nunreader - omg, can we instead focus on the verses/stuff in bible like Christ coming to set us free, not keep us chained to laws, God is love, loving God and others are apparently the two most important things in the faith and everything else rests on these two, also there is a shitttttton of smut in the bible coughsong of songs, the book no one ever preaches aboutcough and also i dont think the supposed inventor of sex hates sex, anyway ending my shittylittle fauxsermon/rant here but end of tw, back to the fic~

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. i know reader is deep in the cups of churchthought but this is honestly one of the most beautiful things ive read; i want to (and imho i do) ‘see God’ - see something divine, beautiful wondrous heavenly full of love and joy and peace and gentleness and kindness and all that other stuff from that galatians bit i dont recall now- in the people I love too

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. cough once again trawling through some old memories resurfacing from my churchish days but apparently one of the meanings of the original hebrew word for to know in the bible also meant to have sex with, i am 1000% serious👀👀👀

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over.

recalling an old convo with a guyfriend when we were discussing/joking about modesty and clothing and i joked that the ultimate level was a nun habit/outfit - in complete seriousness though he turned to me and said to a man in lust/love, the right woman has nothing she could wear that wouldn’t tempt him - including a nun outfit - and ive never forgotten what he said lol. I joked about ankles sticking out and then of course we dove into a deep discussion on the existential nature of feet fetishes. in hindsight, apologies to anyone nearby we may have traumatized/offended that june afternoon in washington square park

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home. 

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth. 

peak yearning right here. also i think salome captures thoughtprocess of nunreader so well in her eventually assauging her Intense Catholic Guilt™️ by basically equating König to Jesus/God, the only man nuns are allowed to simp for (if anyone is offended by the near-constant blasphemous shit in this post - tbh my whole blog - pls say a prayer for me lol)

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.” my SISTER in CHRIST, you just gave away your whole escape plan LMAO

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

nunreader i am cheering you on with little party hats and confetti bombs in spirit-

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

very into how nunreader is feeling herself here. yes my queen get ready to fucking get ittttttt

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

i am restraining the urge to dive into the screen into this story with my makeup kit to Give Reader A Mini-Makeover (i fucking LOVE those scenes in stories/shows/movies and also for me makeup is art and the canvas is my face/body and i enjoy perfecting my art on the daily- totally forget over the pandemic how much i enjoyed putting on makeup before going to work)

“Here, kitty, kitty…” why is this extremely goofy and sexy at the same time? peak König vibes tbh

Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

why not both, my sister, why not both? something something love is a many splendored thing - shakespeare probably

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. this is the cutest fucking thing ive ever read so far i am biting my pillow to shreds~ also König handfeeding strawberries to sis at the restaurant?? someone call 911 for public indecency???? hot damn and you were worried bout HOLDING HANDS???

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you. every girls dream 🥰🥰🥰

instantly getting hard from a first kiss does feel very könig-coded, do not @ me

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. not me also joining in-

The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain. not me getting together a petition.org straight to Jesus to cut our sister some slack-

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

on this note i remember being briefly fascinated by nuns/priests as a young madstronaut - mostly fascinated by these women living sans men in such a male-dominated world/space and foregoing sex/marriage (anyway little did i know of religious patriarchy and such then) but knowing what i know now, that under all the collars and habits and wimples are still regular people/human beings - i wonder how many IRL Christian Women fics are being lived out right now somewhere 👀coughBEFREEMYSISTERScough 

He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one.

smellsandbells are my bread butter and jam! research has also shown the sense of smell is strongly linked with memory too and i can attest to this

The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves. 

do not resist dear sister, no one can when COD men deck themselves out in full gear, its simply not physically spiritually mentally emotionally chemically possible, cold scientific fact, biblical gospel, incontrovertible truth, in this annotated research paper i will-

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. okay König fucking would say something like this lmao READ THE ROOM SIR but also sister has it d o w n  b a d if shes able to recognize him just by the way he moves and “hear him smiling” iykyk

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. sir i see right through your schemes and i am giving my 100% certified stamp of approval tbh i wouldn’t have even put it past him in this fic if he stabbed himself in a nonlethal area so sister can see some skin without ICG in teh way (Intense Catholic Guilt™️)

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail... 

And it does make you very happy. 

you and me both sister, you and me both

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “ pay no mind? my brother in christ you are giving free handouts (trying not to let my brain rot away thinking of double entendres here)

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.” sir sir if i can guess at the contents of some (most?) of these letters…may I ALSO interest you in an alternate albeit unpaid career trajectory of smutty fic writing-

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart. 

damn this is peak writing right here. this rivals published writing ive read, all my standing ovations, slow claps, and hats off to you salome~ i go through tons and tons of fic in hopes to read sentences like these and stories like yours ❤️❤️❤️honestly their whole exchange with sis kneeling by him as he falls asleep is peak yearning/tenderness 

also nunreader’s “why exactly does König like me so much, is it because of any other possible reason other than myself” is peak relatability - once again restraining myself from grabbing reader through the screen and giving them white-board scrawled peptalks breaking down why they are amazing and worthy

He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. 😂😂😂 sis finally gettin the memo

Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. this is true, i recall reading that once someone enters the convent/monastery they basically get given one nun/priest outfit and like maybe a backup one when the main one gets washed? my new yorker fashionloving ass could never

 “No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”

“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”

😂😂😂

You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. as someone with the near-useless superpower of getting weird inside baseball bible/sunday school/youth group jokes/references however vague in modern lit/culture when they appear i appreciate the “wrestle with God” reference, peak research vibes

also the last line here really smacks of the nicer interpretation of what the abbess told sis: “God doesn’t test us, he loves us” <3

 There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?

she says “aint nothin sexual bout lyin in a bed, the primary location where people usually have sex, with an almost nude man who is horny/erect 95% of the time he is around you, alone, in what i can only describe as a an ideal small town honeymoon suite while it is moodily raining outside” my sister in christ, do you recall lying (yes even to yourself) is a s i n

also i have never been catholic but hot damn i was also blushing and did think König is fucking s h a m e l e s s reading about him feeling up sis STILL IN HER HABIT 😂

He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.

once again my sister in christ w h y n o t b o t h (also im deliriously pleased i can use sister in christ with multi-layered meanings here)

“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. ive always found it so sweet and vulnerable and tender hearing bfs/guys muse and daydream about a future together 🥰🥰 just hits different when boys do it, and openly too

 the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam. 

But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.

That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up.

“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace.

*chefs kiss* these lines are perfection

You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone. 

*nodding along sagely* yes cathartic cries are the best cries

your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock… For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment. 

HAHAHA SALOME OMFG ABSOLUTELY SCREECHED READING THIS

You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. Honestly completely normal reaction imho

All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.

fics that have genital personification have a special place in my heart. also i did not expect to write such a sentence today or in my life but here i am, thank you tumblr

You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. ok hold up one moment why are bras immoral lol girl unless you are small enough to join the free the nip movement without penalities a good support system is vital!!!

“You naughty girl…” he says thickly.

tbh in context of entire fic König calling sis a naughty girl is probably the hottest thing he’s said…sir where did u get all this rizz

“Want to see what I got?”

…forget what I said about the rizz, this is the fucking goofiest follow-up he could say 😂😂😂 salome has König vibes down pat

You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together. 🥰🥰🥰 an absolute vision

It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin *me, reading, also joining in the chant*

The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now. protip: make sure the smell is gone if you have guests coming over

It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. giggling at nunreader thinking humping is kinky UGH WHY ARE YOU SO SWEET AND ADORABLE i just want to take you on a shopping and makeup spree and introduce you to things like bubble tea, dry shampoo, glossier merch, weekend farmer's markets at union square, the hot barista/server at veselka's-

“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.” 🥺🥺🥺 couldnt seduce a woman if he tried my ass

König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week. EAT YOUR HEART OUT DUOLINGO (please dont kill me i'll fix my streak i promise)

König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked. I FUCKIN CALLED IT

“I would never hurt you….and no one ever will.” their whole conversation here is one of my favorite scenes in the whole story.

Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. yes, i am one of those plebs who clap when the plane lands, but for dramatic turning points in fanfic

You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too. 

i love a fic that has lore and a bit of worldbuilding so well-built that you want to look around corners and peek into windows and doorways about what else there is - i found myself wondering about sister’s relationships here with the other nuns - but also loved that last phrase of reader finally feeling whole, “meeting everyone with full presence” after feeling so fractured and divided the first half of the story 👏👏👏we love a good full circle fic 👏👏👏

No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put... i too think this everytime i see some dumb bullshit, mostly on @drunkpeopledoingthings

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.” there's something just very delicious watching someone fight a losing battle

desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. loooooooove this phrasing

This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life says reader, of having sex for the first time, a near universal experience

To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want. 🥰🥰🥰reader in love is so poetic <3

also yes squeaky beds are my kink, ty for including salome 🥰🥰🥰

also sis describing her pussy “hugging” dick has got to be the fluffiest smut ive ever read🥰🥰🥰

Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours. ah yes to know König is to know God indeed 😏😏😏😏😏

When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. 🥹🥹🥹 i love this line so much. i hope everyone is able to experience this, especially if you like me have had some religious purity culture trauma in your life - there is no shame in love <3

The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too. 🥹🥹🥹

The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König. okay but shoutout to this dude, you a real one for being the best unintentional wingman this side of europe

You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart. 

The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.

screaming crying i cant even explain how this fic made me feel, some mixture of joy and heartbreak and catharsis and healing all wrapped up in one as i found so many parallels both with reader and König at times and isn’t that just some of the best things about great stories, when it helps us see and feel and know and love ourselves and others in new ways we couldn’t before?

i wanted to do this absolutely lovely fic justice so ive literally been sprinkling comments on this during re-reads for months; i will close with a fitting - and catholic - quote that i love:

“There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born.” - quote by Henri Nouwen, catholic priest

#madstrothought #FaFiCoWriMo #fanfiction #call of duty #König #Christian Woman (fic title - to avoid this going into the general tag lol) #kneelingshadowsalome #DanceofTheSevenVeils #König x reader #nun au #forbidden love

[channelinglament]

You don’t gotta make anything big for this but Since reqs are open could I get yan turtles w reader who becomes delusional but not in the way the turtles want. Instead they just start talking to air and acting like they’re still living on the surface and talking to their friends and family and kinda just ignore the turtles existence

Hello there! This request is AMAZING☆

Tw: violence, reader is kinda crazy/delusional. Reader being treated like a figurine. Yandere. Murder (not towards reader).

Also English is not my native nor second language-

------------------

So, the reader thinking they were not kidnapped. I believe they would end up going into a very deep, and very dangerous, denial first.

"No way they would've done it! I don't believe it! I-I don't want to believe it.."

This denial would cause the reader to become even more delusional. They could believe everything to be a fantasy.

Or, they could believe everything to be a dream.

They would often think that the turtles are just part of their imagination. Yea that totally is what's happening. They'll imagine people around them, their friends and family.

"No way a humanoid turtle could exist. Nor such a weird creature would even kidnap me in the first place"

-----

Leo would be so frustrated. Why are you talking to walls and soil couches? Why aren't you paying any attention to him, not even a glance? Nothing. You keep calling out names of the people that you used to know. You look so happy. Why aren't you smiling at him? Why are you smiling at his comic book?

