#mandatory family calls are the Worst

[hoshigray]

Are you able to right a gojo fic? He pulls you aside after a meeting to a spicy makeout with you that leads to more than just a make out:,)

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: "more than a make out" indeed, lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit reader; minors DNI - canon divergence; you're gojo's partner who works in Tokyo jujutsu tech with him - kissing; making out - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - breast sucking - deep impact position - praising - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, princess, sweetie) - cameos: Ijichi and Yaga - Gojo is a touch-starved fool, bless him lol.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1k

“Y/n~~!”

“…! Oh, Gojo!”

“Ahh, it’s Gojo-sensei!”

Being the strongest sorcerer in the modern world is a hassle, no matter how much Gojo loves to shake it off as if it’s not. Not that he doesn’t mind it — no, no. If anything, he prides himself in it. It fills his ego, knowing that a scarce few could be compatible with his power. He’s a dependable light for the jujutsu world, sorcerers of the nation thankful that he's not on the wrong side. 

But alas, being the best has its taxing side, especially taking in tedious missions across the land and attending mandatory meetings with the entire jujutsu faculty body — not to mention being a teacher. The white-haired sorcerer was a busy man — no other way to explain it. However, the worst thing about it all was that there would be times when he’d have less time to spend with a certain someone who had him in the palm of their hands. And if he keeps being away from them, he might – no, will – malfunction. 

You were Gojo’s partner, his sweet baby that he cherished more than anything. You were a faculty member of Tokyo Jujutsu High, making things a little easier for the two of you to meet and elope (professionally). Nevertheless, those moments seem to frequent less and less with how many meetings have Gojo backed up this past week. The poor guy can’t even remember the last time he heard your sweet voice (which is a lie since you call every morning and night; he makes sure you do). 

Although, today would be different. Once this meeting with the Kyoto officials ended, he made a straight beeline out of the room to find you. And to his cheerful chuckle, he skips in your direction when he sees you conversing with Yuuji in the hallway. The salmon-haired teen greets his teacher with a high-five and a bow from you. 

Yuuji hears Megumi call for him from outside, so the boy dismisses himself with a goodbye and wanders off, leaving you and Gojo to yourselves. 

“Hello, Y/n~,” the man says your name with a happy tune, his lanky figure swaying to be close to you.

“Good noon, Gojo,” you greet him again with a modest smile as the tall man walks to you. “How was your meeting? Did the officials give you a tough ti—Mmmph!?”Your boyfriend surprises you with a kiss, taking in your perplexed moan with his pillowy lips. One peck comes after another while Gojo’s hands sneak to your waist. You quickly push him away, but his hold keeps you close to his figure. “G–Gojo, what are you doing!?” You express your concern in confusion, covering your lips with a hand. 

“Mmm? What do you mean? I’m greeting my princess with a kiss,” the blindfolded man says so matter-of-factly, beaming his delighted demeanor that nearly blinds you. “I miss you!”

“I miss you, too, but you can’t just—“ He tilts his head as you try to explain. You chew your lip with cheeks boosting in warmth, averting your glance away from his charming face that’s inching closer and closer to yours. His eyes are masked by the black cloth around his face; however, you can still sense the intensity of his gaze. “N-Not in public, Gojo...”

He plays the whining card, bringing you in for a tight hug that could restrain your breathing. “Ehhh, but I haven’t seen or touched you in days! See, we’ve been apart for so long that you’re going back to referring to me by my last name!”

“I always call you by your family name when in the school, no??”

“Yeah, but that’s only for when people are around, not just the two of us!” His complaints are genuine, swaying around with you in his arms. You roll your eyes, listening to him yap more. “Come on, Y/n; it’s been such a hectic week for me, missions after missions, meetings after meetings. Any more than this, and I just might combust — especially when I don’t have time to see my angel.”

You hear him make fake crying noises to your shoulder, reminding yourself how much your tall, strong boyfriend can be such a whiny puppy if he’s away from you for too long. But you can’t kid yourself; you missed spending time with him just as much as he did. “I know; I wanna see you more often, too. Don’t you worry, okay? This week is almost over, so keep pushing through like the tough man you are…Hehe, my strong Satoru.”

The snow-haired sorcerer springs up with a childish smile at the use of his name, his dimples present with the shine of his teeth. “If that’s what must happen, can your strong Satoru ask for another kiss to make his hell a little bearable?”

You give him a look at his request, but his anticipation doesn’t falter. With a sigh, you smile and whisper, “Just a kiss, Satoru?”

He chuckles lightly, drawing his mouth close to yours. “Yes, princess.”

His soft lips land on yours. There’s no restraint as you welcome him, your hands coming around to cup his cheeks before breaking the kiss. “One more,” he says before your nose is brushed away from his. You comply and place another gentler peck, and the man sneaks a hand from your waist to the back of your head. You withdraw your lips again, but Gojo utters another “One more…” Your stomach does flips knowing what game he’s trying to play. Another kiss is received, and his leg sneaks in between yours.

You mewl, finding yourself stuck in this predicament. He’s now in control, using this opportunity to deepen the kiss and make it more passionate, sucking your bottom lip and running his tongue for more access. You have no choice but to accept him, whimpering at the tongue intruding into your oral cavity while his leg moves further and further. 

Your hands come to his shoulders, gripping his jacket as the Gojo furthers himself into the kiss. The hand behind your head keeps you steady, keeping him focused on your mouth, where he sucks on your tongue in a way that leaves you breathless — like, actually. After he quits the kiss, you two are gasping for air so hard, and your lips are wet because of him. 

“Hahhh, ’Toru, stop,” you wipe spit from your mouth. “We can’t be doing this here…”

Your complaint falls on deaf ears, the sorcerer placing chaste kisses on your cheek. “Hmmm, why not?”

“Mmm..Someone, your students, we’d be caught here…”

Gojo smirks; it’ll never stop being adorable how bashful you are around him, particularly when he expresses his undying affection for you in public. But he will respect your wishes, and the idea that pops into his head makes him giggle.

Before you can process anything, Gojo picks you up with your legs held up and a hand on your back. You squeak at the unexpected action, grabbing a hold of his neck to balance yourself. Your mouth opens to express your bewilderment. Yet one moment, you two are in a hallway of the school; then you’re transported to a familiar room with a bed the next — your bedroom.

You blink in perplexity as Gojo throws you on top of your bed, stammering to find the right words. “Satoru, I wish you’d stop teleporting without letting me know! And don’t you have another meeting to get to!? Why are we in my apart—“ You don’t finish that sentence; you stop yourself once Gojo crawled up on the bed to you. Suddenly, you feel too small to utter a word.

“Sorry, baby,” No, he wasn’t. Not with that childish grin posted on his face. He brings his face to yours, placing more smacks on your lips. “But you’re the one who said we shouldn’t be doing this on school grounds. Heh, you act so cute when you’re shy…”

“No, Satoru, we can’t—Mmmm,” silencing you with kisses was such a vile card, knowing you’d be whimpering under him just from him twirling his tongue with yours. “Mmph..Mmah…! You’re scheduled for…another meet—“

“Shhh, don’t worry; I can be late for a few minutes,” another lie. If Gojo’s late to another meeting, Principal Yaga will put the younger man in a chokehold again. “I’ll make this quick, I promise. So, just let me enjoy you…”

Sucking your tongue is all it takes for you to give up on trying to persuade him out of what he’s doing. Gojo takes off and throws his jacket to the bedroom floor to let his black fitted tee breathe, and his hands initiate unbuttoning your blouse. He then slithers it down to the bottom of your long pencil skirt to pull up, greeting your undergarments with his digits. You jerk at the contact of his middle finger that presses on the damp spot of your panties, earning a faint, salacious laugh from Gojo. 

“Awww, did my baby get wet just from kissing earlier?” He rubs the underwear further, soaking the spot more with your fluids. Your thighs tremble, “Did you miss me that much?”

“Sato—Oooh!” He sinks his finger deeper into your entrance; the material barrier is so wet from your essence seeping through. “Your finger...Mmm.”

“What is it, cutie?” He whispers to your ear, and you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a moan. “You want my fingers?” You nod sheepishly, amusing the snow-haired man. “Now, Y/n, you know I want to hear you tell me what you want. Use your words, princess.”

You gulp to satiate your dry throat. “Yess, Satoruu, I want your fingers. Please, let me cum on your fingers…”

“That’s my angel,” he praises before straightening himself between your sheer pantyhose-covered legs. After sliding your damp panties off, he brings a leg to his shoulder and finally slides his blindfold off his face, his hair losing its spiky position and falling with gravity. Cerulean eyes catch a glimpse of your wet cunt in his sights, biting his lip. “Made such a pretty mess all for me, huh.”

His hand returns to your now bare chasm, sliding his ring and middle finger between your soaking folds. You hum to the touch, gripping on your blouse to use as reins. After a few seconds, he inserts the middle digit inside, immediately going to work after he pulls a gasp from your surprised body.

Slow motions sneak up on you, scraping your velvet texture with the blunt fingertip. His slender digit pushed and pulled from inside you, making sure you took him to the knuckle. He swirls it around, evoking shaky screams from him, scratching your inner walls so diligently. And your eyebrows furrow once the movement quickens.

“Hooohh, ohhh!” You threw your head back to the pillows. “Ahhnn, faster, go faster…”

“Hmm? You want me to go faster?” He teases with a perched brow. He does as asked, but with a catch; he sneaks his ring finger inside with your slick as lube. You shriek, two fingers now ravaging your insides and pleasing you with faster shifts. “Like this?” Did you even have to answer that; were you gripping the sheets and hips moving on their own not enough?

“Oooo, fuahhh, fuuckk, ‘Toru, nooo, y’re making me…Hoohh!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he kisses your calf before placing his lips on your ankle to lick playfully. “Just let me make you feel all good.”

Fuck did Gojo miss this; it’s been more than a week since he’s had his hands on your body like this. The constant meetings have almost made him forget the warmth and plush of your frame. He needed this, like, BAD. He’s barely containing himself now; the image of your slit taking his fingers so well is bubbling his excitement, and the tent of his pants that shields a boner grows painfully hornier.

You were bound to cum on his fingers in no time, howling with an arched back when he does the ‘come hither’ motion and scrapes your inner walls. They contract around his digits as your legs tremble with the surge of your orgasm. Gojo loves the sight and stirs the fingers to tease your keen nerves more. “Good job, sweetie,” he kisses your ankle again while slowly removing his fingers from you, inserting them inside his mouth to lather his tongue with your juices. He almost caves in just from the taste.

But a sudden buzz in the pocket of his pants alerts him. He brings out his phone ringing with a call and presses the green button before pressing the device to his ear. “Yo, Ijichi.”

“Ah, thank goodness you picked up. Where are you; the meeting starts in a few minutes.”

“Mmm, I’m at Y/n’s,” even if you’re in a tiny daze, your face morphed into an expression of shock at his nonchalant honesty. “I’m only here to grab something real quick, and then I’ll head back to the school.”

“Are you sure…?”

He laughs, “Now, Ijichi, are you calling me a liar?”

That was precisely what he was — a whole liar.

“—Taahh, ahhhn, Sa’oruuuuu! Yer hitting shoo deep in—Saaahh!!”

It’s been a solid fifteen minutes after that call with Ijichi, and Gojo is still in the confines of your bedroom. He was very much late; of course, he was. Why would he not be? He finally has this chance to have you to himself, so he’s indulging it however long he wishes.

Gojo ripped you out of your clothes to meet with his clothing on the floor, leaving you bare and nude for him aside from your pantyhose. You’re lying on your side with one leg up on Gojo’s shoulder while the other is between his, and his cock now pushing to and fro inside your chasm that was filled with his come. 

His thrusts were sharp and rough, the curve of his dick jabbing areas in your vagina you never thought would be stimulated. Jesus, his length was dangerous, having you babbling incoherent words to the air and reaching so deep inside that you quaked under him. Your brain is stuck in a haze, especially since this is the second time he’s fucking inside you and made you cum a total of three times!

“Ohhmy, Gohhhd! Sato—Ohhhh…!!” He grasps around your leg to plunge himself further and faster, the work of his pelvis having you see stars.

“Hsshhh, God, you feel so fucking good, baby,” he coos sweetly, juxtaposing with the erratic pace of his hips that move your figure with every rut. Azure orbs take in the display before him; your naked body submitted to him to alleviate his week-long stress and please the both of you. Strands of his silverfish-white hair are drenched from the sweat built on his forehead. “—Hmmgh! Shit…keep clamping onto me like that.”

You chew on your lip, sneaking a hand down on your clitoris to whisk your fingers around it. Oh, it feels so good, playing with yourself as your boyfriend massages your insides. “Mmaaah, s’ good...”

“Hmm, what’s that?” His hips now go slow; the stretch his curve causes when entering inside has your toes curl. “What feels good?” He then snaps his pelvis to startle you.

“—Mmmph!! You! Y’u feel so good, ‘Toruuu..!”

“Heh, you feel amazing yourself, Y/n,” returning to an erratic rhythm, Gojo pumps his cock til the base kisses your squelching folds. His balls smack onto you after every push. He then curves downward for his face to be closer for you to hear him, “Hmmnn, you gonna be good and come again, right?”

You nod cursorily, your eyes shut to enhance the feeling of you rubbing on your bud. “Yesshh, I’m so close, I wanna cum…Want you to fill me u—Uuuhhn!!”

“Jesus, you look so fucking hot,” he grins before bringing his mouth to your nipple, his tongue dancing around the tip to harden. “Let’s cum together, okay, cutie?”

He sucks in your nipple as his thrusts go grim, and severe hits to your cunt result in you wailing far from your control. The tip of his cock picks at your silky walls so euphorically that you hum his name. A hand comes to your chest to keep you steady and synced with him, and he keeps rutting into you even when his body shudders as his load is exerted inside your tight slit. And you’re not far from him either; your orgasm seconds away from his hits you hard, and you quiver in the shocks coursing through your body.

As you two rock slowly through your crescendos, your essence mixes with his seed, and your sweaty bodies heave and pant for the third time this session. Gojo releases your nipple from his mouth after withdrawing his dick from inside, and his jizz seeps out of your frame. “Phew, man, how I needed that.”