"Darling, snap out of it"

No response

"..please"

Still no response

You looked like you were listening to what the wall had to offer instead of Leo. You keep calling the wall the names of your old friends. Oh how infuriating.

He ends up killing them and bringing them to you, as an attempt to get you back. To get you to react to him in any way. Be it sadness, shock or fear. It doesn't matter. Yes he wants you to love him, but how if you don't even glance at him? Even when he is threatening you or chains you to his bed. You seem so.. unaware of his presence. It completely destroys and shatters his heart, world and just him in general.

If you still had some sanity, this would traumatize you even more. It's gone now.

------

Mikey is a little (very) angry. Why are you ignoring him? Did he do something to you? What's your problem?!

Okay, so he deeply inhales and tried to calm himself down. He would try to reason and communicate with you first (Dr. Feelings?)

But it seems like you still choose to ignore him. Okay. Okay.

It's not okay.

He literally goes bananas. Either chains you to a wall, just chains you with his kusari fundo (to speak) or would try to butter you up. Probably violence first. Acts like Leo later on :P

-----

Oh Donnie hates it. One day you just didn't acknowledge his presence. He probably seen some signs, but ignored them? And now he's not sure how to help you. At first some therapy. Doesn't work. Talking? Seems useless. Shouting doesn't work too. Meaning using violence won't help either.

Probably scans your brain or something.

If it won't work, since he is kinda lucid, he will be furious, probably break something and then think. Maybe even install some small bot in your brain to change your way of thinking?

"Y/n...stop talking to my computer, it's not your best friend. Ah why am I even trying, you can't even see me. I guess I need to help you to get back to your sane self."

----

Raph is sad. And kinda flabbergasted?

You're his toy and friend/lover. You should be paying attention to him, not to his plushies!

Destroys a few things in the sewers out of anger. He doesn't want to hurt you.

He will try different methods at making you sane again. To make you at least glance at him. This turtle would literally be the softest guy you have ever seen. Also will try therapy. Doesn't work. He raged a bit. Dw you're safe. Maybe a few bruises, but he swears it's an accident. Not like you even hear him. Yeah you probably hit the table angle. After that he would be just like people who have figurine of their favorite character. He's the person, and you're the figurine. He looks at you, loves you, talks to you, despite knowing that won't respond. He (tries to) keeps you healthy! Looks after you. You may not see him right now, but he is sure it will wear off! If not.. maybe Donnie or Draxum could help?

#rottmnt #yandere rottmnt #rottmnt x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #yandere x reader #yandere rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #yandere rottmnt x reader #yandere leo x reader #yandere leo #rottmnt leonardo #yandere mikey x reader #yandere mikey #yandere rottmnt mikey x reader #yandere rottmnt mikey #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie x reader #yandere donnie x reader #yandere donnie #rottmnt donnie #yandere raphael #yandere raph x reader

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Hello!!! First, happy belated birthday!!!!!

I wanted to ask you a question:

Would Draco care that his parents are obsessed with Harry's Darling Aunt? Would they convince him that Harry's Muggle Aunt might be his other mother or something similar, like she's the only muggle that's free of the whole "dirty blood" thing or similar?

Would he be excited about having another mum? Having close kid on his age to be his cousin?

I remembered when he was younger, as he was really looking forward to being Harry's friend. Quite excited.

Would he convince Harry that his Muggle aunt would be safe with his parents if they were in a relationship?

Because I can see a little Draco, pulling out the magical version of a PPT, showing an interested little Harry all the benefits his Muggle Aunt would have if she married his parents. From Malfoy wealth, to the possibility of being inside the magical world and being closer to Harry as he wouldn't be in the Muggle part of the UK. Being almost immune to all the "dangers".

"My father can take her to the parents' meeting every month at the castle!!! and then we could eat sweets with her while my father watches the boring stuff! The possibilities are endless, Potter!"

(Hi! Thank you so much!)

It would depend on when Muggle!Aunt!Reader comes into the Malfoy’s lives. If it’s early on, in Draco and Harry’s younger years, then he’d be more likely to accept and go with the situation without so much as a fight. As long as his mother and father said it was fine then it was. Now, if Draco was older than he’d heavily question them, not accepting or tolerating the idea. Either way though, Lucius and Narcissa would convince and assure him until he was comfortable or at the least able to bare with it. Their main excuse being that the Reader was an exception to the whole ‘dirty blood’ thing.

I personally think that Draco would quite enjoy the additional attention and love that Muggle!Aunt!Reader would spoil him with. As well as having a kind of friend/sibling in Harry. Of course the two would still keep up with their rivalry when back at Hogwarts but when they were home they were much friendlier, especially if the Reader really wanted them to get along.

Once Draco grows attached he’ll do whatever to keep Muggle!Aunt!Reader with him and his family. He’d convince whoever he had to and if that was Harry then so be it. Draco would emphasize just how much more well protected and cared for the Reader would be with his family. And it’s a lot more than what Harry can achieve on his own.

Honestly, I have so many different ideas for how Muggle!Aunt!Reader ends up with yandere Malfoy’s. They mostly revolve around if Reader got their letter and attended Hogwarts. After their time at Hogwarts the Reader comes back to be a teacher. They’re not only there for Harry when it’s his time to attend but also the other students in general. Especially Draco. Like, imagine if Draco came home for summer break or the holidays one year and is desperate to set up/convince his parents to be with Muggle!Aunt!Reader. He would definitely use the argument that they were the only exception to being a ‘mudblood’.

Another headcanon of mine is that when the Reader gets their letter and attends Hogwarts maybe they end up sorted into Slytherin (much to Lily’s horror). It gives a good excuse/reason for Lucius and Narcissa to end up interacting with or at least being around the Reader. Eventually the Reader gains their affections and the two excuse bringing them into their relationship as keeping the Reader as a pet but it’s really just a cover, a way to save face with the other purebloods. Meanwhile the Reader would be genuinely loved and cared for behind closed doors, spoiled with everything Lucius and Narcissa have to offer.

#yandere harry potter #yandere draco malfoy #yandere lucius malfoy #yandere narcissa black #yandere harry potter concept #yandere concept

[separatist-apologist]

Red Earth & Pouring Rain

Remember what we found? No one can ever take that away. Something forever.

Summary: When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.

Or- that time Rhys fell in love with a stranger writing him letters.

Big thanks to Unhinged Bookclub for help with the moodboard and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant (which consisted mostly of me asking about swear words)

Part 1/2: I've Got Something Burning, Coursing Through These Cold Veins | Read on AO3

Dear Rhysand Campbell-

Today is my sixteenth birthday, which ought to be cause for celebration. I want to be happy about it, but I’m not and I can’t tell anyone. My sisters already think I’m terribly spoiled and my father probably would, too, if he ever cared enough to notice me. Ugh, that sounded spoiled, too. Maybe they’re right. I don’t suppose you understand.

Of course you don’t. You aren’t real. And I guess there’s no danger in telling you about this miserable birthday party (if you could even call it that) or worrying you’ll think I’m spoiled and a miserable brat (like my older sister accused me of) (don’t worry, I pulled out one of her extensions in front of Tomas Mandray which…in retrospect…maybe proved her right on the miserable brat front. It was pretty funny, though. Even Elain cracked a smile.). 

It all started with my father. He woke up one morning a month ago, looked me straight in the face, and asked me how old I was. I didn’t know what to say (I might have forgotten), so Elain told him I would be sixteen in a month. And he said we should celebrate, which made me so happy. I rattled off a list of things I wanted to do, and I thought he was listening.

I should have known he wasn’t when he put Elain in charge of planning. It’s not that Elain is malicious, she’s just…prim. Perfect, really. The sort of daughter he actually wants, I think because she doesn’t make a lot of fuss and maintains his calendar for him like mother used to (she died when I was nine). 

And I definitely should have known we were NOT going camping when Elain had me measured for a dress. She looked so apologetic and I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings when I know she’s trying really hard to fill the gap mom left when it comes to me, even if it makes her spineless when it comes to dad. And I could have asked Nesta to ruin it, but I guess I’m a little spineless, too.

So by the time the day arrived, it’s this huge party for all of dads friends, one of whom is running for parliament and needs money. And I look so very stupid in a floor length ball gown and—I am not joking—a jeweled tiara while all these old men in their fifties whore themselves out for cash. There was a cake (five tiers and chocolate, which is my favorite flavor, at least), there was singing, and of course the aforementioned incident in which several of Nesta’s extensions were pulled from her head unceremoniously. 

Some leering prick told me I was a woman now. Well, he said it to my breasts, not really me. What is it about men that makes them think that’s a normal thing to do? Am I supposed to be flattered? Elain whisked me away, a smile plastered on her face and when I asked her how she stands it, she only laughed and said, “Oh Feyre.” Like I was the silliest person in the world. 

She looked like a princess, and I don’t envy her for it. Every man our father is friends with is trying to trick or trap her into marriage. I think she could be a princess like Kate Middleton if she had the interest. 

Anyway. 

Father made some grand speech right before the cake cutting, where he talked about peace and, for some unknown reason, Brexit. He also thanked God for  our monarchs, which, I didn’t realize he was that religious but I guess for this crowd, he is. 

You know what he didn’t do? Say thank you for his daughters? Imagine, blessing Charles but not the daughters who enrich his life. Nesta was gripping a steak knife so tightly I thought she might actually stab him and Elain’s eyes were glassy and sad, even with that plastered smile.

And despite how Nesta thinks I’m a miserable brat, she DID stand up and demand everyone sing me happy birthday. And Elain led everyone in an off-key rendition of the song, which was nice. Serving staff cut the cake, and there were, of course, no candles.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

And at the very end of the night, some lord (I think—honestly, I wasn’t even listening at that point, I was just thinking about getting those miserable shoes off my feet) told father that his son was single, and also sixteen. I could see father's interest peak and I can’t be like Elain. She’s always letting those awful boys take her on dates, and they always make her cry. So I blurted out,

“Actually, I have a boyfriend.”

Father asked who, but already he didn’t care. So I said the most made-up, Scottish name I could think of—Rhysand Campbell. Maybe you do exist, somewhere. Actually, there are probably hundreds of you, though who's counting? What’s important is that YOU, Rhysand Campbell, are not real and this address is to a post office in the middle of nowhere Scotland. I expect it’ll be shredded. Perhaps the mail worker will read it and have a laugh at my expense. 

Still.

Thank you for saving me tonight. 

All the best,

Feyre Archeron 

Dearest Rhysand–

I didn’t think I’d write to you again, but I think I have to confess my lies, and you are the only person I know who won’t judge me.

Of course, you’re fake, but in my mind you’ve become a little real. Everyone wants to know how we met, and if you’re curious why they would ever want to know that, well, you are very convenient. You see, most girls my age want to date. And in some ways, so do I. There are some very handsome boys, nice boys, even.

But none of my family approves of. If they found out I slept with Isaac Hale, I think they might actually kill me. He’s a fishmonger, which is a very real job thank you very much. It only sounds fake and like something from an eighteenth century book because of the word monger. Which made me laugh the first time I heard it. Anyway, I thought maybe it was better to just get things over with, and he really was so nice that I just…kept going back.

He has a girlfriend now, and I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings a little. Even though I know I could never bring him home. Nesta would sneer and call him smelly and Elain…well, Elain would probably be nice but her eyes would be pitying. So maybe it’s for the best.

I’m sidetracked again.

So Isaac has his girlfriend from Milton Keynes, which I am absolutely NOT  jealous of, even if her eyebrows made her look insane. I admit, I was brooding which Elain says is going to give me frown lines around my mouth. And of course father took that moment to stroll in and say he knew just the thing that would cheer me up.

That thing??? A MAN. In what world has a man’s presence ever made a woman feel better? Even Elain turned her head to roll her eyes, thinking no one saw. Nesta was in a mood, though I didn’t ask why—I don’t care, so long as she keeps yelling at father on my behalf. She told him seventeen was too young to worry about marriage, which made him remember that Elain is nineteen and Nesta is twenty-one, so I suppose we’ll all be dealing with that fall out later.

But the Lord of Rose-something-or-other has a son. Tamlin? Timothy? I was not paying attention. What I did say, was, “You know I’m dating someone already. I’ve told you all about him.”

I probably could have gotten away with that if Nesta and Elain weren’t in the room. We talk more frequently and they’ve never once heard me say your name. Of course Elain was fascinated, and Nesta was suspicious. Father is far easier to gaslight. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, that liar. “Remind me, who’s son is he?”

And I said, of course, that you were no one’s son, but just a regular Scottish man.

Nesta, that traitor, narrowed her eyes. He can always tell when I’m lying. “Oh? How did you meet this London-living Scotsman?”

Murdering your sisters is a crime. I’m saying that as a reminder to myself, because if she invented a fake suitor to get father to leave her alone, I would have gone along with it. So I said we met in a tea shop. I made you charming. I said you saw me from across the room and couldn’t help yourself. In this fictional meet-cute, you were enamored at first sight, and I, of course, believed you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen (I did not mention that because I was talking to my father). 

That was important, because NO ONE thinks that about me. They think it about Elain, who is so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, and they might think it about Nesta if her eyes didn’t promise violence all the time. But not me. And I have mostly made my peace with it, but it would be nice if there was one man who didn’t prefer my sisters to me.

Even if I have to make him up in order for that to happen. 

He told me to invite you to dinner. Please, oh please, Rhysand Campbell, will you do me the honor of dining with my dysfunctional family? Father will want to know all about your father, and if your family could be of use to him and his shipping business. And Nesta will hate you on principle alone, while Elain won’t be able to help but like you. 

Of course I like you, if only because you are not real.

It’s a shame you can’t make it because you’re heading back to Edinburgh to take care of a sick relative. You’re so compassionate, so selfless. This is why I like you. 

Thank you (again) for rescuing me. Too bad you’re just me, rescuing myself,

Your beloved,

Ferye Archeron

Darling Rhysand, 

Last names are formality by now, don’t you think? I’ve officially taken things too far. The nice thing about being overlooked is everyone kind of forgets what you’re doing (or that you exist), which means you and I have been happily dating for the last two and a half years. If I go out with someone else, no one questions it because they assume I’m seeing you.

And no one cares that they haven’t met you, because you’re some nobody they assume I’ll eventually tire of. Which would be all well and good if I hadn’t blurted out, in front of god and EVERYONE, that you asked me to marry you. Let me set the scene:

I panicked. 

Okay, I guess I didn’t need to set much at all. It was another party and as you can guess, I was in another stupid dress. Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind? You know those kinds of dresses? That’s how I feel, no matter how sleek and lovely the dress actually is. And I know I look perfectly fine in them, but I feel out of sorts. Like a doll, like someone who LIKES when men stare down my dress despite their wife right beside them, and tell me I’m beautiful.

They never say that when they’re looking at my face.

Anyway, do you remember Tamlin? Well, he’s a baron and his father and an MP, despite having so much money he doesn’t need to work (I suspect he just misses when the nobility could boss around the english populace), and he is quite taken with me. Rhys (can I call you Rhys? I feel like since you proposed I could probably call you that), he’s actually really handsome, too. The first time I saw him, I almost considered breaking things off with you. No hard feelings, of course, it’s just…you’re not real.

But he’s duller than dry paint. BEIGE dry paint. We have nothing to talk about, and believe me, I’ve tried. I thought if I could get him to talk to me for even thirty minutes, we could get naked.

But it’s like pulling my own teeth, dragging answers out of this man.

And, between you and me, he once told me “your hair looks clean” as a compliment. He couldn’t even lie and say I was pretty? So you and I continue our romance, implausible as it is. Tamlin’s father was saying how handsome we’d be, and Tamlin jumped in to ask me on a very public date and I am a coward, I think. 

Because I said, “Rhysand proposed.”

And Nesta burst out laughing, the bint. It was Elain, eyes brimming with hope and pleasure—she so badly wants to see one of us do whatever we like, father be damned—who asked to see the ring.

Of which there isn’t one. So I’ve made you poor, I’m so sorry. I lied and said you didn’t have one, because you were working toward affording something nice and of course I don’t care about it (because I don’t). Father demanded to meet you and Tamlin was humiliated (a silver lining to this whole affair, truly). 

Any reasonable person would have just confessed the whole plot right then and there. But I am not reasonable, my darling fiance. I am, I think, a little crazy because I slipped out the next morning and purchased a ring myself from Boodles, and since I bought it, it was perfect. Nothing terribly fussy—a sapphire cut in the shape of a diamond, with little diamonds haloed overtop, like falling stars. Set on a delicate silver band, it really is quite lovely. 

I showed father, who was rather impressed with it. I lied and said it had belonged to your mother, who was so overjoyed at the thought of getting a daughter that she solved your ring dilemma on the spot.

It doesn’t fix the problem of everyone wanting to meet you, of course. 

Our engagement is going to be short lived, I think—just as soon as I can figure out what to do next. If I’m not careful, I’ll be saying I eloped and then what? 

What then, indeed.

Yours, faithfully,

Ferye 

Rhys,

Well. 

It’s officially over. Why am I so sad? You were never anything more than a figment of my imagination, and yet telling my family you had ended things drew real tears from me. Elain comforted me, and Nesta called you a self-serving asshole, which is her way of assuring me she loves me. Father, of course, just barely remembered you existed despite the ring I’ve been wearing for a full year. I tucked it in a box as a token of how far I’m willing to commit to a lie (and because it was pretty expensive, and I don’t think I can return it). 

Even though you’re fake, I didn’t have the heart to make you an asshole. I said your mother had become gravely ill and you had to care for her. That it was with your deepest regrets you ended things—that you thought I deserved someone who could be in London fully, and you would always regret me. 

Nesta called it “typical male bullshit,” so I suppose she believes me now. Or she’s willing to pretend, given how sad I am. I’m mostly sad that I think I should probably stop writing to you. I’m twenty, now, and I think it’s time to stop indulging in my fantasies and be real. I’m nearly finished with school, and I should devote more time to paintings.

And besides, Elain is practically engaged, which has taken the pressure of marriage off Nesta and I, for now. Lord Graysen Nolan. How I wish you were real, because you would think he was a total twat, too. Nesta begrudgingly tolerates him because Elain is so head over heels, but he is awful. A scourge, a plague upon mankind and CERTAINLY upon my beautiful sister. He’s going to dump her in some ancient country estate, fill her with babies, and crush her into dirt and she can’t even see it. 

He is handsome and charming, though, and he has my sister wrapped around his finger. I think it’s because he doesn’t think she’s beautiful—though, I think he says so in his effort to break her down. She is so used to everyone finding her impossibly lovely that the first man who insults her is worthy of her heart.

I’m rambling again. Anyway, this is my official break-up, fake boyfriend slash fiance. I have loved you, though you never existed. You were the perfect man (because you were fake), and I’m not sure how any others will compare. Maybe I’ll try boring Tamlin again. 

What’s funny is that we could have been together, if you’d been actually real. Some dead uncle gifted my sisters and I three castles—one apiece—and mine is in the Scottish highlands. Isn’t that wild? He was my mothers uncle, so technically an uncle twice removed? I’m not sure how that works, honestly. But in his will, he left us each a castle in need of repair to do with as we like. Elain has dreams of turning hers (of course it’s located in the English countryside) into a charming bed and breakfast while Nesta wants to live in it as, and this is a direct quote, “the local bog witch all the children are afraid of.”

As for me, well…I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I intend to go visit at the end of the month with my paints to see if inspiration might strike. I admit, I’m curious about a real life castle—maybe I will start a farm and remove myself from society instead. Everyone will ask (no one would, because that would require remembering I exist, but lets pretend they would), “What ever happened to Feyre Archeron?”

And my father would be forced to tell them I own a multitude of cows. All of which are named—and perhaps even treated like my children. Who can say? I am not sure if I’m cut out for livestock, or farming or even castle living. Maybe I’ll make it a museum or something else that requires little effort on my part. 

The caveat seems to be fixing it up. I can do that, I suppose.

This whole letter is rambling. It is supposed to be me telling you goodbye, and putting this whole messy affair behind me. Thank you for being my only friend, which I recognize is pathetic. I hope the postal worker who has been reading these takes pity on my plight, however pathetic it was. 

I will think of you fondly.

Yours, forever, 

Feyre 

Feyre wiped her nose on the back of her hand, breathing rather hard for someone who was in decently good shape. Six months since she’d moved to the highlands, thinking replacing the inner workings of a centuries old castle would be easy. Replace the plumbing and the floors, rework the electric, and fix the broken glass and she’d be done.

If only. Every day there was some new, horrible discovery. Bats in the attic and rodents in the cellar. A crumbling foundation that had to be nearly rebuilt. A leaking roof that flooded water into the great hall, which then ruined all the flooring Feyre had installed, causing it to be ripped up and replaced again. 

It cost a small fortune before the sprawling structure was decent enough to sleep in, let alone live in. And though she had her uncles inheritance to go along with fixing the god forsaken castle. Of course, that money was only for castle repair, and was just barely enough. She’d used her fathers money, too, a paltry sum given just how much of it he had to give away when it was for one of his friends or some do-nothing politician looking to cut taxes in a way that personally benefited her father. 

Feyre also considered she was far luckier than Elain, who’s castle came with a rather surly occupant that swore he also owned the castle—and after a little digging through legal records, was found to be correct. Feyre would have lost it if she had to compromise at all.

Except, now she had a nearly finished castle she had no idea what to do with. As it turned out, Feyre did not have the aptitude for farming like she’d hoped, and rather missed living in the city—though, she didn’t miss London. She missed people, and things to do, but not London itself. 

There were enough rooms to turn it into a hotel, like Elain was considering. Feyre also thought it made a rather nice venue for people looking to host events or get married. The view of the Scottish highlands was breathtaking, and the castle itself was really nice. Stone on the outside, mostly modern on the inside. Full, working plumbing so long as no one shoved too much toilet paper into the drains, claw baths, and big, four poster beds in circular rooms overlooking the hillside. There was a full, working kitchen Ferye had never used, a ballroom, a grand hall, dungeons—anything a person might want, if she could only figure out how to market it. 