You respond despite your brain feeling a bit all over the place. “Are you happy now?”

He laughs while kissing your cheek. “Thank you, princess!”

“You’re welcome, Toru,” you shook your head with a meek smile. “But you really should get going; I don’t want you getting in trouble with—“

KNOCK!! KNOCK!! KNOCK!!

An abrupt sound comes from the front door, confusing the both of you as the knock comes from out of nowhere. Nonetheless, you get up and wipe yourself quickly before putting your clothes back on. Gojo does the same as you walk out of the bedroom to see who’s at your door. And once you open the door, your heart meets your stomach.

“Y/n,” it was Yaga, the principal adorning his usual attire and sunglasses.

“Principal Yaga,” you greeted the older man with a hurried bow. “Wh–What can I do for you—“

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Your lips flatten at the question, using the silence to speak for itself as you move out of the way for the principal to enter. Yaga apologizes for the intrusion before marching into your apartment and presumably going after the person still in your bedroom, who lets out an exclaimed shout of pain from what you can assume was from a punch to the head from his old teacher. 

The former instructor strolls back to the front door where you remained; Gojo is dragged on the floor behind him. “Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Yaga puts his shoes back on before exiting your home. You observe the men leave with a heavy sigh, waving goodbye to your snow-haired sorcerer as he’s pulled across the hall like a toddler.

“See ya, sweetie,” he cries out to you without regard to the neighbors hearing him, putting his blindfold back on. “I miss you already!”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagines #anime smut

[coeluvr]

Frequently Asked Questions

Hello! There have been a lot of repeated asks and I wanted to answer them once and for all so I don't clog the dashboard with the same thing over and over. :)

What is the purpose of MC being a child in the beginning?

I wanted MC to be at their most vulnerable place possible so MC is a child in the beginning. In Chapter 2 there is a timeskip to when they are 15 and then in Chapter 3 they become 20.

Does MC have to become the Royal Consort?

Yes.

How many books will there be?

I'm planning on this being a duology!

Will we be able to choose X, Y, and Z?

Regarding the MC, you will be able to choose the following:

Appearance except for their eyes which are red by default. *

Pronouns

Gender identity

Type of compliments they prefer

Type of clothing they wear

Tattoos / Scars

Coping mechanisms **

Personality and Public Image

The things that are set are:

MC's age

MC's eye color *

Due to the events of the story, your MC will want revenge at the beginning of the story no matter what. ***

* Why are MC's eyes red by default?

Each of the royal families has a signature eye color, MC's family's eye color is red. Eye color is extremely important in this story.

** What kind of coping mechanisms are there?

Here is a list of the current unhealthy coping mechanisms:

Substance Abuse, mainly alcohol.

Sleeping too much

Not Sleeping at all

Overworking

Taking Unnecessary Risks

Excessive amounts of Sexual Acts

Self Care being nonexistent

Excessive Spending

Here is a list of hobbies that are considered a coping mechanism if your MC does not have an unhealthy coping mechanism:

Dancing

Singing

Playing instruments

Cooking / Baking

Hunting

Forging weapons

Gardening

Painting

Writing

Reading

How many can I choose?

You can choose:

2 hobbies = 2 healthy coping mechanisms, mostly treated as hobbies

1 hobby + 1 unhealthy coping mechanism

1 hobby + 2 unhealthy coping mechanisms

Is this mandatory?

Your MC must have a hobby but they do not have to have an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Which unhealthy coping mechanism is the worst for each RO's route?

I'm not a fan of spoilers and I think it will be much more interesting to see for yourself later on.

*** Why is MC set on revenge in the beginning of the story?

MC lost their entire life at the hands of Luceris and then got forced into the role of the Royal Consort. It wouldn't make sense, to me (the author), if young MC didn't want any sort of retribution.

Can MC decide not to pursue revenge once they are older?

Yes.

Just to make sure, there is a path of revenge in this IF, right?

Please read the intro post and what I wrote above.

Quick answer: Yes.

So MC can kill Luceris as revenge?

Yes. This is the only possible death I will confirm so please do not ask me about the other characters.

Can MC do X, Y, and Z as a form of revenge?

Why don't you play and find out?

At least tell us if MC can romance Helios for revenge.

Yes, that will be possible.

If MC does that, can they also genuinely romance someone else?

No. The ROs are all on friendly-ish terms with each other and would not have that type of relationship with MC if they were playing around with Helios.

Remember, the routes WILL lock at some point, until then everyone is free game.

MC will be able to have flings / one-night stands in any route though.

Who can we have a fling with?

The following list will be updated as characters are introduced:

Lord Eadred / Lady Eadith

The others have not been introduced yet!

Is romance mandatory?

No.

Does MC have to engage in [insert immoral things]?

No.

Isn't MC being the Consort of a grown man weird?

Yes, it is. People in the story do not think it is normal or acceptable.

It is supposed to make you feel uncomfortable.

For some reason a Luceris x MC romance sounds good...

Absolutely not. If you send me an ask with this type of content you will be blocked.

Is NSFW allowed?

Yes.

Can I call Hunter [insert gendered term]?

Sure but I will not answer asks in which they aren't referred as they/them. I don't want people to think they are a specific gender in my head.

Why is Hunter's route so angsty?

Wait and see!

Does every route have angst?

Yes. Even the ones that are "easy" :)

When's the next update coming?

When it's ready!

Wait... Did I miss an update?

Please check the game's itch.io page and take a look at the posts. I will always post something to let everyone know about updates or other extra content.

You should add the game to your collection to receive notifications of posts.

When does MC become an adult in the main story?

As I mentioned before, MC is 20 in Chapter 3.

Can you add [customizable thing]?

You can suggest it but I can't promise anything.

Can we draw the characters and imagine them differently?

Yes, you can draw them.

Yes, you can imagine differently as long as it does not whitewash any characters. I don't want to see fair white pale skin Luceris/Helios/Fadiya/Hunter.

Yes, I've seen it before and hated it.

Can we write fanfiction?

Yes! I won't interact with it to protect myself so please don't send it to me.

Can we create other types of fanworks?

Yes!

You don't answer my questions.

Sorry! For a better understanding of what I answer and what I do not answer see my ask guidelines.

How would the ROs react to X, Y, and Z?

I'm guessing you didn't read my ask guidelines.

All the asks are very appreciated, but I'm afraid you will be disappointed if you send me these because I won't answer.

[Any theory]

I love reading them so keep them coming but I will no longer post them!

If you wish for others to see it and discuss it with you, I suggest joining the Official Discord Server.

This whole thing is problematic to me.

Great, this is supposed to have problematic elements and none of the characters are saints.

Why can't we choose [insert thing + complaining]?

Please write fanfiction or something else and do not come to me to complain.

Are Luceris and Lancelot just friends?

Stick around and find out.

Luceris or Lancelot romance route when?

They were adults when MC was a child. I would rather die than write that.

Luceris is a loser pedo!

He is a loser but not the latter. He doesn't find any children attractive. Hope that clears things up! :)

Well then... you're the pedo!

Please look up what that word means and stop throwing it around.

I don't like this.

Don't read it. :)

Can I give you [insert gift]?

It makes me extremely uncomfortable so I would prefer it if people didn't gift me things. If you wish to support me please do it through Ko-Fi, Patreon, or Itch.io donations.

[Any rude comment]

I don't care.

[Any praise or jokes]

I might not reply but I read all of them! Thank you for being here. 💗

That's all I can think of right now. This will be updated as I remember more.

Don't hesitate to send me asks that weren't answered here!

#faq #interactive fiction #crown of ashes and flames #last updated: #sept 29

[tornrose24]

I’ve been rewatching The Ghost and Molly McGee and have concluded watching season 1. These are my thoughts and observations:

-I love how Scratch slowly warms up to Molly across the season and it is easier to catch when you watch the episodes in order. From going to a complete jerk, to valuing her friendship, to caring about how she views him, to not wanting to lose her.

-I also love how this show’s art style is like a storybook come to life in every shot.

-It makes even more sense as to why Scratch haunts Adia’s old home. Todd’s soul gravitated to the one place in Brighton that held happy memories for him, where life had yet to turn him into an anxious, fearful adult. It was a safe space for him, and he was mad when a family managed to move in and invade it. Especially Molly specifically moving into his personal room/the safest spot in the house for him.

-Molly and Scratch are BOTH horrible liars. It’s funny how similar they are in that detail, and it’s even funnier if they call each other out on it.

-Scratch is an absolute asshole to a lot of people and enjoys seeing them suffer during this season, but I think that partly stems from a ‘I was/am miserable so I like seeing others suffer.’

-I’d say Molly’s worst episode is the Snow Day episode (not listening to what everyone else wants to do) and Scratch’s worst episode is the Internship episode (taking advantage of an intern to do basic, unhelpful tasks and being a bigger asshole than usual).

-Molly nearly dies 4 times (the machine during ‘Friend off,’ was willing to catch hypothermia in order to have fun in the snow, was almost hit by the truck, and was nearly sliced in half by Jinx).

-Scratch, Mr. ‘So afraid of dying that I never lived a day’…. Gets trampled by animals, eats poison berries, gets hit by a tour bus, gets blended by the machine from ‘Friend off,’ and is sliced in half by Jinx among all the possible things that WOULD have killed him in this season if he hadn’t been a ghost at the time.

-In ‘Very Hungry Ghost’ Scratch doesn’t get to eat any of the food intended for the ghosts. Because he wasn’t fully a ghost, that feast was not meant to be eaten by him.

-I admit I have yet to catch Scratch’s ‘nervous habit of scratching his arm’ during these episodes.

-There’s a recurring theme of the adult characters regaining their passion for something they once loved in a few episodes.

-However I also appreciate showing very realistic struggles, like financial concerns and how you can’t magically restore your community and town to its glory days without some effort put into it.

-Libby’s mom can be seen as an early cameo during ‘The (Un)natural.’ Of course, she would be there for her daughter ^_^

-I’m not a huge fan of the Christmas episode (never rewatched it until now) but GOD do I love the pink sky they use against the Christmas decorations and snow.

-In Pete’s news article in ‘Twin Trouble’, it mentions that other city planners mysteriously disappeared. However, I don’t think the show EVER addressed that, because such a story fascinated me and made me wonder if there was more to Brighton than meets the eye.

-There was a wasted opportunity in not discussing who or WHAT The Chairman was. Was this mystery meant for season 3?

-Scratch mentioning that he is dead throughout the show hits differently now that we know its quite the opposite. So does seeing him having to do mandatory things for the ghost world that he technically shouldn’t NEED to be doing at that moment.

-So does his interactions with Geoff. Oh boy.

-Was Scratch specifically assigned to scare Brighton? What about the other ghosts from there, like the Tugbottom siblings? Howlin Harriet? Sonia? Why don’t we see them doing their job as much as Scratch has to?

-The sheer irony of Scratch believing that he didn’t have any fears in ‘Scaring is Caring’ only for fear to be the reason WHY he was a ghost to begin with. Once again, there’s a hell of a difference between ‘Scratch as a human being afraid of everything’ and ‘Scratch as a ghost being afraid of losing Molly and would do anything to save her.’

-No seriously, it gets to a point where Scratch risks his existence to save Molly in this season and in the next one-if he had been human, he would have been willing to die for her.

-‘All Night Plight’ is an episode I hadn’t rewatched until recently. And it hits a LOT differently this time around. Molly wanted to form a forever memory with Libby and Scratch by seeing that comet and she managed to win over Scratch who went above and beyond to ensure that was possible. While that memory is now somewhere hidden in Scratch’s mind as a living person, this episode likely was one of the events needed to push him into becoming someone who would take chances and embrace life upon coming back to life.

-Considering the number of times Molly almost dies, it would have been one thing if Scratch didn’t take it too well if he failed to save Molly. But if he learned that he was the one who had the chance to come back to life and not her? Yeah, that would have seriously wrecked his mental state.

-That moment when you realize that it was TWO souls hovering on the edge between life and death that changed everything in the Ghost World. Also I could be wrong, but I caught that Molly AND Scratch both have a brighter glow compared to most other ghosts in the Ghost World. Was this stealth foreshadowing, or just a coincidence?

-Scratch’s declaration that knowing Molly was the highlight of his afterlife. That moment when you realize Molly brought him joy after years of being miserable as both a ghost and as a human. This girl reached out to him and was able to get him to open up when no one else did. This girl who is showing him how to truly live once more. This girl who he openly declares to be his friend no matter what others will think.

-When I see Wraith!Molly hugging Libby and Scratch, I just wonder ‘WHY DOES MOLLY HAVE 3 ARMS?!’

-As good as this show is, a lot of folks who watch these Disney Channel shows are likely used to the more story-oriented shows. While the ‘slice of life’ style for TGAMM did pay off, the slow pace and length it took for the episodes to release likely worked against it and I could see why it didn’t attract more viewers at the time.

Stuff relating to Todd:

-Scratch possesses people a lot in this show, but especially in season 1. I’m reminded of someone who talked about the wraith theory on YouTube and he had this guess that Scratch might someday possess Todd and then realize something is different this time. I think that having Scratch use the possession trick so often was building up to that one moment in the last episode because it WAS a matter of time until he possessed Todd.

-As I said in a previous post, I caught Todd in the stands during The (Un)Natural, which was his ACTUAL debut episode. It was easy to miss the first time, but its a noticeable establishing character moment since he’s the only audience member who is visibly NOT happy despite that the team is winning.

-Molly stopping at Todd’s house during the song montage in the bandshell episode hits a lot differently now after the series finale. But then I laughed when she smacked him in the face with a flyer upon stopping by the house a second time in the same episode.

-We have confirmation that Scratch (as Todd) knew the mayor when they were kids and that is a tale I’m very curious about.

-I caught Todd in the audience during ‘Citizen McGee’ when the mayor bestows the honor of being mayor for a day to Molly. I admit a cynical side of me thinks that this is how he actually remembers her name in the last episode…. But at the same time he was so on auto-pilot during that time that he likely wouldn’t pay much attention or remember those events that well. (Plus, you can’t be expected to remember someone’s name once all the time). I refuse to believe that he remembered this event and that Scratch’s memories were what actually triggered the name.

-Todd’s actual lines are very limited (I don’t think he gets many in season 2 compared to this one). While Dana Snyder was voicing him, Snyder lowered his voice so much that it’s really hard to tell that he’s the one voicing Todd. I keep putting my ear to my computer to listen, but Todd barely sounds like Dana. I think they did this on purpose to avoid making it too obvious that Todd IS Scratch. (And that’s probably why he doesn’t talk as much in season 2…. Until the last episode of course).

-The Internship seems to double as foreshadowing, and not just because Todd appears or that his ‘junk’ held some very crucial clues. Molly believes that the pawnshop is where happy memories go to die while Weird Larry assures her that it’s where memories can be reborn into something new. So… is the pawnshop a metaphor for Scratch’s own depression causing his ‘death’ and how he’ll be resurrected into a happier person?

#the ghost and molly mcgee #the ghost and molly mcgee spoilers #i'll need a break before i rewatch all of season 2 #molly mcgee #scratch the ghost #todd mortenson

[aristotels]

croatian political opinions are so funny to me, there is no bipolar nation like this one. you can literally pick a man from the street and he will hold all these opinions simultaneously as true: fuck putin and russia, but also the usa is the worst nation on the earth and should be destroyed, and also its actually good that putin is standing up to them because someone should. usa should get out of middle east but also its good to have a world policeman but also who the hell are they to think they should be a world policeman, why do they think the world is their playground. west is so developed and we should all emigrate there because we can get jobs as plumbers but imigrants shouldnt come here because theyre taking jobs. at the same time west is terrible, but we should be a western country. things were better in yugoslavia but also it was a criminal state and we should kill all communists, but also the government should pay for everything and its ridiculous that it wont. socialism is a travesty but we should all get jobs in the govt offices and we should have more of those jobs, and there is so much bureaucracy but he hired a cousin in the city administration. capitalism is even worse than socialism though and it has ruined our lives, but the solution to it isnt socialism, but we should have a socialist state just not call it that way. in yugoslavia you couldnt vote for a new president but we should end all the elections because they waste money and nobody ever does anything, why are we paying for them. eu is terrible but also we are better than serbs because we are in the eu but also why is eu opressing us and why are we a part of it and why dont we get out, also if you want money you should apply for eu funds. we should all be paid in euros but it shouldnt be a national currency. he loves milanović and votes for hdz at the same time and hates the hdz prime minister because he is a dictator and should be removed, but also he will vote for hdz on the next elections because he wants a job in the city administration. he thinks that this is a third world country but if someone else says that, its not. immigrants should get out, except for his buddy who immigrated into croatia because he is an exception and is a cool guy so thats different. doctors shouldnt get bigger salaries but they should also stop being traitors and emigrating, but half of his family has emigrated to ireland. also ukrainian immigrants should get out of the country, however half of his family left for canada during 90es. we should bring back the mandatory military service, he avoided it because he had anemia. the prices here are too high to survive but we should increase them when tourist season comes and why are people complaining about the restaurant prices, if they cant afford them they shouldnt eat there, also he hasnt been to a restaurant in 10 years. look how developed slovenia is, theyre doing it right, but also we hate them, why do they think theyre better than us.

insane nation

[praisethesuuun]

Ok, maybe this request has already appeared on another blog. But my request is for Poseidon with an Amaterasu priestess. Her family was of high social and economic hierarchy in Japan, being her only female daughter they offered her to the Ise Jingu (Great Shrine of Amaterasu). She where she suffered many physical and mental abuse, including confinement, demanded by her family from the monks and senior priestesses if her daughter was not perfect to the letter in her demands. During one of her punishments in isolation from her, Amaterasu adopted her as her daughter and was with her, until she fatally died in the temple because of the monks and a demon. In her life in Valhalla, she attended a party after Ragnarok with her mother Amaterasu. And that's where Poseidon saw her and became interested in her. But Amaterasu kept him at a distance, because she knew of Poseidon's problem (cough-fetish-cough) with virgin priestesses. But Poseidon was worth half a melon and he kidnapped the priestess to court. she and/n her rejected Poseidon over and over again because he was a married man (Amphitrite), and that man did not cause her confidence. Trying every day the priestess to escape from Poseidon's residence and return to her mother. While Amaterasu was about to rip off Hades' head for defending her brother, he kidnaps daughters (mmmm…it runs in the family I guess) (Please let him escape, it doesn't come to my mind how, but let him escape from the crazy king of the seas)

if it is very long you can reject it, good night. (*￣3￣)╭❤

Anon, I'm happy to announce that I finally finished it! I did my best, I swear and I hope you like it❤️ Plus, it was very funny to mock Poseidon eheh

Poseidon x priestess!reader: the Song of the Sun

Type: angst, with an happy ending

Warnings: abuse, violence, kidnapping

Some things cannot be forgotten. Humankind has a dark, hidden and scary side; made up of vices and deadly sins. The man hides it behind a second face, a mask that tends to slowly crumble, making the malice overflow like a river in flood, and sadly you found out the hard way.

Sometimes memories come back to the surface, making your scars burn like never before, a bitter pain, like the taste of blood. Your mind was ruthless with you, making you relive those memories despite being in Heaven, maybe humanity is not a race made to be happy, the gods know it and that's why they deny total salvation: when you no longer have a body, the soul takes over and clings to all that remains of earthly life, assimilating beautiful things and ugly ones with them. If you think about it, this is precisely the mechanism that allows ghosts to take the shape they had in their past life, that damned mandatory condition that had "materialized" the marks you had on your body.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, my dear"

A voice roused you from your thoughts, making you raise your head towards the door of the great hall of the temple. Your eyes soften at the spiritual vision before you: your holy mother, the sun that shines in the sky in the morning illuminating the few remaining traces of the night stars. "I'm sorry, Amaterasu-sama"

The fleshy lips of the deity arched into a slight smile, the bearer of deep compassion: Amaterasu had decided to make you her eldest priestess and favorite daughter, she loved you with all her heart, especially after witnessing all the prayers you dedicated to her in the evening, asking her to save you from that horrible place you called "home". She had treated your wounds like the mother you never had, visiting you in the rooms of your old temple, healing every cut with a simple touch; she would listen to you with pleasure as you let off steam and yelled at your monster parents. How could he not protect you under his wing? A little priestess who kept praying to her, despite knowing only the worst of her religion.

"What is bothering you, my little ray of sunshine?"

You always blushed whenever she called you that: since you never received parental affection, you attached yourself to any sign of affection that made you feel special, wanted. "Just old memories, that's all, but your light scared them, like always!"

Your ability to laugh had always fascinated her, it is no coincidence that you were her best worshiper, worthy of being in contact with her. All those little remarks distracted Amaterasu from the real reason she came to you; so he composed himself, approaching your smallest figure, lowering himself until his long black hair touched your face, then she talked: "The Greek pantheon has thrown a party after the legendary event of Ragnarok, we are required to attend"

Your heart skipped a beat. Your concerns were well founded since you were a human, but you were spared thanks to the protection of your goddess. True, she would have shielded you, but even a strong deity like her could do nothing against the onslaught of different Pantheons, so you limited yourself to praying, entrusting your protection to the goddess of sun light. "I understand, mother"

"Good, now go and rest, tomorrow will be hard" she said, before disappearing behind her snow-colored dress, retreating to the other side of the temple and leaving you alone, in the large room full of golden statuettes and scarlet tapestries. You stood up, abandoning your prayer position, and once you had fixed the sun-shaped hair clip in your hair, you decided to follow Amaterasu's advice. Who knows what the gods would have thought about your presence? Suddenly, the room became cold or maybe it was the shiver down your spine that was? It didn't matter, the only important thing now was to think about not making the gods angry the next day, keeping quiet and attracting as little attention as possible, maybe you would have worn a mask too, posing as a minor deity; no, they would surely find out. "Ah! How the hell am I supposed to do it?"

Your only consolation was being able to change the air once in a while: staying all day at the temple could be boring and monotonous; due to the dangers you ran living there, Amaterasu was very protective of you. The party would have been one of the few occasions in which you had been allowed to cross the walls that surround the house. Don't get me wrong, you loved to stay there - especially in the sunflower area - but every once in a while you felt like exploring Valhalla, the Garden of Eden and the temples that grace it.

You sighed, deciding to sleep on it, hoping for peaceful dreams and begging that fortune would listen to you. The bed in your room was soft, with white sheets scented with incense, while the red walls were adorned with sacred objects and golden rays; it had seemed heavy to you at first, more like a ceremonial chamber than a bedroom, yet you slept so blissfully in it! Every time you realized where you were and your current rank you felt so proud of yourself: despite the pain - and also thanks to that - you had fallen into the arms of your goddess; that thought was enough to give you peaceful dreams.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"My lady! Are you sure about that?" you said, while Amaterasu continued to put one dress after another on you, having fun dressing you up as if you were her doll. Every cloth he put on you was precious, the hems were adorned with precious and colored stones, while the softness of the best cotton in all of Heaven caressed your hips, gracefully descending to the ground. Given your rank as a high priestess, you had to maintain your purity, your soul must not suffer any kind of stain or sin, so Amaterasu had been very careful to cover every part of your body - even if in reality she had done it for not making you uncomfortable with the scars. It was a way to respect you and your body.

"Of course! You'll see, even Aphrodite will be jealous of you" Amaterasu answered, while she was intent on braiding your hair properly, using your usual sun clip and small bundles of pearls, which were alternated with the strands, creating a pleasant play of light. Perfect, just the thing you absolutely didn't need, but you didn't feel like telling your mother the truth...she was having so much fun.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying yourself too: all that attention was nice, plus you wanted to look pretty too once in a while, you died young after all. All those colors were magnificent, not to mention the Chihayas that the goddess was presenting to you. It was like a dream for you, you were about to have that experience you've never had before: your parents refused to let you go free, just like the other temple priests; this meant a lifetime of watching other children enjoy themselves from a distance, without going to festivals with them and without weaving flower crowns.

"You look happy, my daughter"

"Maybe, just maybe, this party won't be so bad..."

A loud laugh escaped Amaterasu's lips, so loud that it echoed throughout the temple. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped in amazement, the sun goddess had always been very loud and full of life, but you didn't expect such a reaction. "Of course it won't! If you were concerned about your human nature, then don't worry, everyone will be too drunk to find out anyway"

You smiled, sincerely. "So, I trust you"

"And then, maybe you'll meet some handsome god ready to pay court to you~"

"Mom!"

Your cheeks tinted with pure embarrassment, becoming the same color as the flake around your hips. You had forgotten how spontaneous the goddess could be, she had really caught you in the bag and you no longer knew what to answer. The only thing that occurred to you to do was to hide your face in your hands, trying to hide your emotions, but Amaterasu didn't stop giggling, stroking your back lovingly. After all, there was nothing to be ashamed of if you wanted to get to know other deities: your mother only wanted the best for you, she knew that sooner or later your adolescence would fully invest you and she could not have done anything to avoid it. You deserved to be happy and live the life you never had, even though you were a priestess. Before being a goddess, she is your mother and would do whatever it took to see you smile; in addition, some of the looks that the gods had turned to her little girl certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Uncover your face, my darling, and put on some powder, we'll be leaving soon" Amaterasu said, assuming a calmer and more peaceful tone, clearly in contrast with the previous one. You nodded, starting to pass the candid powder on your face, stopping from time to time to observe your figure. Your mother had really dressed you up like a doll, you were adorable in your white kimono with reddish patterns, which reminded you of sunbeams and stars. For the first time in a long time, you felt beautiful, thinking about who you really were and not the scarred skin under your clothes. Suddenly, an annoyed growl from the goddess roused you from your thoughts, moving your eyes (e/c) in her direction. "What's going on, mother?" you asked in a calm voice, trying not to anger her further. When angry, Amaterasu-sama was frightening: she darkened the sun condemning to the deepest darkness, locking up anyone who provoked her in a prison of shadows. Your teeth were chattering just thinking about it.

"Only your uncle...stupid Susanoo"

Oh yeah, those two had been at war since the rice paddies incident - but that's another story.

Apparently, he wasted no time arguing with Amaterasu, as the latter still didn't understand why he wanted to accompany you. Then, she remembered that he is a god too and that it would be safest for you to travel with both of them. "I'm just saying this for her own good, she's my niece, I love her too" said the storm god, ready to escort you en route to Olympus. You didn't mind his company, you didn't talk too much, but those few times you were able to hold a conversation with him, the god assumed an attitude of respect and affection. The truth was that your mother had told him your story and Susanoo had accepted his role as an uncle without a second thought, he would have protected you, you were family now.

"Let's get moving," concluded the sun goddess with a dark aura around her, her bright eyes covered in darkness. "Don't worry about her, little priestess" sighed the other, beckoning you to follow him out of the temple. You couldn't find the right words to answer, so you didn't say anything. Those two were awful when they got into a cat-and-mouse game, pulling you in the middle every now and then, wondering who was right and who was wrong, even if you've always shown yourself to be neutral; every now and then, you wondered how you found yourself in the middle of two deities - very powerful, by the way - acting as mediator. 'Destiny plays tricks sometimes' you thought as you walked through the beautiful gardens surrounding the temple. That day would have been one of the most important challenges of your life, may luck send you good luck!

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Meanwhile, on the top of Olympus, Hermes was busy welcoming every deities who presented themselves to the Greek mountain. He always got excited whenever all the gods were gathered, whether it was a party or a meeting, something interesting always came out of it - like the destruction of mankind. His blood-colored irises scanned the area for problems, but found none. "Perfection"

But as always, everything was going too well. It was his father Zeus who broke that balance, who called him to a table where he and his brothers were gathered. That family was as chaotic as it was diverse: the father of the gods did nothing but drink, downing glass after glass as if there was no tomorrow; Persephone was beside her husband, while Hades stood in silence, but with a serene smile crowning his angelic face, atypical of a king of the Underworld; and then, there was Poseidon and his wife Amphitrite, the most lopsided couple in all of creation. They had been the focus of gossip for weeks, given Poseidon's disinterest in his love life and the needs of his wife. There were even rumors that she planned to cheat on him, but in reality, the sweet queen of the seas still clung to the hope of saving her marriage.