It was just a passing idea. For now, Feyre was living in it with a small, paid staff to keep herself fed and the bats from sneaking back in. 

It was pure privilege to spend her days painting, and yet Feyre felt like she’d earned it. Without her father and his obnoxious social circle breathing down her neck, she could run wild like she’d always wanted to. She had a little hammock in the courtyard she frequently fell asleep in, a barbeque she’d spent an exorbitant amount on only to use twice, and was even considering digging out a pool. Why not? Who could stop her? 

No one. 

She’d have to go back eventually—home, that was. Her father’s calls were becoming more frequent and becoming more annoyed. All three of his daughters had just vanished, leaving him to manage his own life for once. Who was he going to build life-long alliances with if he couldn’t move Feyre and Nesta around like pawns. 

Elain was all but sold to the Nolans, if the ugly engagement ring Graysen had given Elain was any indication. Feyre supposed she’d have to come home for that tragedy. Sometimes Feyre wondered if Elain wasn’t dragging out the business with her castle in an attempt to avoid wedding planning.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

Feyre woke that warm, summer morning like she did every day. Breakfast was waiting in the small dining room on the main floor—a simple fare of sausage, beans, and toast. She dressed, braided her hair in a long, french tail, and gathered her art supplies, intending to make her way to the furthest point on the grounds. 

Outside the heavy, rounded doors lay a neat stone path meant to feel old, though it was very modern. She’d watched the workers lay it herself. And standing at the very end of it, dressed in a black shirt and a blue and green plaid kilt, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark, blue black hair ruffled in the wind, while eyes so blue they seemed nearly violet, stared openly at her.

She saw plenty of Scotsmen, given she was in Scotland. And yet there was something about this man, with his toned shins clad in high, black socks and his tall, powerful body, that gave her pause. She could see the hint of ink just above his knees and the curve of his neck, and when Feyre looked back to his face, his mouth was curved into a sensual smile. 

“Feyre Archeron?” he asked with a rich, dark accent. 

Feyre cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s she—I ah—I mean, that’s me.”

His smile widened. “Aye, ye are, aren’t ye?”

She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

He chuckled, placing a broad hand against his muscular chest. “Ma apologies. I’m Rhysand Campbell.”

A soft scream escaped Feyre’s lips. “Liar.”

He took a step toward her, reaching into the leather sporran hanging from his waist. Feyre couldn’t breathe, watching in horror as he pulled a stack of letters out and offered them to her. 

She didn’t take them, shaking her head back and forth. “Prove it.”

He was still grinning, reaching for his wallet. Feyre’s hands shook when he pulled out a license, proving he was exactly who he said he was.

“How…?”

“Did ye think there was no one in all of Dornoch with the name Campbell? It’s quite common a last name.”

Feyre’s heart was mere seconds from jumping out of her chest. 

“It was luck I happened to be named Rhysand.”

“Luck,” she repeated, looking skyward. “All those years and you never thought to write back/”

He merely shrugged, taking back his license from her shaking fingers. “At first? It was charming. I figured ye’d stop eventually. Ye wrote a lot of things.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ferye said stiffly. Prick. 

“I’m sure ye don’t,” he replied with that insufferable smile.

“No, I do. You got my letters, figured out who my father was, and now you’re here for money. Is that it, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not quite,” he replied, coming closer still. 

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Where’s tae ring, darling?” he all but purred. Ice slithered through Feyre’s veins, her eyes landing back on those letters. She’d spent three years writing to him, pouring out her secrets, venting about her family…and telling him all about their nonexistent romance. At best, Ferye had imagined an elderly postal woman reading those letters with a mixture of pity and amusement before tossing them. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine that an actual man was reading what she wrote. 

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he pressed, those eyes flashing with delight. “Sentimental, lass.”

Feyre shook her head again. “No. Absolutely not. Send father those letters—”

“And Nesta? Or Elain?” he pressed, preventing Feyre from turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the garden looking foolish. “What about them, hm? What do ye think they’d think of yer scathing assessment of them?”

Feyre exhaled. “What is it that you want? A sham engagement?”

“Oh, a wee bit more than that. I’ve come to claim my wife.”

“You don’t even know me,” Feyre protested, wondering if she ought to just call the police. He was blackmailing her—into marriage, for a purpose she couldn’t ascertain. 

“We’re in love,” he said, some of his smile fading just a little. 

“So I’m supposed to, what, exactly? Call up my father and tell him—”

“The engagement is back on,” he interrupted, closer still. She could smell him, then—like citrus and the sea, washing over her with the warm morning breeze. Rhysand blotted out the sun with his large body, peering down at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. “And we’re in love.”

“Lies.”

“Ye should be verra familiar with that, darling,” he replied, an edge to his voice. 

Feyre ran a hand down her face. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who could say?”

Prick prick prick! 

“A marriage built upon the foundation of blackmail. You are too charming, Mr. Campbell.”

“Just as ye always imagined,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Now. Are ye going to invite me in? Or do I have to beg?”

“Why not?” Feyre grumbled, eyeing those letters. Rhysand caught her, offering them up again.

“Take them. It’s not like I didnae make copies.”

Still, Feyre snatched them from him all the same, holding them close to her chest. She’d hoped she might undo this mess simply by throwing them away and thus, removing his leverage. In truth, were Rhysand ever to show her father her letters, it would merely force him to pay attention to her. Elain and Nesta would forgive her, with time.

But the idea of her father knowing just how much she loathed him, all while craving his validation and approval, was too much for her pride to handle. It was enough to make her think that, perhaps, this wasn’t such an awful idea. If she could set some hard rules, having a ne’er-do-well for a husband kept her from ever having to get married to someone awful.

Like Tamlin, who still sent the occasional too-formal text inquiring after her help.

And this man was hot. Surely he knew it, too, if that wide smile and the way he kept running his hand down his chest was any indication. How long could he tolerate her? How long before he realized his new wife had no intention of sleeping with him, of showing him any affection? 

He couldn’t blackmail her into sex—even Feyre had her limits and had to assume he did too.

Or hope, anyway. The bar was in hell, even for a man who’d shown up on her doorstep and declared his intention to marry her. 

She forced a smile on her face. “Right this way, Lord Campbell.”

His smile vanished. “I preferred when ye were calling me Rhys. All my friends do. My wife should, too.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Feyre reminded him. “My sisters are going to be so thrilled. Elain will want to throw an engagement party, and father—”

“Elope,” he said, stepping through the threshold with big, wide eyes. “I’m not going to London for a wedding.”

“Your wife is from London,” Feyre reminded him through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to visit them eventually.”

“Why? Invite them here. Surely there’s space.”

Feyre whirled on her heel, smacking straight into the hard plain of his chest. Rhysand reached for her arms, steadying her with a soft chuckle. “Careful, lass.”

“Let me get this straight. You will make no concessions in this sham marriage? Because, despite what you’ve imagined, blackmailing is a crime and my father has a lot of money.”

“Do ye want to go back to London?” he asked patiently, one perfectly groomed brow arched. As if he already knew the answer to that. As if he knew Feyre would have done anything to stay exactly where she was—far from London, far from her father and his circle of friends. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, hating how smug he looked.

“It will be an actual wedding. And you will invite yer family—”

“I have none,” he interrupted, a shadow crossing his handsome expression. Feyre faltered.

“Friends?”

A soft smile. “Aye. Friends I do have.”

“Okay. Then friends. And you will keep your hands to yourself the entire time. Separate beds. Separate lives.”

He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “Aye. I can do that. Any other demands ye have?”

“Once we’re married, I want you to burn those letters,” Feyre said, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “I’ll—marriages are not so easily undone.”

“And how do I know ye won’t back out tae moment they’re gone?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

She considered pleading with him. Was it not enough, she wanted to ask, to make her go through with this? That he knew things about her she’d never wanted anyone to know? He couldn’t let her forget it? Feyre took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of him.

“Very well,” she said, trying her hardest to channel Nesta’s icy disdain. “Let me just—”

She turned, and he caught her by the arm, spinning her around. “Give me a reason to trust ye, lass, and I’ll destroy them.”

“And will you be giving me a reason to trust you?” she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp. 

“I could have gone straight to ye father. Shown him what ye did, demanded he pay me to keep quiet. I came to ye, instead. I don’t want yer money, Feyre. Just…”

“My home,” she finished with a sigh. 

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “A castle that belongs to Scottish blood, not the English.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she snapped.

“Tae only way,” he murmured, and despite the softness of his tone, it was clear he didn’t care for disagreement. Feyre dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and sighed loudly. 

“Call him,” Rhys said, nodding toward her shorts and the phone outline in the tight fabric. “Tell him the good news.”

“He will never accept you as a son.”

Rhys only shrugged. “As long as his daughter loves me.”

“She doesn’t,” Feyre snapped, but it didn’t matter. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Took a breath. And then. 

“Dad? It’s me, Feyre.”

-*-

Living with Rhysand was a mixture of insufferable and tolerable in equal measure. The castle was sprawling, big enough that for the first day, she didn’t see him at all. She’d instructed the staff to serve him and slipped that ring back on her finger in order to keep up appearances. Absurd, given any truly happy couple reuniting might have spent that first night locked in bed together, and Feyre had very much shut her bedroom door with the letters Rhysand had given and begun to pour through them.

They were worse than she imagined. Not only had she complained about her family, she’d divulged personal secrets, told him about her hopes, her dreams. She’d sent him sketches, she’d told him about the people in her fathers social circle, along with all the most embarrassing and hilarious gossip. Things that Rhysand could have sent to a trash magazine and humiliated half of London with. 

She’d treated those letters like a diary, never thinking there was a real man on the other end. Feyre couldn’t sleep that first night.

Or the second.

She did sleep the third, but only because Elain had promised to come down that weekend, delighted to meet the man she’d heard so much about. Nesta had sent back only three words.

Are you sure?

If Nesta came, she’d see straight through Feyre, so Feyre supposed she ought to be grateful Nesta was embroiled in some kind of property dispute with her castle and a local reenactor who took to staging battles of Scottish victory over the English on her front lawn with loud enthusiasm. Feyre suspected Elain was rather happy to escape for a bit, and might soften Rhysand ever so slightly.

And maybe if he realized there were more interesting Archerons, he might take to courting Elain instead of insisting with the sham wedding. Not that Elain would ever agree to it, but…men had always gravitated toward her. Feyre thought Rhysand simply wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

On the fourth day, Feyre slipped back through the castle, lugging her art supplies in a canvas bag with her. She expected the grounds to be empty, that Rhysand would be inside lording about her staff like some kind of king.

She heard the sound of wood splitting in the courtyard before she saw him.

Shirtless, in that kilt and the same black socks, rolled halfway down his shins from sweat and exertion. He’d found an ax and with a mighty swing of his powerful biceps, brought it screaming onto a block of wood.

Feyre couldn’t take her eyes off the slick, taut muscles of his stomach, his back, tattooed in dark whorls of ink. Rhysand seemed far too pretty to do any sort of manual labor, which brought Feyre back to the present.