"Do you need anything, Lord Zeus?" asked the god messenger, approaching him with his usual friendly and apathetic smile. "More wine, my son!"

"If you continue like this, we should start calling you Dionysus" said Hades, eliciting laughter from Aphrodite and Amphitrite, who were seated close together and with a half-empty goblet in their hands.

Suddenly, the rumble of thunder shifted the attention of all the guests to the doors of the great temple, where three figures could be glimpsed from a dark, stormy cloud full of rain. In a few seconds, the mysterious cloud was swept away by a gust of wind so powerful as to mess up those who were nearby, dissolving that blue curtain and revealing three figures: you, Amaterasu-sama and Susanoo-sama. Your gown and the pearls in your hair gleamed in the sunlight, much brighter after the arrival of your mother, who radiated solemnity and elegance. Your entrance amazed; the three most precious Japanese treasures of their pantheon, simply wonderful. Aphrodite, at the sight of Amaterasu's candid dress, had already started to puff and show her chest - more than she already did -, while Zeus had hearts instead of eyes and hoped not to be pecked by Hera. But a spontaneous question had arisen in all those present: who was the mysterious damsel?

"Who is that?" asked Persephone, as she observed your figure curiously, much smaller than those accompanying you. Thus, she wasted no time in approaching, abandoning the table where she was sitting, the smile never left her face, in fact, it widened as soon as she saw you blush once you realized what was about to happen. "Hello! Nice hair, what's your name?"

Your brain sent a warning signal to the rest of your body, but you still decided to keep calm. No errors, not even one.

"My name is Y/N, it's my pleasure" you replied with a small bow, a small gesture, but suitable for increasing the sympathy of a deity towards you. Over time, you learned that by doing so, the gods would think you were easy going or a staunch believer; leaving you alone. It seemed that this little trick hit Persephone's heart, and she wasted no time in dragging you along. In your panic, you couldn't utter a single word of disapproval, while Amaterasu watched the scene in amusement, wishing you good luck with a wink.

"Go and enjoy yourself, dear daughter!"

"Mother, you traitor!"

But the goddess who held your arm was so amazed by you: you looked so naive and pure, not to mention your grace and mysterious figure, it was impossible to resist you. "Look who I brought?", Persephone spoke enthusiastically, making space on the sofa on which she sat previously, positioning you - or rather, crushing you - between you and the queen of the seas. Hades looked up, gave you a slight smile, before returning his attention to Zeus, who was so drunk that he didn't even notice your presence. Amphitrite introduced herself cordially, slightly lifting the voluminous skirt of her green-blue dress. "I've heard of you, you're Lady Amaterasu's daughter! You look so pretty" the latter broke the silence, looking at you with her violet eyes. The three of you continued to talk, even though in reality, for you, it was just a matter of answering their questions. You were so taken by the two queens that you didn't notice the interested look of a certain tyrant of the seas: not surprisingly, in the eyes of Poseidon you appeared perfect, with your delicate ways, never hesitating or stammering even once, maintaining your composure. But the thing that attracted him the most was your purity, your not having been touched yet. Your soul was white, untouched, something more unique than rare in the midst of that vortex of vice in which the other gods had sunk. You were stunning.

Poseidon was careful not to show his interest, casually sipping his white wine, watching the dance floor and the celebrations of the others...

But, in reality, he was memorizing your every word, imprinting every minute detail on his memory, absorbing informations like a sponge does with water. The only entity to notice his interest was your mother herself, who knew well the tendencies - cough pervections cough - of the god of the seas, worrying. "Brother" she called to Susanoo beside her, too busy drinking a flask of sake to pay attention to the table of rulers; so he slapped him on the back of the head to revive him from his hangover. "Poseidon has his eyes on her"

"Fuck"

"Let's go, now"

Susanoo nodded, leaping to his feet and leaving the area dedicated to the Shinto pantheon, hurrying to rearrange his armour, but refusing to leave the booze. Now Olympus had clouded over, darkening more and more with every step Amaterasu takes towards you; all the gods were fine, anyone - except Zeus, that goes without saying - but not Poseidon, absolutely not him, that terrible fish and ruiner of virgins. With your daughter? Not even in the slightest.

"Darling, let's leave this temple", the sun goddess didn't even leave you time to answer, but there was no need since you literally ran away from your captors: they were making you uncomfortable, with all those questions...

At first, you thought it was simple courtesy, but gods can be just as ruthless as humans, after all they created them; and jealousy was the hardest viper to kill. You weren't stupid, you didn't fall into certain traps, yet you felt slightly proud: you made two queens jealous, you, a simple human. Sweet.

And in no time at all, the cloud returned, again engulfing the three figures and bringing you back to the temple of your only goddess.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"That stupid fish! Who does he think he is? That fuck-"

"That's enough, mother"

It was just the two of you left in your bedroom. Amaterasu had been gossiping about Poseidon for hours and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping; she had explained to you all the reasons for so much hatred, of the rotten blood of his family. His being a "usurper of virgins" had somewhat frightened you, so that saying that the silent ones were always the worst was true. "It's never enough when the subject is him!" your mother yelled, furious, in fact the kingdom where the sun never set, was now plunged into total night.

Three hours had to pass before your sweet words of reassurance convinced the goddess to leave your room, going to rest in her private part of the temple. You were so tired: the party had gone terribly wrong from your point of view and now your only wish was to sink into a deep sleep.

To think otherwise, on the other side of Valhalla, down in the depths of the ocean, was Poseidon; at the party he had discovered the most precious pearl in all the seas, as bright as a rough diamond and as calm as a spring tide. Comparing you and his wife was like comparing a mussel to a prized oyster.

You had to become his, he wouldn't rest until he brought you to his castle. But it pissed him off: this little obsession of his was like a crack in his perfect god image, it was a slow and corrosive disease, like the waves that erode the coasts. He couldn't even imagine your body, Amaterasu had been good at hiding you, but he wanted to picture it, touch it and feel your soft skin under his fingers. "Honey...why don't you come to bed?" Amphitrite whispered to him: she had slipped into a totally white lace set, white, exactly like your dress. You had totally invaded the tyrant of the seas, cornered him and now you were tormenting him; he didn't even spare his wife a glance before exiting his bedroom, trident in hand and an evil shadow covering his face.

Amphitrite remained there, abandoned and alone, in an icy bed. She sobbed, releasing tears she'd been holding back for a long, long time, dreaming of a happy future, one in which she hadn't chained herself to Poseidon. But it was too late for that, so she just cried.

Meanwhile, her husband had already sailed the seas towards the Shinto sun goddess temple, ready to indulge himself and with the remains of the wine to give him the right adrenaline to challenge the sun. A force invaded him, something profound, born partly from the perverse nature of the gods and partly from that gap in strength between you and him.

The night was still long and full of mysteries, and it was time for him to use the Hades technique.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

When you woke up, your eyes widened and your breath caught as soon as you realized you weren't in the temple. The air was cold, the walls pure white marble, while the soft tatami had been replaced by a set of blue and teal tiles. Terrible, sad, imposing. You tried to get up, but your limbs were pinned to the bed you were sitting on. "No, no, please"

Memories of your mortal life came flooding back: your brain began counting down the seconds, a technique you had developed as a child to shorten the pain between strokes. Without realizing it, you began to sweat, sweat staining the sheets beneath you, while your hair stuck to your forehead and neck. Was it a nightmare? A lucid dream? How did you end up there? Help...someone please...

The first tears began to flow. You looked around looking for hope, but from the only window present you couldn't see exactly where you were, but it seemed stormy and dark. Then, some waves, with some fishes? Sea. Oh no, sea.

"Miss, she's awake"

Your swollen eyes fixed on a figure in the dark corner of the room, a greenish-skinned merman. "My name is Proteus, I will assist you in these days, for any need I will be here at your disposal"

"W-wait! Please, where the hell am I?" you sobbed desperate, looking for any kind of consolation or clue. You were in total panic, you wanted your mother and the warm sunlight, your protector Susanoo was gone. "Uncle..."

"Proteus, come out"

A deep voice, it reminded you of a storm in broad daylight. You had never heard his voice, yet Poseidon was unforgettable. His blond locks, his eyes piercing and reflecting the sea of his kingdom, he was beautiful, yet he remained a tyrant; nature was ruthless with even the most perfect gods, ruthlessly ruining them, in the image and likeness of man.

In less than no time, you found him on top of you, looking you up and down as if he wanted to judge you, grabbing your cheeks with one hand and squeezing tightly. You squeaked, forcibly turning your face away in hopes of freeing yourself from his grip, but you felt like a little mouse in the jaws of a python. Hopeless. It was terrible, your world had collapsed, but why did fate hated you so much? You had suffered so much, just to come full circle. Fucking Poseidon, Amaterasu was right, you should have left her by your side instead of convincing her to leave; you felt so stupid and hated the feeling of inferiority, but now the important thing was one: to be able to escape. "Look at me, mortal"

But you didn't want to. "Look at me, I said"

He didn't raise his hands, Poseidon didn't want to hit you, otherwise he would have ruined your perfect face by reddening your skin; he couldn't afford it.

Unfortunately, after years spent in fear, this teaches you things and among them there is a fundamental rule, which is to satisfy the abuser's small requests, so you looked him straight in the eye. In return, the god kissed you, a hungry and possessive kiss, poor in love but rich in violence, so deep as to leave you breathless. "My lord, Lord Hades is waiting in the hall"

Thanks be to the Seven Lucky Gods, Someone had heard your prayers then, and if they had, they had reached someone else as well. Poseidon turned away, annoyance on his face, but said nothing, boxing the door behind him and ordering his butler to lock it. You spat, wiping the taste of that repulsive thing's saliva out of your mouth, trying not to vomit at the thought. Still, a new feeling of determination invaded you, warming your chest and making you grin to yourself: "Amaterasu is coming, prepare for the wrath of the Sun, tyrant of the oceans"

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Meanwhile, a very stressed out Hades was pacing all over his brother's dining room. "I'm a terrible big brother, how could you take me as an example?"

"Well, Persephone married you, so it wasn't bad"

"I can do it, you can't, especially not with the priestess of Amaterasu. You're in trouble, I can't keep lying to her for long"

The ruler of Helleim was right: the sun goddess had already begun to raise a fuss throughout Valhalla, accusing every deity who came under fire, but it was only a matter of time before she ventured into the depths of Poseidon's castle.

As soon as the goddess saw your empty room, she immediately gave the order to her servants to search for you throughout the structure, including the gardens, and then sent Susanoo to patrol Valhalla, while she would go down to Hellheim herself. She had threatened Hades, grabbing him by the collar and silencing his wife with a single look, literally making her tremble with fear. "Where is my daughter, king of the Underworld?"

She had threatened him, her grip burning like fire, while her eyes were filled with anger. He had defended his brother despite everything, even though he knew that Amaterasu-sama would have discovered them anyway. So why not extend your life for a while?

Persephone was furious, she felt teased and humiliated, plus, as if that weren't enough, Hades proved helpless and didn't even defend her. What a shame!

Instead Hades was much worse off than her and wasted no time in rushing to Poseidon.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

She found them. It's over.

Poseidon was the only god left in all of heaven that hadn't been searched, therefore, Hades was asked to piss off - which is equivalent to being dragged out by Amaterasu. Tongues of fire shot their way from behind her, while the sea king was already ready to use his trident, but the goddess was much more powerful than him. "Y/N's prayers are heard from miles away and Hades was stupid enough to come here right after we met. You are one more pathetic than the other"

There, Poseidon lost his mind, his brother was to remain out of the question. He attacked without a second thought, but Amaterasu dodged, striking him painfully in the side. Poseidon coughed up blood, lay on the ground as a searing pain ate his side, so Amaterasu spoke again: "Susanoo is already bringing her home, look at her again and I'll kill you, you filthy piece of shit"

And having said that, she left. "Mother!" you said jumping down from your uncle's arms to run and hug her. "My little ray of sunshine"

You were together again and that was the important thing, from now on he would never leave you or force you to go to any party. You were safe, alive, and that was just fine.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror x you #snv x reader #snv x you #request #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv poseidon #poseidon x reader #poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon

[neo404]

Reader finally decides to come out to his parents but it doesn’t go well so nick holds and comfort hims

I’m here.

Summary: during a dinner with your family on Pascua, your dad asks about girlfriends, if you have one yet, you tell him that you actually have a boyfriend, and his reaction is worst than you thought.

TW: USE OF THE F* SLUR. homophobia, cursing, talk about religion.

Note: It’s quite hard to read, so stay safe reading this one.  

It was our mandatory monthly dinner, since I moved out my parents and siblings insist that we all gather at least once a month to talk about our lives and not grow apart. Tonight was different, my older sister brought his boyfriend with her, and that of course made the topic of partner the focus point tonight.

‘’5 months together, that’s so sweet darling.’’ My mom awed as they talk about how they met, how they started dating and all that bullshit. I have been with Nick 7 months, it will be 8 in a week, I can’t bring him here and brag about how much I love him, how unfair.

‘’What about you? Do you already have a girlfriend?’’ my dad looks at me, a bottle of beer on his hand. ‘’Or are you a player like your old man used to be? You know, it’s normal for boys your age to play around until they find someone to tie them down.’’ He laughs and I try to not make a disgusted face.

‘’No, I’m not ‘playing around’. I’m actually dating someone, he’s a good guy.’’ I mumble and look at my dad dead in the eyes.

‘’What are you talking about? He? A boy, you are dating a guy?’’ he laughs, like it’s some kind of joke.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’No, no son of mine is gay. That’s not how I raised you.’’

‘’How you raise me has nothing to do with who I like.’’

‘’I should have been harder on you, you are disgusting.’’ I know my dad isn’t the sweetest man alive, but that hurted, a lot.

‘’What?’’

‘’Leave my house. I don’t want to see your face! What will the people at church think? That I raised a fucking fag, that my son will burn in hell. No, you are not my son, get the fuck out of here!’’

Tears pool into my eyes, I look at my mother and she’s looking down, tears running down her face. I stand up and run away as fast as I can, tears rushing down my face. I run and run. I realize I was running towards Nicks house; I can’t show up unnoticed. I look at my phone.

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

Whinny Boy. 💜

<Hey. Tell me how was the dinner when it’s over.

<If you want to maybe we can watch a movie on call.

Nick. I’m sorry. I’m outside your house.>

<Hey?

<All good?

<Wait

<I’m going.

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

I try to stop crying, I try to hold myself, I try to be strong. But I fail. And when Nick opens the door I rush into his arms, he quickly holds me whispering reassuring things into my ears. I break down, I cry like I never had before, I cry like I was a child. He closes the door and guides me into his room. I hide my face into his body, and when we are in his room I lay down on his bed, not saying a thing, quiet tears streaming down my face.

‘’Shh, I’m here. It’s over, you are okay.’’ He rubs my back. ‘’Everything it’s all right.’’

After a while I stop crying. He cleans my tears and runny nose.

‘’Wanna talk about it?’’

‘’I don’t know.’’ I whisper.

‘’That’s all right. It’s all right, honey.’’ He grabs my face, his warm hand bringing me comfort. ‘’take your time.’’ I nuzzle my face into his hand.

‘’My dad, he-… he said that I’m not his son, and that I’ll burn in hell because I’m dating you…’’ I try to keep my breath steady, but a few tears run down my face, I see Nicks eye, he wants to cry too, I can see it, but he doesn’t, he stays strong for me. He hugs me, as hard as he can.

‘’I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.’’ He rubs my back. I hug him like my life depends on it, I hug him like he’s keeping me together, and he is. ‘’You didn’t deserve to hear this, I’m so sorry.’’

‘’Can I sleep here tonight?’’ I mumble.

‘’Of course. All the days you need.’’

That night I didn’t talk a lot. Nick helped me shower, brush my teeth and change clothes, he brushed and dried my hair. I cried a bit more and he cleaned my tears and held me close at all times. He whispers sweet nothings into my ear until I feel asleep in his arms.

It was a hard night, a night I won’t forget, because it made me realize how much he loves me, and how much I love him. it made me realize that I want to spend the rest of my life by his side, and I will make everything in my power to make sure it happens.

#nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x male reader #sturniolo triplets x reader

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 2

Prompt: Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Reader

A/N: Hey, so this is finally here. Clearly it ran away with me. Maybe someday I'll be able to write a fic without over a thousand words of worldbuilding but clearly this isn't it. Regardless, enjoy!

The invitation arrived the first week of spring, a crimson dyed scroll with fine golden inlay and marked with Aslan’s own seal.

“To all eligible children in this noble house,” it decreed “You have been cordially invited to celebrate the 23rd birthday of High King Peter the Magnificent. Those wishing to attend must make their intentions known by no later than the third moon of spring, so appropriate accommodations can be made for the masquerade feast and tourney to follow. Tribute by way of gifts is not mandatory but highly encouraged. Long live King Peter, and long live Aslan!”

You hooted with laughter as you read it, before passing the notice over to your mother and sister. The messenger eagle who brought it, one of the many talking beasts in King Peter’s command, looked on disapprovingly.

“He’s got some nerve, sending this after he’s spent the better part of his kinghood with Ettismoor under his boot.” You said, not even bothering to hide your disdain “As though a party is going to make that all just disappear”

You expected your family’s thoughts on the matter to be alike to your own, especially your mother given she’d lost a husband, two sons and twice as many nephews against Peter’s armies. That made it all the more shocking, however, when she picked up a quill and parchment to pen her own missive rather than chuck the scroll into the fire.

“You can’t be serious” you pleaded, looking over at your sister for support “Mother. Please. Don’t make us go.”

The sound of a quill scratching against paper was all that was offered by way of reply. You wanted to scream, to shatter the almost silence and startle your mother back into seeing sense. Surely, this was a ruse of some sort? She wasn’t writing a cordial reply, instead she was telling this so called king where he could shove his sword and good intentions, right? The alternative wasn’t even worth considering.

Seconds passed in agony as your mother continued to write. You looked over to your sister once again, silently imploring her to do something, anything. Your sister, two years your junior and much more placid in nature, only shrugged. With a frustrated sigh, you turned away and stared into the fire, sulking.

Finally, after what felt like hours, your mother rose from her chair and walked over to the windowsill where the messenger eagle was waiting. In her hand, you noticed a scroll of plain parchment sealed with the mark of your household in silver wax. You felt your breath leave your lungs, and you clutched at the chair beneath you as your head began to swim.

That was your father’s seal, only used for official communication between noble or royal houses. If your mother had rejected the King, as you had hoped, then she wouldn’t have bothered. But a formal seal meant a formal letter, which all but confirmed the worst. You were going.

“Mother” you sounded desperate, even to your own ears, yet your mother took no noticed.

You watched as your mother placed the scroll in the eagle's satchel, along with some sweetbreads from a nearby platter that she wrapped in linen napkins.

“For the journey” she said, giving your guest a small nod. The eagle nodded in return, before turning back towards the window and spreading its wings. With a few strong flaps, the creature was gone, disappearing into the snowy gloom beyond. It had said little while it was here, but the lack of its presence was felt all the more strongly in the chilly stillness that remained.

“Dearest” your mother said, finally acknowledging you as she took a seat in the chair across from your own “Please. Try to understand.”

It was your turn to be silent, refusing to even look your mother in the eye. Hurt bubbled in your chest, but you tried to shove it back, choosing instead to nurse your growing rage. If you dwelled on your sadness, even for a minute. you would break, you knew. You would reach for your mother, and cry against her breast like you had done as a child. Anger was what you needed now, hot, glowing ire you could build into thick walls against your mother and the rest of the world. No matter what happened, you would not let those walls come down. You would not let her in.

“Dearest” she said again, still trying to placate you “I have no choice. Nothing has gone right for us since your father died. There have been famines, droughts. What little we had in our treasury to begin with has long since been used up. Our people are starving and soon we will be living in a ruin. King Peter is of age to marry. It’s our last chance.”

Your father died because Peter’s soldiers had killed him. Nothing would ever change this fact. And yet your mother, damn her, wanted to sell you off to him like a prize sow at market. Yes, you could see the sense of it, the practicality, but that did not mean you would accept your fate gently either. As far as you were concerned, starving to death in the crumbling walls of the castle you once called home was a much better option to being that murderer's wife.

“Dearest?”

Your mother’s voice was soft, like a prayer, pleading. But they fell on deaf ears. She hadn’t listened to your cries for reason, so why should you listen to hers? You bit your tongue so hard you tasted blood, and the salty, metallic sensation shed any pity you may have once given the woman. This would be a fight to the bitter end.

“Fine. You can hate me for it, but you are going to that party, even if I have to drag you the whole way.”

You finally pulled your gaze away from your hands, and brought it to rest on your mother’s face. Her eyes, a near perfect mirror of your own, shone brightly with unshed tears, and her mouth was set in a thin line, much like yours did when that stubborn streak you shared took over. Though you refused to show it outwardly, in your heart you knew. Come hell or high water, you were going.

“Yes, mother.”

***

You arrived at Cair Paravel a little before sunset. As you and your sister disembarked from your carriage, you couldn’t help but be a little awestruck by the legendary castle.

It was a creation of shining marble and stained glass windows, every inch clearly built by generations of master craftspeople. There was nothing like this in Ettismoor. Everything there was made from the same rough, grey stone. Little concern was given about beauty or ornamentation, practicality coming first above all else.

The inside of the castle was just as large and adorned as the exterior. You were lead into the foyer by a faun dressed in red and gold livery, the already small creature made smaller still by the vaulted ceilings above.

After being escorted through a maze of hallways, each lined with plush rugs and detailed tapestries, you were brought to a small spare bedroom where you were left with your sister to ready for the feast.

Given the large number of guests in attendance, and the fact that your mother had long since dismissed most of your own household staff, there weren’t enough servants to go around. This meant you had to play maid for your sister, not that you particularly minded. It was almost like you were children again, giggling and discussing which hair ribbons to use.

For a moment, you forgot where you were, the walls of this strange castle and it’s unfamiliar noises and smells fading away as you focused intently on braiding and pinning back your sister’s dark curls. However, all too soon the task was done, and the beast that was duty lurked not too far off, ready to drag you downstairs come moonrise.

“You’re beautiful” you said, standing back to admire your efforts as your sister studied herself in the mirror. She had donned an embroidered gown of deep green, indicative of the pine forests that grew in abundance across Ettismoor, and a mask of green silk cut in the likeness of leaves so the wearer would resemble a dryad.

In contrast, your gown was a pale silver, almost white, meant to represent the many snow topped mountains of your homeland. Your mask was the only part of your ensemble that could in fact be called elegant, it was adorned with seed pearls stitched after the branched arms of a snowflake and dusted with bits of mica that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. You almost would’ve been pretty in it, though the illusion was spoiled by the scowl that had become a nearly permanent fixture on your face since you’d left Ettismoor.

“Smile, dearest.” your sister said, turning and playfully pinching at your cheek. You swatted her hand away and exaggerated the downturn of your mouth out of spite.

“I’ll smile when we leave. Are you ready for this farce?”

“As I’ll ever be. Though I wish you wouldn’t be like this. We never get to go to parties, the least you could do is try to enjoy it.”

“Mother said I had to go” you replied, leaning down to kiss her forehead and carefully adjust the edges of her mask one final time “She never said I had to like it.”

***

Loathe as you were to admit it, King Peter certainly knew how to throw a party.

The central ballroom had been impeccably decorated for the occasion, with no detail or expense spared. Over a dozen tables had been filled end to end with plates that held everything from more standard feasting fair like roast venison and rich cakes to exotic dishes from Calomore and Archenland that resembled elaborate sculptures rather than food.

Above, the ceiling was alight with candelabras, each one resembling the twining structure of tree roots with a cluster of glowing spheres on the end of each branch. These spheres, most likely magic in origin, were reflected a thousand times over against the faceted panes of the ceiling high windows and polished marble floors, making it appear as though the ballroom had been set upon by a flock of fallen stars.

All this splendour, however, was nothing in comparison to the guests. Never in your life had you seen so many colours, so may different styles of gowns and fabrics. Before you was every manner of creature that walked on two legs or more, magical and mortal alike. It was impossible to tell the real from the false among the masks and swirling dancers. Centaurs cavorted with fae, who quickly shed their wings to squeeze in at an already crowded feasting table. Mermaids were suddenly able to stand on their tails and walk over to greet giants, who shrunk as the stepped down from stilts and joined the rest of the party.

As beautiful as it was, you personally found the whole thing incredibly overwhelming.

You’d lost your sister in an instant, she’d been asked to dance by a young man with dark eyes that flashed mischievously behind a silver mask with a fox’s muzzle and ears. Nearly an hour later, she was still in his arms, oblivious to all else save the music and each other.

You’d watched them for a little while at first, mostly out of concern for your sister’s well-being, but when it eventually became evident that Mr. Fox was going to behave himself, you quickly grew bored. Left to your own devices and knowing not a soul in attendance save for your sister, you did what every lonely party goer does and sought out the nearest flagon of wine.

As expected, the King offered a wide and choice sampling of vintages. It wasn’t long before two glasses turned to three, then four, and you were nursing a fifth when you felt a touch at your elbow. You turned, ready to tell whoever it was to watch themselves with as much venom as polite society would allow when you were caught off guard by the bluest pair of eyes you’d ever seen.

“Good evening, my lady. Could I trouble you for your name and a dance?”

“I’m no one of consequence,” you replied, secretly impressed you’d managed to say all that without slurring “Who has no interest in dancing.”

“Pity. A friendly chat, then?”

You looked at this stranger sidelong, trying to puzzle out what the hell he was playing at. Those four and a half glasses of wine, however, were making puzzling a bit beyond you. That, and those blue eyes, winking at you like glimpses of the ocean from behind his mask.

“I suppose” you finally said, hoping he didn’t notice your staring and think you simple. “I have nothing better to do”

A vestige of your childhood etiquette lessons suddenly surfaced, and you extended your hand for the young man, expecting him to bow over it or perhaps even shake it. Instead, he leaned down, grasped your fingers in his own and brought your knuckles to his lips. You felt the tips of your ears go hot as the curls of his ginger beard tickled at your skin. It was all you could do to keep from jerking away, though that was to hide your embarrassment rather than in disgust.

“So, are you enjoying the party?” he asked, finally releasing your hand.

You studied your new companion closely, taking scarlet tunic marked with the royal crest, brown breeches and the easy grin peeking out from the roaring maw of his golden lion mask. He looked no different than any other of the couple dozen royal bannermen wandering around the ballroom, but your eyes narrowed in suspicion anyway.

“As much as one can.” you replied, your voice chilled as ice wine “Though I don’t particularly care for the host.”

“No? And here I thought King Peter was universally beloved for bringing about an era of peace.”

You made a very unladylike noise, somewhere between a derisive chuckle and a disgusted snort.

“Peace, yes, at the cost of half the men in Ettismoor, my father specifically.”

The mask made his expression hard to read, but you could’ve sworn you saw him go a few shades paler.

“I’m sorry. My father died fighting too.”

You couldn’t help but make a sympathetic noise in the back of your throat. This young man couldn’t be more than what, twenty and three? There was a pretty good chance he had been fighting alongside his father when he died, not a position you envied.

“You have my condolences. Which war was it?”

The question seemed to make him nervous, and he shrugged it off like one would an ill fitting coat.

“I don’t quite remember, I was only thirteen when it happened. Boys aren’t usually paying attention to those sorts of things.”

You were about to protest, Narnian history was one of your favourite areas of study and you had a feeling you’d be able to sniff out a lie with furthering questioning, when the floor suddenly seemed to buckle beneath you. That fifth glass of wine, which you were now coming to deeply regret. slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor with a mighty clang.

“Shit,” you muttered, bringing a hand up to rub at your aching temple and hide your face from curious stares. If it hadn’t been for your companion’s quick reflexes and his grip on your arm holding you up, you might’ve gone down with your goblet.

“Are you alright?” his voice sounded very far away, as though you were under water.