Though, he’d absolutely caught her ogling him. He halted, pushing one booted foot up onto the heavy stump he was using to split wood while using the hem of his kilt to wipe at his forehead. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Didn’t he know she paid someone to bring in firewood? Besides, there was heating the castle—she’d also paid for that.

“Chopping wood,” he replied, his eyes sliding to the neat stack at his feet. His tone was polite, though perhaps annoyed. As if he really wanted to say, what does it look like I’m doing? 

“I pay someone to do that.”

“Of course ye do, lass,” he said with relish. “I don’t see why—I am more than capable of helping.”

Feyre hesitated. “You want to help?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “What did ye think I was gonna do? Sit around waving my hands like some kind of fancy lord?”

“Yes, actually—that’s exactly what I thought.”

“I already told ye. I don’t want yer money.”

Yes, he had said this, hadn’t he? Feyre sniffed. “Fine. You want chores? There are bats in the attic again.”

He offered her a handsome smile. Coupled with the bright sunshine and his warm, brown skin, Feyre’s knees wobbled a little. Why couldn’t he look disgusting? Her traitor body had not gotten the message that they hated him.

“I can do that,” he said. “And anything else ye have for me.”

“I’ll make a list,” she said tartly. 

But later, when Feyre was alone with nothing but her thoughts and her canvas, all she could think about was Rhysand, midswing over that block of wood. She thought of the tight expression on his face and the controlled movements of his body.

And even though she hated herself for it, she reached for a piece of charcoal.

And began to sketch. 

-*-

Elain arrived at the end of the first week of Rhysand’s arrival. True to word, Rhysand had done every chore Feyre had left for him without complaint. He’d cleared out the bats and fixed several burnt light bulbs, digging out a ladder from god only knew where. And when he ran out of things to do, he turned his attention to the dilapidated stables Feyre had never bothered with. In truth, she’d always meant to tear them down.

It seemed Rhysand meant to fix them up.

He was out there when Elain swanned in, tan from a summer outdoors in the English countryside. She grinned the moment she saw Feyre, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elain said, squeezing tight enough to make Feyre’s ribs ache. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? How are you holding up?” Feyre asked, pulling away to search her sister's expression. A faint blush bloomed over Elain’s cheeks.

“Well—I’m, well, I’m perfectly lovely, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked.

Elain held up her hand, wiggling bare fingers while Feyre just stared. “You got your nails done?”

“You’re so terribly observant. I’ve called off my engagement—just in time for you to be married. I’ve come to see if you want any of the things we put deposits on, so they don’t go to waste.”

“You—what?” Feyre gaped, realizing only then Elain was trying to show her a hand without an engagement ring. “What happened?”

Elain only shrugged, though more pink crept up her neck. “It wasn’t right. I was…I was deluding myself, I think. It doesn’t matter, because I know you hated him, so you don’t have to pretend. I’ve brought pictures so you can see everything, and it would be no trouble to have it all brought here for you. I know how much you hate planning,” Elain added brightly. “I only wish I could be more helpful.”

“This is already too helpful,” Feyre said, pulling her sister through the open hall toward the spiraling stairs that led both to the left and the right. Elain drank it all in as the skirt of her buttery yellow sundress swished around her legs. She looked every inch a princess, and it took no effort at all to imagine her walking these halls four hundred years before while poets and bards sang songs about her beauty. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asked, looping her arm through Feyre’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet him. Nesta used to swear you made him up and I told her you’d never do such a thing. It’s nice to prove her wrong sometimes.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed. “He’s working on the stables. I’ll take you to him.”

This would be the moment of truth. Rhysand would see her and realize his mistake, just as all men did. He wouldn’t be able to look away—and Elain seemed radiant that morning, glowing like the midafternoon sun beating overhead. Her golden blonde hair was perfectly curled, a cascade over her slim shoulders while a set of pearls graced her ears. She’d put on make-up, which Feyre never did, and had the air of someone both effortless and yet unattainable. 

The same air Rhysand had, if Feyre was being honest. They’d make a smart couple. Why did that thought annoy her so much? 

Feyre led Elain over the grounds slowly, giving her a tour and pointing out all the work she’d done while Elain explained how her bed and breakfast was going. She’d created a tentative peace with the other occupant and owner of her castle—a man with a distinctly French sounding last name and decidedly French first one. Lucien Vanserra. He sounded snooty, and given the difficulty he’d created for Elain, likely some seventy year old man looking to exert his control one last time before his time on earth ended. 

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elain said, which was a very Elain sort of thing to say. She could charm a wild bear holding a sword. If the man had eyes, it likely hadn’t been hard to talk him into a small compromise. 

Rhysand was coming out of the stables as Feyre and Elain began to walk in. He didn’t see them approaching as he mopped up the sweat on his brow with the hem of his shirt. Feyre’s breathe caught at the sight of peeking abs, vanished the second he saw Elain. His eyes slid from her sister back to Feyre, some answered question flickering in his gaze.

“Elain, this is Rhysand,” Feyre told Elain just in time for her sister to plant her foot in a wet container of wood stain.

Elain screeched, yanking herself backward. Her lovely white flat was ruined, which was a shame, truly—though Rhysand? wasn’t looking at Elain at all, but Feyre. His expression very much betrayed his annoyance, some shared secret she didn’t quite understand, as if to say oh. I understand now.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain said, looking at the mess pooling around them. 

“No need,” Rhysand replied, though there was some disappointment in his tone. “I was going to do tae floor as well.”

“Of course. Probably not like this, though,” Elain replied with a small laugh. 

Rhysand only nodded, looking back to Feyre for some guidance. But it was Elain who was the conversationalist, and when she realized he didn’t know what to say, pressed forward. “How is your mother?”

Oh, christ. Feyre had forgotten that lie, amid the others. Rhysand became rigid for a moment, haunted by Elain’s ask. “She passed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Elain whispered. Rhysand only nodded, his jaw tight with emotion. So that had been true, in some way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not yer fault,” Rhysand murmured. “But I miss her.”

Elain nodded. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress nervously. “We should ah, probably let you get back to…”

“I’ll see ye both at dinner,” he replied, offering up his most charming smile. And that was that. Elain, holding her shoe by the crook of one finger, waited until they were out of earshot before she said, “You really undersold how handsome he was.”

And when Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, she found Rhysand leaning against the wooden door frame, eyes wholly on her. 

It was that night that both Feyre and Rhysand seemed to realize they could not sleep apart in opposite wings of the castle. Elain had made some little quip about how nice it must be to have all this alone time and Rhysand’s fork had clattered to his plate while Feyre’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

He’d come to her, at least. Feyre sat up against a sea of pillows when she heard him knock, sucking in a deep breath.

“Come in.”

A moment later, the handle turned and there he was. He’d put on plain black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and his still damp hair told her she’d just freshly showered. If she’d been smart, Feyre would have dragged a divan up from another room so he could sleep on it. As it stood, there were two little chairs facing a small breakfast table and then her rather large, four-poster bed. 

And Rhys was a tall man. He looked around, drinking in the cream colored rug and the sand and stone walls, illuminated by an overhanging chandelier. A little potted plant sat half dead in the circular window at the far end of the room, while books were stacked on beneath the television stand haphazardly.

“I’m not sleeping on tae floor,” he told her when he realized their predicament.

“I assumed,” she replied, scooting to the far side of the bed. “No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a theatrical eye roll. As he padded toward her, he asked, “How long will she be here?”

“The weekend,” Feyre replied, trying—and failing—not to notice how good he smelled. “Why?”

“She’s not what I imagined,” he finally said, dragging a hand through his hair with contemplation.

Feyre immediately felt defensive. “She has that effect on people.”

He frowned. “Oh? And what effect do ye imagine she’s having on me?”

“She’s just very…”

“Verra…” he prompted, waiting for Feyre to spit it out. “Dull?”

“What?” Ferye gaped. “She’s not dull.”

“Proper, then. A real English princess,” he amended. 

It was asking for pain, and still Feyre couldn’t help herself. “Then what does that make me?”

He smiled again, his face blooming with warm affection. “Wild. Free,” he added, thinking to himself for a moment, as if he needed to choose his words carefully lest he insult her. “Ye are far more lovely than her—”

“Don’t,” Feyre snapped, unable to stand the lie. “No one thinks that.”

She turned to her side, angrily fluffing a pillow before turning off the bedside table.

“I think that,” Rhysand murmured defensively. “I saw a picture of tae three of ye, once.”

She half twisted to look at him. “How?”

“We do have the internet here too, lass. It was simple enough to google ye. I wasn’t sure which of ye was which—but I hoped ye were…well…Feyre. I thought ye must be Elain, given how much you talked of her beauty.”

Feyre’s heart pounded. “You’re such a liar, Mr. Campbell.”

“Not when it comes to ye, darling.”

There was a pause of silence between them, hanging thickly as Feyre digested that information. Hoped. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It was one of the things I liked about getting tae letters,” he murmured, settling into the bed. After turning off the lights, it felt easier to peel back some of her defensiveness, to listen to him talk. “My sister died when she was wee, and my mother, well. She never quite recovered from it. When ye wrote that first letter, she was ill again and my father was in one of his rages. And there ye were, in a similar predicament. I thought maybe it was fate.”

“Why didn’t you write back?” she asked, turning fully to her side, her head resting on her elbow.

“Cowardice, I suppose. Ye were a bit younger than me, too. Sixteen, but I was nineteen. It dinae seem right, and truthfully, I didnae want spook ye.”

“Is this your attempt at not spooking me, then? Demanding I marry you for reasons you’ve yet to divulge?” she asked, this time without her usual anger. 

“Aye,” he murmured, twisting so he was facing her, too. “I never said I was a good man, Feyre. Only that yer letters were never funny to me.”

“Will you tell me why all this was necessary? I might be able to help, you know—”

“One day,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “When all this is done and ye aren’t so angry, I will. I want to. Not tonight. Hate me all ye like, but I know ye—you’ll be trying to get out of this marriage if ye think you can solve my problems with money. I don’t want yer money.”

“Yes, so you keep saying and yet once we’re married, you’ll have it, regardless. Surely you’ve considered that.”

Rhysand’s pause betrayed him. So he hadn’t realized he’d become unspeakably wealthy the moment Feyre said I do.

It settled some wild, ugly thing in her. “That’s yers,” he finally said. 

And with nothing left to say, Rhysand turned over and left Feyre to fall asleep.

-*- 

Feyre agreed to take the least offensive things from Elain’s wedding, which, to be fair, were few and far between. The cake was nice, along with the flowers of which Elain would always be the expert. Tables and chairs, and of course, the caterer. Elain had been delighted, in no small part, Feyre suspected, because it meant Graysen wouldn’t be getting his money back. What had he done to her? It wasn’t like Elain to be so petty, but with each thing Feyre said yes to, Elain’s smile grew wider and wider until Feyre wasn’t sure how her sister's smile didn’t split. 

And then, with an exasperated sigh, Elain was gone to check on Mr. Vanserra, who was likely wrecking everything in her absence. Feyre thought she’d be sad to see Elain go, but the minute her sister's car pulled out of the drive, Feyre felt the smallest hint of relief.

Rhysand, too. She caught him peeking around a corner, muddy boots on a rather nice ivory floor runner she’d need to wash later. 