“I’m sorry.” you said, pointedly avoiding his concerned gaze “I must’ve had too much to drink.”

“You should sit down.”

You were guided to a nearby chair, which you all but fell into. While some waitstaff cleared away the mess, the young man grabbed a seat of his own and pulled it up next to yours. He was sitting much closer than was proper for strangers that you knew, but those blue eyes were still so beguiling you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

“Have you had anything to eat recently? Or had a drink of water?”

You gave your head a small shake, too woozy for words. In a flash, the young man disappeared into the crowd, only to return a few moments later with a plate of black bread and a goblet of water in hand.

For the next half hour, you found yourself patient to the strangest nursemaid you’d ever seen. Under his care, you nibbled and sipped, and eventually the dizzy spell seemed to pass. During that time, you struck up a conversation again, discussing everything from your families and court gossip to politics and philosophy.

You were surprised to find that despite him being employed in the King’s army, you shared a lot of similar views. He thought Peter was trying to be a good King, but perhaps too quick to agree to his councillor’s calls for bloodshed. When you suggested reforming the council with members from each of the nation’s major townships and voting on matters of state rather than sorting them out with sword in hand, he responded warmly to the idea.

You weren’t used to having someone’s attention so utterly devoted to you, to have someone hanging off of your every word as though you were the only other person in the room. And loathe as you were to admit it, you were becoming equally entranced by him. The warm baritone of his laugh, the way he smiled so easily, the sandy locks that curled at the edge of his jaw and the way he’d bring his hand to rest on your knee when you said something that pleased him, it all fascinated you. Where you came from, there was little to smile about, and even less reason for laughing. What would it be like? To be with someone who seemed to radiate warmth and joy in every breath?

You were about to reconsider his offer for a dance, when you were interrupted by a young woman in a scarlet dress and gold mask that resembled a bear. Your first instinct was to be jealous, if the two of them wore matching colours that certainly implied a closeness. However, you quickly realized how wrong your assumptions were when she spoke.

“Peter, wherever have you been? We’ve been waiting for ages for you to come and open your presents.”

You felt like you were going to faint again. It wasn’t possible. The mask, the simple clothing, you had just assumed…impossible, surely.

The young man looked between the two of you as though he was a rabbit choosing between a snare and the open maw of a wolf. Apparently, less impossible than you thought.

“I’m sorry.” he said, reaching to grasp your hand “I’ve got to go. I…I’m sure you’ll want an explanation and I promise you’ll have one, but tomorrow. You’re staying for the tourney, aren’t you?”

You nodded, dumbly.

“Good. I’ll be riding in the lists, come watch me joust and we can meet at my pavilion after.”

#Narnia fic #Peter Pevensie x reader #Peter Pevensie #Peter Pevensie fic #Peter Pevensie fluff #william moseley #kissmas 2022

[pinkcaddyconfessions]

Anything for You, Darlin’

- - -

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader (can be Austin!Elvis if you prefer)

Word Count: 1,052 words

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Child birth, mentions of the Colonel, the Colonel being an asshole, language, yelling (let me know if I miss anything)

Author’s Note: Thank you again for all the love you’ve shown this series so far! My plan is to upload two chapters today so stayed tuned!

- - -

Chapter 3

December 1967

Finally it was your favorite time of year, Christmas. Graceland was all decorated with lights, wreaths, the Navity scene outside and so much more. The stocking were hung inside with everyone’s name on them, one of your personal touches. This year, a tiny little red stocking was a reminder of something great: It was also close to time for baby Presley to make their arrival. You wanted a Christmas baby while Elvis just wanted the baby to get here before the new year came. The bags were packed and placed by the door in case of a moments notice. You and Elvis were ready.

December 23, 1967

Two days before Christmas. You were excited, but miserable. You wanted this baby out now. Your back hurt, nothing fit right the list went on. Elvis and the Colonel got into another yelling match about him wanting Elvis to go start production on another movie right after Christmas.

“Now Elvis my boy…, we have contracts to hold up. They won’t like it if we don’t hold up…. our end of the deal,” the Colonel said as if he completely neglected to look at the situation.

“There ain’t no way in hell I’m leaving (Y/N) here by herself! She’s having my baby for God’s sake…… they will fucking understand!,” Elvis shouted back.

You had heard Elvis yell many times, some of those occasions you were the recipient of. However, this was different. He was being defiant, finally standing up for himself, you, and his family. After the Colonel left, he went upstairs to your bedroom. He saw you on the bed hiding your face in the pillows to hide the tears. He was concerned so he sat next to you.

“Baby…… he’s gone. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you. I love you too damn much,” he said to you hoping you would lift your head up. “Now (Y/N), please let me see your little face, doll,” Elvis said to you. You slowly sat up and clang onto him.

“Elvis, I’m proud of you. You finally told him off it’s about fucking time,” you said to him with a chuckle. “Anything for you, doll,” Elvis said as he kissed you on the lips. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. “I’m leaving the door open. Holler if you need me!” Elvis called out as he walked away. Just as he turned the water facet turned off, the worst pain in your life shot up your back. You yelped in pain and looked down: your water had broke. You were about to cry again.

“E.P!! Elvis!,” you yelled at him. He came running to you with the frantic look in his eyes.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked you

“I…i..I.. I think my water just broke,” you said to him softly.

He held your face in his hands for a moment just to silently reassure you that everything was going to be ok. He helped you get dressed and carried you down the stairs. Still in his pajamas himself, he grabbed the bags, called Jerry and a few others of the mafia and took you to the hospital. He was driving so fast you told him to slow down at least ten times.

You finally got to the hospital at around 11:30PM. Elvis carried you in and demanded a wheelchair and room. You tried to quiet him down, but there was no point. Elvis was nervous and scared for you and the baby. Nurses brought the wheelchair along with the clipboard with paperwork which seemed ten miles long. Everything seemed to happened so fast with him wheeling you up to the maternity ward.

When you got up there, everything was in place. The gown was placed on you while Elvis had to get into the mandatory scrubs that all fathers wore while in the delivery room. When he finally got back to you, you had to chuckle to yourself. Here was your husband, Elvis Aaron Presley, the most fashionable man you know, in scrubs. He looked you at puzzled. “What baby? Do you like not like them?,” Elvis said. “Baby”, replied back between contractions, “I love them on you… but… ow son of bitch this hurts!” Tears were streaming down your face as he wiped them off your cheeks.

“Elvis…. Aaron…Presley I swear to god you will pay for this,!” You yelled at him during the height of the pain. He knew you didn’t mean it. The doctor knew by the pain levels and insults you were slinging, it was time.

“Alright Mrs. Presley I need to push now as hard as you can,” the doctor said with a certain gusto in her voice. You began to push. Elvis was supporting your upper body with one arm while holding your hand with the other.

“Come on (Y/N)! You’re doing great baby!” He said trying to encourage you. You felt sweaty and tired. “E.P. I swear to you…. I’m gonna kill…you after this. You won’t… be getting any…for a very… long time,” you mustered at him. He couldn’t help but giggle quietly because he knew you didn’t mean a damn word of it.

Finally after what seemed like forever and day, you two heard the sound that you’ve been waiting on for nine months: a baby’s cry.

The doctor looked up at both of you as she spoke up, “congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Presley it’s a girl!”

You were exhausted and in shock. You were finally a mother and Elvis was finally a father.

“Baby, I’m so damn proud of you little mama, you did so amazing” he said while crying and planting kisses on your head. As soon as they cleaned her up, the nurse gently placed her on your chest and the water works began to flow.

“Hi little baby girl…. Welcome to this crazy world little one…. I love you” you barely got out through the tears. She was finally here on earth. Your little angel, his princess arrived on Christmas Eve. She was perfect. She was exactly what you needed, heaven sent.

————

Baby’s Name: Mallory Love Presley

Date of Birth: December 24, 1967

Time of Birth: 12:45AM

Physicalities: 7 pounds, 4 ounces, 20 inches long

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis fluff #austin butler x reader #dad!elvis #elvis fanfic #austin elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #anything for you darlin

[reasoningdaily]

At age 17, Donnell Drinks was one of many young men in Philadelphia who went to prison for life without parole. Today, the city has resentenced more of those prisoners than any other jurisdiction.

Published Aug. 15, 2023Updated Aug. 18, 2023

Donnell Drinks woke up one morning to banging on his door in the projects of North Philadelphia. It was the late 1980s, and Mr. Drinks, who was 15 and the oldest of three boys, had nodded off after taking his youngest brother to school. He should have been at school himself, but he had stopped going earlier that year. It wasn’t a truant officer at his door, though — no one had ever come knocking about that. Instead, sheriff’s deputies were waiting outside. They were there to evict his family.

The officers told him to get out, not bothering to ask if there was an adult around, which there wasn’t. Mr. Drinks’s dad had abandoned the family a decade earlier, and his mom was in the throes of crack cocaine addiction. For years, Mr. Drinks had been raising his younger brothers, and he had just become a father himself. He’d dropped out of school to support his family by selling drugs, a transition that felt so natural he hardly remembered how it happened.

Groggy and panicked, Mr. Drinks scanned the apartment for essentials, stuffed a shopping cart with clothes for his brothers and wheeled the cart up the road to his grandmother’s overcrowded rowhouse. The officers never asked where he was going.

“There was not one adult that said, Hold a minute. We need to call somebody,” Mr. Drinks said. “Not one adult said, That’s a child.”

At the time, Black teenage boys like Mr. Drinks were being treated less as children in need of help and more as if they were threats to society itself. Crime was rising nationwide, particularly in Philadelphia, where, in 1990, the city recorded 500 murders in a year for the first time. It was a terrifying period, especially for people living in poorer neighborhoods where the violence was worst. But the rhetoric, perpetuated by public officials and overheated headlines, suggested that a new morally depraved generation of teenagers — particularly Black teenagers — were to blame. This idea gave rise to the “superpredator” era and a raft of laws cracking down on juveniles that followed.

Mr. Drinks, now 50 years old, is a small man with a stocky frame and a warm, gaptoothed smile. He keeps his salt-and-pepper beard meticulously fluffed. An animated storyteller who is quick with a metaphor and a motivational quote, he becomes guarded when describing his upbringing — not just because it’s painful, but because he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s trying to justify what happened next. “This is context,” he said, “not excuses.”

In February 1991, when he was 17, Mr. Drinks and his 22-year-old girlfriend, who was a police officer, tried to rob a man named Darryl Huntley. They staked out Mr. Huntley’s house and forced him and his fiancée inside at gunpoint. That violent act led to others. Mr. Drinks stabbed Mr. Huntley, fatally, and was shot himself. Mr. Drinks was arrested while he was in the hospital recovering from his injuries.

By the time Mr. Drinks was brought to trial for Mr. Huntley’s murder, Philadelphia had a new district attorney: Lynne Abraham, a former judge who went on to hold the office for nearly two decades. Pennsylvania law already made life sentences mandatory for first- and second-degree murder convictions, but Ms. Abraham responded to the era’s surge in violent crime by aggressively pursuing the death penalty, an approach that once earned her the moniker the “deadliest D.A.”

She also called for tougher punishments for juveniles. In 1994, she pushed for legislative changes to give prosecutors more power to charge juveniles as adults. “You don’t get any bonus for being under a certain age,” she told The Philadelphia Inquirer at the time. The next year, the state passed a law that required prosecutors to treat children 15 and older as adults when they were charged with certain crimes.

Though Philadelphia had already sentenced many young people to life without parole, under Ms. Abraham’s watch — and with the city’s murder rate remaining high throughout the ‘90s — the number getting that sentence in Philadelphia rose quickly. For some, it may have been a deal worth taking to avoid the death penalty.

Mr. Drinks was tried as an adult and initially sentenced to death. In 1993, his sentence was reduced to life without parole. (His then-girlfriend, who received the same sentence, remains in prison.)

He most likely would have died in prison, but while Mr. Drinks was behind bars, a national effort began to rethink the culpability of young people in the eyes of the law. In the 2005 case Roper v. Simmons, the Supreme Court struck down the death penalty for minors, leaning heavily on new scientific research that showed — “as any parent knows,” Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote — that young people are not like adults. They are more impulsive, reckless and susceptible to persuasion.

The court did not question that minors should pay for committing heinous crimes, but in banning the most severe punishment, it affirmed the possibility “that a minor’s character deficiencies will be reformed.” Real change, Justice Kennedy suggested, was possible.

Mr. Drinks had been in prison for more than a decade when the Roper decision came out. Then one day, a Philadelphia lawyer named Bradley Bridge traveled to the upstate Pennsylvania prison where Mr. Drinks was locked up, and explained to him and the other men who had been given life sentences as boys what the ruling could mean for them.

Striking down the death penalty for minors was only the beginning, Mr. Bridge said. Soon, he predicted, the court would apply the same logic to outlaw mandatory life sentences for juveniles too, potentially giving Mr. Drinks and others serving such sentences a shot at freedom — and giving the city of Philadelphia a chance to rewrite its legacy.

A long list of friends

Mr. Bridge had been delivering his speech inside prisons throughout Pennsylvania for months before Mr. Drinks heard him speak. Mr. Bridge worked for the Defender Association of Philadelphia and had spent nearly three decades representing prisoners who were appealing their sentences. When the Roper ruling came down, he was involved in the case of a teenager facing a mandatory sentence of life without parole. He understood immediately the opportunity that the Supreme Court’s ruling presented not just for his client, but for scores of prisoners.

For Mr. Bridge, it meant pursuing a novel legal theory that might help dismantle what he viewed as a particularly unjust part of the justice system. “Children are children, and they make mistakes,” Mr. Bridge said. “But they grow and change.”

Mr. Bridge began the enormous undertaking of compiling a list of all the prisoners in Pennsylvania who were sentenced to life as minors. No one in the state had ever kept track of this group, who came to be called “juvenile lifers” in the courts and “child lifers” by some of the inmates themselves.

He expected the list to be long. He didn’t expect it to eventually include more than 500 names, nearly one-fifth of the more than 2,800 child lifers in the country. More than 300 of them had come through Philadelphia’s system, making a city with less than 1 percent of the country’s population responsible for more than 10 percent of all children sentenced to life in prison without parole in the United States. No other city compared. Even more glaring: More than 80 percent of Philadelphia’s child lifers were Black. Nationally, that figure was roughly 60 percent.

Racism “undoubtedly occurred in every phase of the criminal justice system,” Mr. Bridge said. “This created an opportunity to try to fix things that had been broken.”

After the Supreme Court outlawed the death penalty for minors, Bradley Bridge started encouraging inmates sentenced to life as children to prepare for the possibility that the court would eventually revisit the constitutionality of their sentences, too.

His partner in this work was Marsha Levick, who had co-founded the Juvenile Law Center in 1975 as an idealistic young graduate of Temple University’s law school and gone on to become one of the nation’s foremost experts on juvenile sentencing.

Mr. Bridge and Ms. Levick began traveling the state, arranging meetings with the people on Mr. Bridge’s list and adding names as they went. Mr. Bridge’s first stop was Graterford, a maximum-security facility outside of Philadelphia that, at the time, held more child lifers than any prison in the state. Dozens of men crowded into Graterford’s chapel to hear what Mr. Bridge had to say.

“People wanted to know what was coming down the pike,” remembered Kempis “Ghani” Songster, who was in the room that day. “Is this a ray of light flickering on?”

At age 15, Mr. Songster stabbed another teenager to death in a crack house. Both were runaways working for the same gang. He was given a life sentence for his crime, but it wasn’t until that meeting in 2006, nearly two decades after he went to prison as a scrawny kid who couldn’t grow a beard, that he realized how many other lifers at Graterford had also arrived as teenagers.

“It was like, Whoa, he’s been here since he was a kid, too?” Mr. Songster said. “A lot of us who were child lifers didn’t really know that we were in a distinct class.”

There had never been a reason to talk about age. The courts had treated them as adults, and if anything, being marked as a child in a violent adult prison would only have made them more vulnerable. Now, there was power in the identity.

The child lifers inside Graterford began organizing. They quickly formed a committee called Juvenile Lifers for Justice, which met weekly to discuss the evolving law and science around adolescent development. They drafted pamphlets, circulated newsletters to other prisons and their family members, and kept one another motivated around their common cause.

These conversations also started to change how some of the men thought about why they had committed such serious crimes.

Mr. Songster said he never felt “entitled” to be free. “I can’t wash the blood off my hands that’s on my hands,” he said. But the emerging research, which showed brains aren’t fully developed until people get into their 20s, gave him new understanding. “It made me curious about myself,” Mr. Songster said of the research. “I knew I was a good person, but I couldn’t reconcile the person that I became and I know I am with the person that committed that horrible act.”

The child lifers were also reaching out beyond the prison walls. They invited politicians to visit Graterford and partnered with nonprofit organizations to distribute supplies to local schools.

“We were always trying to break that wall down so people could see we’re humans,” said Don Jones, who was also sentenced as a minor and was the president of Graterford’s N.A.A.C.P. chapter during this period.

Mr. Bridge and Ms. Levick became frequent fixtures at the prison. At each of these visits, Ms. Levick was struck by how the men — imprisoned at such a young age and last in line for any prison edification programs because of their status as lifers — had mastered the nuances of the law and were orchestrating a statewide grass-roots movement from inside prison. “Their desire to come home was real,” Ms. Levick said. “It was palpable, and it made you want to do more.”

“We were always trying to break that wall down so people could see we’re humans,” said Don Jones, who was locked up at Graterford and has since been released.

Mr. Drinks had spent 10 years at Graterford, but after he was transferred upstate, newsletters coming out of Graterford and messages passed along from old friends became his lifeline. Without a lawyer of his own, he kept his case alive by adapting draft legal petitions circulated by Mr. Bridge. And he documented his accomplishments in prison — articles he’d written, certificates he’d earned, thank-you notes from the nonprofits he’d raised money for — until he had three manila envelopes’ worth of records illustrating all the ways he’d grown.

Still, he never quite let himself believe that Mr. Bridge’s prediction would pan out. He wanted to be prepared, but he was also prepared to be let down.

“It’s like throwing water out of a boat that’s sinking,” Mr. Drinks said. “You’ve got to do it anyway, because if you don’t, the water’s going to get you.”

Throughout this period, lawyers around the country, including Ms. Levick and Mr. Bridge, were bringing new cases, trying to apply the rationale in the Roper ruling to other kinds of sentences for juveniles. At the national level, a key leader in this work was Bryan Stevenson, founder and executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative, a nonprofit.

Mr. Stevenson saw a connection between the superpredator era and the overwhelming number of young Black boys who had been locked away for life.

“You had these criminologists going around saying that some children aren’t children. Some kids look like kids, but they’re really, quote, superpredators,” he said. “That narrative was so prevalent, so persuasive, that you see states all over the country lowering the minimum age for trying children as adults.”

In 2008, the Equal Justice Initiative found 73 children who had been given sentences of life without parole when they were 13 and 14 years old. And all of the people who received those sentences for crimes other than homicide were children of color.

“It just said something about the way in which race was a proxy for a presumption of dangerousness, this presumption of irredeemability,” Mr. Stevenson said.

Then came a series of breakthroughs. In 2010, the Supreme Court abolished sentences of life without parole for minors charged with crimes other than murder. Two years after that, Mr. Stevenson appeared before the court on behalf of two young men who were sentenced to life without parole when they were 14. In its decision in Miller v. Alabama, the Supreme Court struck down all mandatory sentences of life without parole for juveniles. Four years later, in a case called Montgomery v. Louisiana, for which Ms. Levick served as co-counsel, the court made that decision retroactive, fulfilling the prediction Mr. Bridge made in the Graterford chapel a decade before, and giving more than 2,800 child lifers across the country the right to have their sentences revisited.

Mr. Drinks remembers the first time he got a look at Mr. Bridge’s list. It was filled with the names of people he’d known for years, but had never known were child lifers. There was Abd’Allah Lateef, the soft-spoken guy he’d always admired at Graterford, even when he griped about Mr. Drinks’s loud music. There was Luis “Suave” Gonzalez, a big talker whom Mr. Drinks had encouraged to lead one of Graterford’s Latin American cultural exchange groups. And there was Don Jones, a friend so close, Mr. Drinks said, “my brothers call him brother.”

“That was my tear-shed moment,” Mr. Drinks said. “I knew I was on the list, but going down the list and seeing genuine friends?” Now, they might all have a shot at freedom — a shot, but not a guarantee.

A block in North Philadelphia. Donnell Drinks sold drugs in the area as a teenager and was convicted of homicide at age 17 in a robbery gone wrong.

‘The election changed everything’

The Supreme Court’s rulings in Millerand Montgomery marked an important rethinking of culpability when it comes to children who commit the most serious crimes. But the practical implications of the rulings were limited: the court hadn’t abolished all life without parole sentences for children — only ones where state laws made the sentences mandatory.And while child lifers now had a chance to make a case for their release, prosecutors could still seek new life sentences. In other states with high numbers of child lifers, including Michigan and Louisiana, as well as some parts of Pennsylvania, that’s just what they did.

In Philadelphia, however, all of the list-gathering and planning that had been taking place for more than a decade began to pay off. Most of the state’s child lifers had been prosecuted in the city, and it was up to its district attorney’s office and court system to move hundreds of people through the resentencing process. “Philadelphia was bad, and everybody recognized it was bad,” Mr. Bridge said.

Ms. Levick added, “In a way, the whole world was watching.”

Philadelphia soon began resentencing and releasing child lifers, starting with those who’d been in prison the longest. But while R. Seth Williams, Philadelphia’s district attorney, initially committed not to resentence anyone to life without parole, he stuck to strict new state sentencing guidelines, which meant that Mr. Drinks and others who had been swept up in the ’90s, would most likely spend many more years in prison.

Marsha Levick, an expert on juvenile sentencing, visited inmates. “Their desire to come home was real,” Ms. Levick said. “It was palpable, and it made you want to do more.”

Mr. Williams viewed this approach as the only way to honor the Supreme Court’s ruling, the Pennsylvania government’s consensus and the rights of the victims. “People often only look at the factors for the defendant. I understand. But they often forget there was a victim,” Mr. Williams said. “Someone was murdered. We just can’t just sweep that under the rug.”

Then came a twist that no one predicted. In March 2017, a little over a year after the Montgomery decision, Mr. Williams was indicted on charges including bribery and extortion and later sentenced to five years in prison. Almost as surprising was who was elected to be his successor: a sharp-elbowed former public defender and criminal defense attorney named Larry Krasner.

Whatever Ms. Abraham, the former district attorney, had been to the city in the 1990s, Mr. Krasner swore to be the opposite. (Ms. Abraham did not respond to requests for comment.) He had run against the death penalty and mass incarceration, and vowed to decriminalize marijuana and end cash bail. One of his first moves after taking office in January 2018 was to fire 31 prosecutors in a purge that became known as the Snow Day Massacre.

When it came to juvenile lifers, Mr. Krasner was more open than his predecessor to considering how people had changed in the decades since committing their crimes. Chesley Lightsey is a former assistant district attorney who worked on Mr. Drinks’s case and others under both administrations. “It took time for me to wrap my head around it: ‘Okay, now we can have much more of a conversation about this,’” she said about the change when Krasner was elected. “It was just a different perspective.”

Under Mr. Krasner, prosecutors paid special attention to reports drafted by mitigation specialists. Those specialists, who are essentially professional storytellers for defendants, interviewed juvenile lifers, their families and anyone else who could offer context. They asked questions about how the inmates had been raised, the trauma and pain that had influenced their actions, what they had done with their time in prison and what they planned to do upon release.

By the time Mr. Krasner took office in January 2018, Mr. Drinks had spent hours spilling his soul to a lawyer and mitigator named Rachel Miller. Over the course of countless calls and several in-person visits, Ms. Miller wove the story of Mr. Drinks’s life into a memo, complete with a two-inch stack of documents highlighting his accomplishments.

The memo covers the most painful moments of Mr. Drinks’s childhood: being abandoned by his father, his mother’s struggle with addiction, getting evicted. It describes how Mr. Drinks would skip school to collect the family’s food stamps before his mother could pawn them for drugs and how, when his mother turned violent, he would take the brunt of her beatings in an attempt to spare his brothers.

But the memo also tells the story of a grown man who spent his time behind bars trying to atone for the crime that put him there. Among the stack of documents is a community college transcript filled with A’s and B’s, an agenda for a workshop he organized with victims’ rights advocates and a photo of him beaming behind a giant check made out to Big Brothers Big Sisters of America. Perhaps most meaningful to Mr. Drinks were the letters he received from other incarcerated men who were members of a youth group he founded attesting to all the ways the group, and Mr. Drinks, had saved them. “I did not know the child that committed the crime he is in here for,” read one of the letters, “but the man I do know is not that same person.”

Before Mr. Krasner’s election, Mr. Drinks was offered a deal of 35 years to life, which would have made him eligible for parole in 2026. Shortly after Mr. Krasner took over in 2018, Mr. Drinks got a new offer: time served.

“The election changed everything,” Mr. Drinks said, referring to Mr. Krasner’s victory.

“I’m always conscious of the emotion, the hurt, the disappointment, the disdain, all those negative emotions that my actions led to,” Mr. Drinks said of the murder he committed. “I’ve got to live the rest of my life counteracting that.”

Mr. Drinks’s case was not unique. Researchers at Montclair State University have found that, under Mr. Krasner, prosecutors began offering child lifers new sentences that were, on average, 11 years shorter than the ones offered to those same people under Mr. Williams. Crucially, the researchers found that child lifers’ release had a negligible effect on public safety. Seven years after they started coming home, the rearrest rate for Philadelphia’s child lifers hovers around 5 percent. That’s small compared with the national rate, where 40 percent of people with past murder convictions are rearrested within the first five years, according to the most recent data from the Bureau of Justice Statistics. As of early this year, only three of the city’s child lifers who were rearrested have been convicted (for marijuana possession, contempt and robbery in the third degree), according to the Montclair State researchers.

For Mr. Krasner, these numbers reveal as a lie the idea that some people are so incapable of change that they should never be offered a shot at it. “It was always wrong to believe that people are either saints or they’re sinners,” Mr. Krasner said.

At his resentencing hearing in April 2018, Mr. Drinks read aloud from a letter before a gallery filled with friends and family, as well as the loved ones of Mr. Huntley, his victim. He apologized to Mr. Huntley’s family and said he knew he had no right to ask anyone in the room for forgiveness, and so he didn’t. But he did promise to spend the rest of his life making amends.

Mr. Huntley’s family members also made statements to the court. In a handwritten letter, Mr. Huntley’s sister described her brother as a loving and giving person. She explained how his murder had crushed her family, derailed her own education and deprived her children of ever knowing their uncle. “My mother still is deeply hurt and our family find it difficult to celebrate Valentine’s Day,” she wrote, “because these horrible, horrible actions took place that evening leading into his death.” She told the court that she did not want to see Mr. Drinks released.

Mr. Huntley’s sister did not respond to an interview request, but Suzanne Estrella, who runs the Office of Victim Advocate in Pennsylvania, said that many victims’ families “flat-out just do not” agree with the resentencings. But she said there were also many families that understood and accepted them. “You have survivors who have lost loved ones and survivors who have loved ones who are incarcerated,” Ms. Estrella said. “So you see all those perspectives coming to the table at the same time.”

As painful as it was, Mr. Drinks said he appreciated Mr. Huntley’s family’s honesty. “I felt it, and I understood it,” he said. “I’m always conscious of the emotion, the hurt, the disappointment, the disdain, all those negative emotions that my actions led to. I’ve got to live the rest of my life counteracting that.”

Three months after the hearing, having won the approval of the parole board, Mr. Drinks met his brothers as he walked out of prison for the first time in nearly three decades. Mr. Drinks remembers his sense of disbelief and being a little carsick as they drove the four hours back to Philadelphia, where he would move in with his brother Damon. The whole way home, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following close behind. “I didn’t want to look back,” he said, “so I kept looking ahead.”

Donnell Drinks married Shekia Drinks two years ago. But he hasn’t been able to get the approval needed to move out of his brother’s home and in with his wife.