“Is she gone?” he asked, as if Elain were some terrible creature and not just chatty and maybe a little nosy.

“For now,” Feyre agreed. “She’s putting together your dream wedding, you know.”

“Ours,” he amended. 

“No matter how many times you say that, it will never be true.”

He stared her down, straightening to his full height. Feyre’s heart leapt into her throat. “Will ye tell me tae truth about one thing?”

“I doubt it, but you can ask,” she replied primly, wedging her way past his obnoxious body.

“In yer letters, ye said I was tae most beautiful man ye’d ever seen. Is that true?”

Feyre froze. If she turned, he’d see her answer written all over her face. “Everything I imagined about you in my letters was a fiction, Mr. Campbell—”

“For fucks sake, Feyre, call me Rhys,” he snapped. “I cannae stand hearing ye call me Mr. Campbell.”

Feyre forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him, turning to argue only to find him so close she could smell him. Eyes wide, she backed up only for him to slam his palm against the stone wall behind her, trapping her with his body. 

“Tae truth, lass.”

“Why does it matter?” she whispered, hating herself for wanting him and hating herself for not being able to send him away. 

His fingers brushed her cheek. “It matters.”

“You can’t have it all, Rhys,” she hissed. He winced as she spat his name, saying it as though it were a curse. “You can’t have your secrets, this marriage and my affection.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!” she shouted, shoving him away from her. Rhys let her, though she knew if he’d wanted to keep her where she was, there was little she could have done to stop him. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of man who just snaps his fingers and gets exactly what he wants. You could have asked me on a date! You could have been honest and told me who you were, that you got my letters! I would have said yes, you know. If you’d just asked. And if you told me the truth, I would have helped you. You want your secrets, fine. Here I am, playing along. Whatever else you want from me, though? Forget it. For the rest of your life, just forget it.”

“Feyre!” he called as she stormed off. “Feyre, come back!”

She didn’t turn, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain she was going to explode. Feyre didn’t pay attention to the direction she went, running through the halls as fast as she could, just in case he was following her.

He wasn’t. She heard a door slam somewhere in the distance, and if she had to bet, Feyre would have guessed he was headed to the stables. It slowed her just enough to make a decision. He wanted secrets? Well, Feyre didn’t. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery that past week to bother thinking rationally, but she’d seen him drag in all his things.

Surely there was some answer to the Rhysand question up in his room. 

Feyre didn’t feel even a little badly flinging open that door. Where she was messy, Rhysand was immaculate. His bed was made for the morning, draped in silken black that was just like him.

He’d tucked his suitcase beneath the bed, and when she opened his drawers to the dresser, everything was neatly folded and in its place. Feyre rifled a bit, feeling like a creep as she shoved aside his underwear and socks. 

The curtains to the windows were pulled open, allowing gloomy gray light to filter through. Outside, she was certain a storm was brewing. If it rained, Rhysand would retreat indoors and she’d have to try again another day. 

She didn’t know what she was looking for when she dropped to her knees, sitting on the plush, circular sand rug she’d put in all the rooms. Feyre pulled out his suitcase, unzipping thinking she’d find a passport with his real name, or maybe a criminal record that would explain this whole thing. And then she could call the police and be free of him.

Her stomach clenched when all she found was a large manilla envelope, unsealed.

Feyre. 

With trembling fingers, Feyre pulled out a stack of letters. They were stapled individually before he’d folded them into quarters. She reached for the one on top, surprised to see it was the very first letter she’d ever sent him, highlighted and starred with a blue pen.

And beneath, was the letter she’d said he should have sent her. 

Dear Feyre Archeron,

Don’t be embarrassed, but I have received your letter. I am curious—do you possess the gift of sight? It seems too much a coincidence that you would mail a letter addressed to Mr. Rhysand Campbell to my home in Dornoch. I’ve decided it’s fate, or at least luck. Tell me, though, this one thing: is your birthday on Christmas? I received this at the new year, and I have been trying to figure out when, exactly, you were born.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though it would be nice to send you a birthday gift next year. If you’re wondering, my birthday is in August. Not that you have to send me a gift. It just seemed fair, since I was asking, to tell you my birthday, too.

And, if it makes you feel better (I’m guessing it won’t, but it did make me feel better), my father also forgot my birthday this year. He was working, and I think he expects my mother to handle those things. I shouldn’t care because I’m an adult, and adults don’t need birthdays (or, that’s what I tell myself at least), but it stings every time he looks me in the eye and asks how old I am. 

I think he thinks I’m disappointing. Maybe I am. 

Anyway. I am happy to be your pretend boyfriend if it keeps you from having to date wankers. If you decide you’d like to write me back, send it to my address in Edinburgh. My mother lives in Dornoch, and I visit when she’s ill (which, to be fair, is pretty often), but I don’t want to miss one. 

That is, assuming you don’t find this horribly creepy. 

Yours in pretend,

Rhysand Campbell 

P.S. I think Nesta deserved to have her hair pulled, just between you and I. 

My silly Feyre,

You keep sending letters (that I devour), but I can’t make myself send one back. I’m starting to suspect I’m a coward, which is a terrible quality in a boyfriend. Maybe you should end things with me and date the beige paint (don’t do that). You’re so honest, and I’m so jealous because without my secrets, who am I? The thought of stripping myself bare makes me feel sick, and so I fold these letters up and pretend you read them and they didn’t disgust you.

In truth, I think you’d stop writing if you knew the truth about me. I’m back in Dornoch and mother is ill and father is working and I am just here. Barely existing, both in Edinburgh where I’m trying to be diligent and finish my education, and in Dornoch, where everyone thinks I’m a good son.

Am I? Can I tell you something? 

My sister died when she was nine. It was no one’s fault—except, I suppose, the man driving the car who hit her. We were out together and Ainsley darted out of reach. Father was closest. He lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough, and by the time mother and I could react, it was all over. 

I was eleven. 

I think we tried to rally together for a while, but the days following Ainsley’s death all blur together. Mother cried all the time and father began yelling. Everyone blamed themselves because we couldn’t blame each other, until we were just festering. Father stayed in Edinburgh, and mother went home and I was in-between. 

It’s like she’s lost in a fog, and I’m so angry sometimes because I needed her, too. I needed them both, and it was like, if they couldn’t have Ainsley they didn’t want me. Or anyone—I think mother wishes she’d died, too. And I think father is too busy punishing himself—and by extension, me—to take care of mother. 

I wonder what will happen to him when she dies. He loved her better than he ever loved either of us. And deep down, I think he’s ashamed he failed her by letting Ainsley die, and it’s better to yell at her, to stay away, to pretend none of it matters to him.

I can’t send this to you, but I like to pretend you’re reading it anyway. That you’d understand, because you feel forgotten, too. That’s how I feel. 

Anyway. Tell Tamlin to stay away. I’m fond of you, pretend girlfriend or not.

Your mess,

Rhysand 

Feyre, my darling,

Engaged? I admit, I laughed out loud when I saw what you’d done. I knew the English were awful, but surely there must be one tolerable man among the lot of them. I’m tempted to drive all the way up there and rescue you, if only to spare you the embarrassment from when this falls apart. I’m also curious to see the ring I got you.

I’d like to have it, if only so I can get on one knee and ask you to marry me myself. It’s strange how much affection I feel for you. How often I think about you, how I miss you without knowing you. I feel as if I do (maybe I’m crazy, too). 

I graduated last week. Father wasn’t there, though he did call in the after to ask me what my plans were. I nearly told him I planned to marry an English lass–but I have no plans for that yet, and no idea how to announce myself to you. It’s been almost three years, and I think I should have been less of a coward back then and just said hello.

I think, sometimes, you would have liked me. More than that other bloke (Ian? I remember his name, but it makes me feel better to pretend I don’t.), at any rate. And maybe my plans wouldn’t seem so far-fetched, and you wouldn’t have to keep lying to your family because I would be asking you to marry me.

For now, things seem possible. I feel like my own man for once, even if I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Only that whatever it is will bring me closer to you. Of that, I’m certain. I am looking forward to hearing of our fake marriage, though—I hope you tell me exactly how you imagine it, so when we do meet, I can impress you.

Is that charming, or does it make me creepy? It’s a question I keep asking, and I think I’m walking a very fine line when it comes to you. Perhaps this will all be charming to you—or maybe you’ll have me locked up. I look forward to finding out. I’m certain I will never live it down, regardless.

For now, just know that I find you endearing.

Yours,

Rhys 

Feyre,

Your ability to tell the future is unnerving. Our relationship is over because my mother is ill—and though you don’t know it, you were right. I don’t think it would give you solace to hear she finally passed, but in a way, it gave me peace thinking you’d written me to say goodbye. That you understood, even if you didn’t know it, why you and I were just a foolish dream. 

Father and I stood in the rain to bury her. I didn’t think he’d come and it would be just me, watching them set her beside my sister. Reunited, at last, just like she’d always wanted. And for one moment, he and I stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silently weeping for all we’d lost and all the things we’d never have again. Ainsley should be here and so should mother. 

Her heart failed. I didn’t think you could die of a broken heart, and today I think I could, too. I thought I’d prepared myself better for this moment. As I so often am, I was wrong. Father left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or if I even want to. Maybe that moment was enough. Maybe enough passed between us to call it even, to start over.

I think I’ve been trying so hard to forget when I should have been trying to remember. And I think you were just another way to pretend I was someone else, at least for a little while. You don’t know me—you don’t know Rhysand Campbell and neither do I. Not your once betrothed, anyway. That man was a fantasy, someone I wanted so badly to be. 

I would have disappointed you. I’m not a good man, Feyre. I don’t think you would have liked the real Rhysand Campbell, and I would have loved you. That’s the tragedy of us, at least to me. You are witty and funny and charming and I am…I am this. I am not the sort of man you fall in love with, but you. 

Oh, you, Feyre. I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. How you don’t walk onto the street and have everyone at your feet, wishing they knew your name. Begging for a second of your time. And even though I know you’ll never see this, and so it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say, I feel as though I’ve been drowning in endless night, and you were the first bright thing that came along.

It would be wrong to go looking for you, no matter how strong the impulse is. You’ve said goodbye, and I am saying it, too. I need to figure myself out and maybe that will take forever. I know one thing, though. I will always be thinking about you. Always be wondering about you.

It’s your birthday (I think), today. That’s what started this whole thing.

Happy birthday Feyre.

Yours, eternally,

Rhys 

A crack of thunder sent the letters flying from Feyre’s hands. Was she crying? For one wild moment she twisted to look up at the ceiling, certain there must be a leak. Only, no, it was just her, dripping salt onto the elegant penmanship of Rhys’s unsent letters. 

“So,” a dark, masculine voice from the doorway intoned. Feyre’s head snapped to the side, drinking him in. His expression was carefully blank, fingertips holding the frame as he leaned forward. Ferye had been caught, had been so engrossed in the parallel lives they’d been living that she hadn’t realized the rain had started or that he’d retreated indoors.

His wet shirt clung to the contours of his chest, slicking that dark ebony hair to his forehead. 

“So,” she agreed, her voice trembling.

Feyre held his gaze. Waiting for his ire.

“Now you know.”

#feysand #feyre archeron x rhysand #feysand fic #yeah i did this #it started off as a joke #now it has spin-offs #and 13k words #smut tomorrow!

[thesoulspulse]

This is something that always bugged me, because for someone who claims to like Danny with or without his ghost powers...Sam has a tendency to have a lot of double standards. I mean, both times Danny gave up his powers for one reason or another Sam either avoided the “overly heroic” side of him like the plague -which ok I’ll admit was pretty over the top- then she got all butt-hurt that Danny threw himself into the freaking ghost portal again and zapped himself to supposedly get rid of his powers since he saw it as the only way to have a ‘normal life’ again when it seemed like nobody wanted or needed Danny Phantom around anymore and he lost his purpose.

Translation, I can only excuse so much of it because they’re kids when their characters are already shown to be written a certain way when it comes to their personalities and moral compass.

Like, when Vlad replaced him with another group of ghost hunters and Danny felt like he had completely and truly lost his place in the world that’s when he decided his powers didn’t make him happy anymore. And frankly, this has probably been building up for a while once it seemed like being half ghost only started causing them all MORE problems and stressing him out either because Sam and Tucker would either get jealous of him, downplay how dangerous his powers can be, ask Danny to use them for their benefit (especially Sam) and without much consideration both of them would scold Danny for using his powers ‘for the wrong reasons’ to pull some harmless pranks or expect too much of him when they don’t have the slightest clue how much he dealt with on a day to day basic because of ghosts, his parents, and bullies...

Poor Danny could literally never catch a break since he has to deal with all of those things no matter where he goes!

School: Bullies and ghosts, sometimes his parents if they get called in.

Nasty Burger, the mall, or other hang outs: Bullies and ghosts.

Home: His parents and ghosts, and on top of that worrying about dangerous inventions that could expose, kill, or badly hurt him.

His friend’s houses: Ghosts, his friends jealousy and/or peer pressure, and Sam’s super judgemental parents.

To be fair, before the series finale Danny had really come into his own so for the most part those problems weren’t as intense as they were in the beginning. Except for his parents, their inventions can still be dangerous. That said, when Danny gave up his powers the second time he was actually at a really really low point. He genuinely felt really worthless after he kept losing to Vlad and his new ghost hunters time and time again, but at least at first Danny tried to make the most of it for the sake of his friends and families. After making a fool of himself so many times and feeling like all his hard work had gone up in smoke, Danny gave up and decided he just wanted to feel like a normal kid again.

He wanted to just be Danny Fenton again dealing with normal teen problems, not constant life-threatening situations. But like I said earlier, while I still believe he went about it the wrong way, knowing Danny the way I do I think he would NEVER have jumped into the portal again because if he’s smart enough to know that if he was wrong about what it would do to him when he’s already half ghost he could have accidentally become a full ghost which there would be no coming back from. And don’t get me wrong, I do get Sam’s point of view to an extent since giving up his powers like that in the heat of the moment could have been life-threatening, I just don’t appreciate how they acted like it was the end of the world (which is a little ironic since it almost WAS because of Vlad.)

Anyways, in my eyes it’s not selfish to put your own needs first sometimes because it’s possible to give too much of your time and effort into taking care of others to the point where it feels like there’s nothing left for yourself. As his friends, they should have respected his decision (as terrible as it was) and been infinitely more concerned about Danny willingly hurting himself like that. It’s not like Danny to be THAT reckless and they should have stopped him and talked things out from there.

If they worked through how he was feeling together I think Danny could have found other ways to use his ghost powers to help people in a meaningful way, or more importantly come up with a plan to expose Vlad for taking advantage of everyone since he was making people PAY for the service of Masters Blasters which don’t even get me started on that because what part of he’s already the RICHEST MAN IN THE WORLD did Butch not understand? Seriously, Vlad holding the world for ransom and exposing his secret without some kind of fail-safe plan in place felt so out of character for him too.

All I’m saying is I wish Sam would have been written as the more supportive version from the 1st two seasons, not whatever she was here.

(Note: So yeah, this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and wanted to tidy up a bit so I thought I’d finally go ahead and finish it then send my thoughts out into the world. It’s honestly more of a rant but meh, feel free to take from it what you will! XD)

#danny phantom #danny phantom randomness #sam manson #tucker foley #Phantom Planet #mini rant #sorry for the rant #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #thesoul'spulse #thesoulspulse #the souls pulse #the soul's pulse

[raineandsky]

A Date in Exchange

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

The hero’s parents know how to throw one hell of a party. Even from outside the villain can see the lights turned low, the shadows of people lurking in the windows. They knock on the door—the hero arrived early to help set everything up, but the villain feels a little lonely turning up alone for the first time.

“You came!” the hero’s father opens brightly, wrapping the villain in a hug usually reserved for family unseen in months. “I was so worried my wife had scared you off for good. Please, come in, meet some people.”

The villain steps over the threshold, holding out a small box to him. “Happy birthday.”

The man’s face lights up, the complete opposite to the villain’s own blatant awkwardness. He pries it open to look inside, only getting more ecstatic when he sees the contents—a figurine of a particularly jacked up sports car. “Ah, I love it! How’d you know cars were my thing?”

There’s a series of pictures in the master bedroom of him sitting in various race cars. “Just a lucky guess.”

He ushers them inside more, setting the box down with some of the other gifts he’s received. “[Hero]’s just in the kitchen with their mother,” he says with a smile. “I have some people to entertain, I'm afraid, but we’ll catch up later, okay?”

The villain gives him a smile as he disappears into the swarm of people in the hallway. They take his words as an instruction, and as promised the hero is in the kitchen, carefully arranging snacks on plates and swatting away anyone who tries to nab any. It’s oddly endearing, and they ignore how their mind is faintly screaming DOMESTIC at them.

They lean against the doorframe for a moment, watching the hero and their mother work their magic on the spread of plates in front of them. It’s only when the hero glances up to shout at someone for stealing a piece of cheese that they notice the villain there, their face breaking into a surprisingly relieved grin.

“[Villain]!” they practically announce to the entire party. They beckon the villain over, and they know they have to allow whatever soppy shit is about to happen in front of their audience. The hero wraps their arms around their neck loosely. “I’m so glad you made it.”

Because you had every reason not to come is left unsaid.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was rough.” The most traffic the villain faced was sprinting across the road in front of speeding cars, but the hero’s mother doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s quite alright, dear. I don’t suppose you could give us a hand with these plates, could you?” She passes them a pair of plates, loaded dangerously high with tiny foods, and the hero gives them a knowing glare. Eat as few as possible, please.

The plates find their ways to various tables around the house, and they’re demolished almost instantly. “Your father’s friends are goddamn hungry,” the villain comments when they come across the hero again a little later.

“I know.” It comes out as a petty whine, and the villain snorts amusedly. “God, I can’t do this all night. I didn’t come here to be a waiter.”

They pick up some food from the plate next to them—a pair of skewered pigs in blankets, by the looks—and pass one to the villain.

“To our last big rodeo,” the hero says with a laugh, and the villain has to hold back the guilty expression threatening to come out.

“To the last,” they echo a little painfully, and the hero carefully bumps their food against the villain in some incredibly inaccurate toast.

The pigs in blankets aren’t bad. A little crispy, perfectly cooked. There’s a faint taste of herbs amongst the flavours.

“Did your mother make these?” the villain asks after a moment. “They’re really good.”

“She prides herself on her home cooking.” The hero peeks past them and into the hallway beyond. “Speaking of, I bet she’s making more right now. It’s only a matter of time before she comes after us to dish them out again.”

“Never thought I’d team up with you on something like this,” the villain comments, earning a laugh, “but I would like to avoid that too.”

As if on cue, the faint call of the hero’s mother floats down the hall like a warning bell. The two share a look, and the villain follows without question when the hero takes off in the opposite direction.

The hero practically skids to a stop in front of a door, throwing it open dramatically. “She won’t look for us in here ‘cause she thinks we’re somewhat sane.”

The villain glances inside with a disgusted grimace. “Are you seriously asking me to get in a tiny understairs cupboard with—”

The villain barely has time to question the stupidity of the option before they’re butted inside, the hero following with a final slam of the door. It’s nearly pitch black in here, only the lights shining under the door offering any luminosity. The villain can’t really see, but they sure can feel the hero very, dangerously close to them.

Warmth is practically dancing between them, and the villain flinches back when the hero’s bare arm brushes their own, bumping them against a table behind them. It’s only then that they put together the fact that the hero is very purposely leaning over them. Their body presses into the villain’s ever-so-slightly, and the villain is almost certain they can feel how hot they are from the proximity alone.

“Uh, [Hero]—” they start nervously, and they know the slight shake in their voice has given them away instantly.

“Sorry,” the hero says, not the slightest bit sorry, “there’s no room in here.”

Their breath is warm on the villain’s face. “Maybe we can talk about things properly whilst we’re here,” the hero continues, getting an amused snort in response.

“Right now? In this dark cupboard with no room?” the villain asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, it’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?” The hero laughs shortly this time, the sound drowning out the murmur outside and most of the villain’s other senses. The hero’s hands find their face—if they couldn’t feel the heat radiating off the villain before, they must do now. “Maybe that’s why it’s good.”

The feeling of someone touching them setting off all sorts of feelings, and the villain’s usual defence mechanism kicks in full force. “Ha, yeah, I bet you’re right in your element, you absolute fucking—”

The hero doesn’t let the villain finish whatever insult they were forming, closing the gap between them. The hero has to lean down slightly to meet them, and the way their lips connect is like fireworks.

The villain has thought about this moment before, but that can’t compare to the actual feeling of it. It’s like they’re on fire. They can feel the hero’s hands drifting through their hair, and their own are roaming without thinking. The hero’s clearly been nicking little bits of food all night, from the lingering mix of flavours the villain can taste on them. Their lips part more without thinking, and the hero takes full advantage—they laugh into the villain’s mouth at the startled yelp they produce.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself,” the hero mutters against them. The villain can feel them straying, trailing light kisses down their neck. “I’ll save that for later, shall I?”

The hero’s hands are wandering dangerously low. The villain’s own hands are balled in the hero’s shirt in anticipation, and they know if they don’t stop them now they never will. “Maybe,” they say softly, careful to keep the shiver of their own thrill out of their voice and still failing. “We have plenty of time later. I mean, like, there’s a bunch of people around. We’re at a birthday party. We’re probably meant to be—”

A well placed kiss against their jaw and a deft hand between their thighs is enough to shut them up. “You talk too much,” the hero mumbles, and the villain can feel their stupid fucking grin against their skin.

“Surprised you didn’t know that already,” the villain practically has to choke out, and the hero hums in innocent amusement at their overly forced nonchalance.

They’re getting dangerously, dangerously close to not stopping the hero. The hero lets out that dumbass laugh between the moments of their lips grazing the villain’s skin—they know exactly what they’re doing, the little shit. Their hand is gentle on their face, careful, sweet, a world away from what their other hand is promising at the same time.

The hero’s lips find the villain’s own again, soft, like they’re afraid they’ll break them. “I’m in love with you, [Villain],” they whisper into the silence, and despite everything happening this is somehow shocking news. The villain pulls away from them slightly, letting their fingers tangle in the hero’s hair as they do.

“You mean that? This isn’t part of your little song and dance?” It comes out a lot more hopeful than they meant it to, and from the way the hero lays a seemingly endless stream of kisses on their face they already know the answer.

“I’ve known it for a while, I just didn’t know how to say it.” They laugh slightly, the sound tickling slightly against the villain’s skin. “So, now that it’s out there, I have to ask. Can I take you on a real, actual, serious date?”

The villain wishes the hero could see the victorious grin on their face. “I’d like that. We can go to the cinema or something. Do it properly, instead of pretending to date and accidentally catching feelings.”

“It notoriously never goes well, does it? My bad for suggesting it.”

The hero leans back a little, and after a moment a dull light clicks on. The villain’s eyes take a moment to adjust, but once they do they gasp in mock horror.

“There’s tons of room in here, you liar!” they accuse, and the hero laughs.

“Could’ve sworn it was smaller,” they say innocently, earning a slap on the arm. “We should get going anyway, before my mother freaks out. Like you say, we have plenty of time.”

They go to turn the light back off, but the villain catches them. “I– I think it’s worth noting that I’m in love with you, too,” they announce after a moment of deliberation. “Have been since the start, really.”

The confession makes the hero light up like the sun, and a future with them suddenly doesn’t feel so life-ending. Maybe they can work with this afterall.

Taglist: @criohfreeze

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writblr #a date in exchange #heroes and villains #hero x villain #we did it lads!!!!! a series with an ending!!!!!! #anyways. this was the one that made me remove my tumblr from my portfolio. i wonder if you can guess why #nsfw? kinda?? depends where your limit is cause mine for writing it is Not High #also hiiiiii criohfreeze im SORRY i forgot to tag you in the last one so. were here now

[robo-milky]

[MORE INFO]

Nicknames:

Brittle Star (Floyd) | Monsieur Fontaine (Rook) | Mr. Leikata/Leikata-sensei (Idia) | Lei (Neige)

Bio:

Leikata is an expressive boy who’s always honest to himself. Whenever he feels happy, sad, or angry, his body’s natural reaction is to tear up. As a result, his peers mistook him for an irrational crybaby. Contrary to this, Leikata is someone who can speak clearly and calmly in tears. Additionally, he’s gained a reputation for being a “pretty cryer”. This does not make Leikata ashamed, he instead embraces it as a natural side of him. Leikata believes it’s best to let loose and go with the flow, than bottling everything up. Moreover, Leikata’s heart bleeds as much as he cries. Leikata is not just sensitive to his feelings, but others’ as well. If he feels like he did something wrong, he will gladly admit and bring attention to it, even if the other party can’t care less. This is also the reason Leikata can’t lie, the guilt would have eaten him alive.

Core values -> Honesty + Peace

Background:

Leikata’s father is a renowned artist in Twisted Wonderland, known for his craftsmanship of using purely paper to make masterpieces. As a result, Leikata followed his father’s footsteps and became somewhat of an apprentice, working under him for exhibitions and galleries. At the age of 12, Leikata discovered his own UM, “Paper Plans”, and started to surpass his father when it came to crafts, via magic. Out of respect for his father’s value of traditional crafts, Leikata branched off to do his own shows and viewings, by joining the scenes of paper theatres and stop-motion. His personal works are niche among the art community, but he’s been getting more attention through collaborations with others.

Notable Thoughts: Leikata’s

“Silver’s the best! He is my first friend in Night Raven College. …Why? Because he was the only student who wasn’t intimidating.”

“Kalim is a surprisingly good person to vent to, if you ever need it. He always knew how to pick me right up, and sometimes he’d even cry with me.”

“Vil is truly the fairest of them all! Well… maybe not when he’s chewing me out for flunking potionology, haha…”

“When Rook is not keeping an eye on Epel, it becomes my job to keep an eye on him. I’ve tried so hard to teach him how to differentiate between the dessert spoons, but he still doesn’t get it…”

“Lilia’s wears a sun-blocking visor when he has P.E.; I wonder if I should get that too.”

Notable Thoughts: Others’

“I thought I had offended Master Leikata when I talked to him the other day, but apparently his eyes are sensitive to sunlight. That makes me wonder how much of his tears are real…” - Cloche

“Leikata brings such life and energy to the Board Game Club, even going so far as to make customized game pieces for us, and animating them in front of our eyes. He’s so creative, turning chips into something so avant-garde. …Surely, they must be worth quite a lot under his name.” - Azul

“I don’t get why Vil wants me to be like Leikata so bad… All that pansy does is cry.” - Epel

“I can’t believe Azul invited Mr. Leikata— THE Leikata who was part of the stop motion for one of the biggest current blockbuster anime OPs of all time, to the BG club—! What was he thinking?!” - Idia

“I wonder how Lei how is doing, after he animated the credits of my last film. I was hoping we could catch up some time, after he moved.” - Neige

Extras/Trivia:

- Light magic user

- Leikata’s hair used to be long and symmetrical, until Rook burned it part of it by accident during a science lab.

- Leikata’s favourite food, stargazy pie, is banned from the Pomefiore dining hall for life.

- Pomefiore is generally very protective and coddling of Leikata. Not necessarily because they’re scared of him getting hurt, but because of the potential danger that is his UM.

- One of Leikata’s past times in Pomefiore is doing puppet shows in the lounge. Students of other dorms drop by sometimes to watch.

- Leikata’s anime/manga/gaming collabs are essentially the TWST equivalent of JJBA x Gucci/Louvre

Full Sprite:

#I FINALLY FIXED HIS BIO !!! #AND GAVE HIM A PROPER CHARACTERIZATION ;;; #my son <3 #bro watch me edit this tomorrow when I wake up and realize I was half asleep writing this- #cat scribblez 🌸 #oc: leikata #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twst ocs #twisted wonderland oc #twst art #twisted wonderland art #twst male oc #pomefiore oc #pomefiore #ツイステ #ツイステッドワンダーランド

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Part 4

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~1200

Warnings: Implied violence and attempted murder. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

“DC,” Mace whispers between kisses. “DC, we gotta stop.”

“What? Why,” you whine as he gently pushes you away.

“You’ve had a roller coaster of a week,” he explains. “Your emotions have been, understandably, all over the place. I want to make sure you’re in the right state of mind, that I’m not taking advantage of you.”

You can see the pain in his face as he says this. It’s clear he wants to keep going but he’s putting your emotional needs first and it makes you want him more. But you know he’s right. You hug him tight and ask, “can we still cuddle on the couch? Make out some more?”

“Absolutely,” he breathes, making you giggle. “Want to do that now,” he asks.

“Gotta finish the fries first,” you tell him, moving back to your seat. He chuckles and nods, “okay. I submit to french fry superiority.” You giggle and he continues, “we probably should use this time to talk about what’s going to happen during and after your testimony.” You sigh but nod in agreement. “I’m currently waiting to hear back if I can be with you at the courthouse but I’m hopeful. Between GBH, Barton and maybe Fowler we’ll have at least one person outside the courtroom and one inside. The third would most likely be outside the courthouse."

“And you trust them,” you say more than ask. 

He nods in affirmation, “absolutely. They’re really good at keeping people alive.” You pause your eating and he thinks, “there’s probably a better way I could’ve worded that. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I know what you’re trying to say.” You resume eating your meal so he continues. 

“As for after your testimony, I know from previous experiences that you’ll have a few options. One of them is your standard Witness Protection. We’ve got some connections with the Federal Marshalls and we can get you to them. New name, new city, and some protection. The other version of that is we set you up with a new name and enough money to start a new life in a new city. One of the primary differences being we could get you set up in another country all together.”

“What if I don’t want to leave?” 

“What?”

“I worked so hard to get where I am, I don’t want to just drop everything and leave.”

“DC, these people are trying to kill you. What’s the point of holding onto everything if it just leaves you dead?”

“I’m going to die eventually, regardless of whichever option I choose. I might as well choose the option that makes me happy. What makes me happy is living here, being with you again.”

“I…I don’t know,” Mace admits. “I’m not sure how much protection we can actually offer if you’re not working for us. You’re doing everyone a huge favor by testifying, of course, but…”

“Will you at least look into it as an option, AC?”

He thinks for a minute, eyes never leaving yours. “Let me call Teach,” he finally says. “If there’s a way, she can find it.”

“Thank you, Mace. I really appreciate it.”

“Mace,” Teach says over the phone, “I’m gonna need you to put me on speaker for this.”

He quickly pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so you can hear as well. “Done,” he tells her.

“Ms. Y/L/N, can you hear me?” Teach’s tone is very serious. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” you’re quick to reply. 

“I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you nod, even though she can’t see you.

“What is your primary reason for wanting to risk your life by staying in this city?”

You pause. She’s not beating around the bush at all. “My life is going to be at risk in any of the scenarios I was presented with. It’s just a matter of to what degree. The relocation options would certainly make it difficult for me to be found, especially the international one. However, the people who might occasionally check in on my safety have no investment to do so other than pay obligations. Additionally, I’d never know if I could actually trust anyone. I wouldn’t be living beyond going through the motions. I’d spend my life looking over my shoulder with minimal support.”

Looking at Mace, you continue, “whereas if I stay here, I have people I can trust. People who are invested in my safety."

“Will you accept one of the other options if we are unable to provide you the protection and means to stay?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“One last question,” Teach says. “Is your primary interest in staying because of Mace?”

You hold Mace’s free hand, fingers interlacing with his, “I’ll admit he is a major factor. But, as he pointed out recently, we’ve only been back in each other’s lives for a couple of days. I have a life here that I’m not willing to just give up without a fight. Or at least exploring all of the options. I understand your organization may not be able to offer more than this one time protection and one clean slate and I accept that. But I have to try.”

Teach is quiet for a moment, “okay. I’m gonna need a copy of your resume. Mace will know how to get it to me. In the meantime, please make sure to take care of yourself. You’ve got your testimony in just a couple of days. Which reminds me, Mace?”

“Yeah, Teach?” Mace moves closer to the phone.

“You’ve gotten approval to be in the courtroom but you are not allowed to actually be in proximity. Huffman needs to make sure none of our people are seen too close to her or the Defendant might be able to claim witness tampering.” 

“Okay,” Mace nods. “That makes sense. Just so long as someone tells me what room to be in and when I can go in on my own.”

“And Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Yes, Teach?”

“You’ll have to be careful to not make too much eye contact with Mace. I understand you want some emotional support for this, but we have to be careful to make sure your testimony isn’t dismissed.”

“I understand, Ma’am.”

Teach hangs up and you curl up against Mace. You work with him to get a copy of your resume to her quickly.

“Do you think she’ll be able to find something,” you ask Mace after he sends the file.

“If anyone can, it’s her,” he assures you. “She’s quite the fighter, especially when she thinks it’s for something that’s right.”

“I hope she finds something,” you whisper.

Mace nods, “in the meantime, we should make sure to get you ready for your testimony. Like she said, I won’t be able to be with you but you’ll see me. I promise.”

“Thanks, AC. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@chibijusstuff

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#mafia!james mace #mob!james mace #james mace x reader #mace x reader #mafia au #mafia!mace #mob!mace