A return to the 1990s?

Of the more than 300 child lifers who became eligible for resentencing in Philadelphia in 2016, all but about a dozen have been resentenced, and more than 220 have been released, the majority of them on lifetime parole. That’s nearly a quarter of the roughly 1,000 total child lifers who have been released across the country. These numbers make Philadelphia, once an outlier in imprisoning minors for life, now an outlier in letting them go. By 2020, the city had resentenced more child lifers than Michigan and Louisiana combined.

What set the city apart, said Mr. Stevenson, of the Equal Justice Initiative, was not just the buy-in from local officials and public defenders, but also the community of child lifers who became their own best argument for release.

“It was the way they organized, the way they cared for one another, the way they modeled a kind of readiness to contribute to society,” Mr. Stevenson said. “These young people had been told they were going to die in prison. Some of them just never accepted that.”

Since the Supreme Court decisions, more than half of all states have outlawed life without parole sentences for children altogether, reducing the number of child lifers left in the country to fewer than 600, according to the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth, a national nonprofit. Mr. Stevenson’s organization is now working to raise the minimum age at which children can be tried as adults in 11 states, including Pennsylvania, where there is no age floor. Other states are considering abolishing mandatory life without parole sentences for people under 21.

While life without the possibility of parole sentences for juveniles are now rare, they are not unheard of. The now solidly conservative Supreme Court has issued a ruling that could lower the bar for judges to apply the sentence to children in states where it is still allowed. A prosecutor in Oakland County, Mich., is seeking life without parole for a mass shooter who was 15 when he killed four students at his high school in 2021. A judge will have to weigh the horror of his crime against the possibility that, over time, he could change.

The United States is still the only country in the world that gives courts the discretion to send children to prison without the chance of proving themselves later in life at a parole hearing. And the tough-on-crime rhetoric of the 1990s is making a comeback, thanks to a spike in violent crime that began at the outset of the pandemic. In Philadelphia alone, the murder rate has surpassed the record set in 1990 two years in a row, with young people emerging as both victims and perpetrators.

Mr. Drinks and Mr. Jones started an anti-violence group in Philadelphia and sometimes walk the streets handing out pamphlets.

Just as they did in prison, child lifers have come together to create a buffer against an outside world that often feels hostile and unwelcoming.

Though this uptick in crime is showing signs of decline, it has prompted a nationwide backlash against progressive prosecutors, including Mr. Krasner, whose comparatively lenient approach has become a lightning rod in local politics. Mr. Krasner was recently the subject of an impeachment effort by Pennsylvania Republicans, and even some Democrats raced to condemn his record during the city’s mayoral primary in May.

Those who were released have become some of the loudest voices for building upon the fragile gains they fought for while on the inside. Their fight now is about abolishing life without parole for everyone, getting young people out of adult prisons and addressing the underlying causes of the violence plaguing Philadelphia and other major cities.

“If you would have dealt with a lot of my issues,” Mr. Drinks said, “they probably would not have escalated to crime.”

It’s not that Mr. Drinks and his fellow activists believe juveniles convicted of murder should not be held accountable. “When we talk to legislators, we don’t say: Throw the doors open, and everybody’s coming home,” Mr. Drinks said. “Our conversation is always that everybody deserves an opportunity to show they’re worthy of coming home.”

Today, Mr. Drinks coordinates a network of former child lifers through the Campaign for the Fair Sentencing of Youth. In any given week, he might be found with two cellphones in hand, flying to Alabama to urge progressive prosecutors to stay the course, organizing retreats for formerly incarcerated men and women, or canvassing city streets through an anti-violence nonprofit he co-founded with Mr. Jones, his friend from Graterford.

Mr. Drinks and other child lifers know that they embody for the public what all the research said about a young person’s capacity for change, and they are keenly aware that their example could help secure other people’s freedom. But they are also wary of being used to suggest that the system works, or allowing it to conceal just how difficult their re-entry into the outside world has been.

While several of Philadelphia’s child lifers have gone on to become an Ivy League lecturer or nonprofit executive, many more are working minimum-wage jobs or are unable to find work. Some are in bad health. Four have died. Nearly all of them are on lifetime parole, with the possibility of being sent back to prison forever looming.

Mr. Drinks credits his brothers, Damon and Kareem, for making his homecoming easier. Throughout Mr. Drinks’s incarceration, the three brothers had remained as close as the prison system would allow, keeping up visits even when he was transferred far away. Often, Damon Drinks would bring along Mr. Drinks’s son, who was just 3 when his father was arrested, and is now a grown man with a family of his own. It is thanks to his brothers, Mr. Drinks says, that he was able to maintain a relationship with his son at all.

Mr. Drinks, in Fairmount Park, said his brothers visited him while he was in prison and have helped him readjust to life on the outside.

Damon and Kareem Drinks’s support continued once their big brother was released. They took him shopping, kept him housed and partnered with him to start a local printing company not far from the city courthouse. Mr. Drinks has not had to struggle to survive, but that doesn’t mean he has not struggled. Five years after he left prison, the terms of his parole still prohibit him from leaving the county of Philadelphia without permission. He got married two years ago, but he has yet to get the approval needed to move out of his brother’s home and in with his wife. And he lives with the constant fear that one act of violence by any of the state’s other child lifers could spell the end of his own tenuous freedom.

This fear is part of what keeps Mr. Drinks connected to the men who were once boys with him on the inside. Just as they did in prison, child lifers have come together to create a buffer against an outside world that often feels hostile and unwelcoming. These bonds are as much a product of their shared experiences as they are a defense against their shared vulnerabilities.

“We’re each other’s co-defendants,” Mr. Drinks said. “We see people want to stray, it’s like, No, come on. We’re going to get to this finish line together.”

Mr. Drinks hugs Michael “Smokey” Wilson, another former child lifer.

#How People Sentenced to Life in Prison Made Their Case for Release #prison #american injustice system. #penal injustice #sentencing disparities #adultification #Black Lives Matter

[matan4il]

hi feel free to disregard this if you need to (I only thought to ask you because of your update posts), but someone I know was sharing something about Israel killing a reporter's family (they were claiming it was an intentional act). their source (some guy on insta) seemed questionable and I was having trouble finding anything that confirmed or denied it (as a deliberate assassination of the family, not whether or not the family died). do you know anything about it or have tips for sifting through information?

thank you whether you answer this or not

Hi! No, please don't hesitate to ask me anything. Sorry it took me a moment, I tried looking into it, and I didn't find anything serious confirming it, other than social media content. So this seems for now to have the same reliability level as the rest of Hamas' reports.

But I do know Israel doesn't intentionally target civilians no matter what. Just today the IDF showed it made over 5.98 million direct calls to Gazan civilians, to warn them and get them to evacuate. And that's just one of many means of communication used to warn and hopefully save civilians. I know anti-Israeli activists like to assume the worst about Israel's intentions (I would love to have their apparent powers of mind reading), but no country spends that amount of money on warning civilians, unless it's actually interested in... not killing civilians.

I also did my mandatory service in the army, I know how we were instructed to strive to defend our population as much as possible, while minimizing any harm to civilians on the other side as much as possible. I remember detailing to a friend from San Diego once how many things an Israeli soldier has to do before they can open fire at a suspect (for example, we had to learn how to shout our warning in Arabic, to make sure that there aren't tragic miscommunications because suspects don't speak Hebrew). And it's the fact that I was there, on the ground, I saw with my own eyes how much the IDF tries to avoid harming civilians, that makes me so certain. People will go, "How can you blindly believe Israeli generals?" and I'll be like, "I don't, I know what Israeli sergeants drilled into our heads repeatedly."

But I'll add to that another point. Unlike the claims made by propagandists, it doesn't actually serve Israel to kill reporters. I know anti-Zionists like to claim that Israel is doing it to silence their reports, but the truth is that, the international outcry over even one journalist who was just claimed (not proven) to have been killed intentionally caused Israel more damage than anything she could have reported. Which is exactly why accusations are made immediately by anti-Israelis. Even if they're never proven (as in her case) or they're disproven (as in the case of the al-Ahli hospital explosion), it doesn't matter. The immediate damage is done, the monstrous image of Israel as bloodthirsty is already cemented in some people's minds, and then they never hear anything to the contrary, or if they do, they no longer believe anything that exonerates that "monstrous" country.

Lastly, I'll add that "journalism" is a term that should be taken with a grain (or even pint) of salt in this context. Nothing is reported from Gaza without the approval of Hamas. Even if Israel intentionally killed every "journalist" there, the messages coming out of Gaza would be exactly the same, because they're the only ones approved by Hamas. Those terrorists would just find someone to put in a "press" vest and stand in front of the camera, delivering those messages. So, anyone who tells you Israel has any reason to kill these journalists, either doesn't understand the reality of Gaza, or is intentionally lying.

I hope this helps! Take care, I hope you and yours are all good! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#ask #riddlerlesbian #israel #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #antisemitism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish

[skatingbi]

When I say sanji falls hard i mean he falls HARD homies!!

My fighter pilot au is also a modern au, so during the 2 years sanji and zoro are apart they constantly talk on the phone. Zoro hates texting so sanji will go out of his way to call zoro when they both have a break.

Their conversations last hours. Theyre not always talking but sanji is content with the comfortable silence that also makes up their calls as well. He just likes being with zoro in any way he can be until theyre able to meet again.

When its not silence zoro is talking about his family mihawk and perona, or the lessons he's taking (which zoro refuses to tell sanji what they are), or the unclassified information on the assignments he's been doing. Sanji talks about his mandatory leave where he goes back home and helps zeff with the baratie. He complains about his old man while also talking about how much he missed cooking. They talk about things other than work for probably the first time since that night sanji woke up with a panic attack a few years ago.

During these two years, sanji learns so much about zoro and he feels loved at the same time in zoro's own unusual way. In return, zoro learns more about sanji and basks in getting to be with sanji even if theyre on opposite sides of the world.

Unfortunately, their comrades are suffering by watching them be hopelessly in love to the point where it feels like experiencing second hand embaressment. Sanji SUCKS at flirting and zoro wouldnt even know someone was flirting with him even if it hit him square in the face with a 50 pound brick.

Nami and Usopp are betting on who confesses first. Luffy couldnt care less about the betting but still likes to be a supportive friend and participates anyways. Robin and Franky dont bet money but talk about it as well. Regardless, the majority vote that Sanji will confess first, even if it'll probably be the worst confession anyone's ever heard in their life.

Like you think these two idiots know anything about romance? Absolutely Not. They're in their early 20's and spent most of their life growing up too fast and having to survive more than live.

So when during those two years, the second year is maybe one assignment and mostly being sitting ducks at their respective bases they stay at, sanji and zoro talk more and more about their other dreams. They start to learn how to live, slowly but surely through each other, despite being oceans apart.

Flirting between them is useless, but opening up and baring their souls to each other isn't. When you put two guarded men together with walls up, it can either end in tragedy like betrayal or in them tearing down each others walls.

When Sanji bears his soul to Zoro, he understands for the second time how much he cant live without him. How much he truely wishes he could at least look at zoro face to face and trace all the scars on his skin with reverence and adoration.

Sanji's heart aches more and more as the two years pass by. The next time they call, though, his heart nearly stops when he hears zoro's voice still raspy from waking up so late in the morning for the Nth time that week to hear him say in fucking french by the way, dear god sanji isnt gonna be able to survive this any longer now.

"Good morning, Sanji"

#one piece #zosan #one piece fighter pilot au #yeah #this au is brought to you by zoro showing his love through learning sanjis first language #mihawk taught him and he hated every second of it btw #worth it tho lmao #roronoa zoro #blackleg sanji

[bangtanhoneys]

Lights Will Guide You Home - Seokjin & Grace

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you

Fix You - Coldplay

Mandatory military service.

18-24 months of service required of all able-bodied South Korean men aged 18 to 28.

Delayed so Kim Seokjin could continue being a member of BTS but now entering as a private citizen, not a member of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

It brought heartbreak to millions, no one more so than Grace Chu.

Of course, in private, this decision had been discussed and made very early on. Many discussions had taken place that Jin wanted to go into the military after their Maps of the Soul tour but then COVID hit, Butter and Dynamite arrived, Permission to Dance on Stage and then the FESTA announcement of their solo projects and then finally, finally, Busan.

Every time he had planned to go, there was a pushback and a delay and now he was finally going, December 13th 2022.

Privately, Grace had accepted it and had done her goodbyes to her boyfriend of four years. Together they had worked through their problems of being a couple and being in the biggest band ever seen, of Seokjin's insecurities of not being good enough, of Grace's problems with her identity. Together they had been through it all but now it would just be Grace, who would have to go through this another seven times.

It was the worst kind of heartache - knowing your loved one was only hours away yet on the front lines, limited phone calls or texts, days off were only a day and she wouldn't see him properly until 2024. Until that time, her schedule was packed to the rim with her own projects such as an album, a tour, photoshoots, contracts with designers, meetings and more. There wouldn't be time to understand the loss of one of her biggest supporters, there wouldn't be time to adjust to having none of them there.

It was a horrid awareness Grace was experiencing as she and the rest of BTS were saying goodbye.

Of course, they all put on brave faces, as they each took pictures with Seokjin and goofed off for the BANGTAN BOMB camera. It was easy to slip into the public persona even in front of families to starve off tears that threatened to spill over.

Hobi, understanding what was needed, managed to drag Jimin and Taehyung to distract the camera long enough for the couple to have their private moment (or as private as it was going to get).

"I'll contact you the moment I can," Seokjin's voice was muffled behind the mask he wore as he pulled Grace to his chest, allowing her to hide her face in it even if more a moment.

"And I'll keep you and ARMY updated as often as I can. Don't let Jungkook distract you too much, and work hard and send me photos of where you're going. And I'll make sure the guys are safe too. Oh and don't forget to eat, go home and see your parents and look after Min-Ji."

"Are you going away or am I?" Grace asked, chuckling as she reached up to use the cuff of her coat to wipe her cheeks. "And Jungkook won't leave me alone, I think he's pretty much moved in at this point."

It was just as hard for Jungkook. It had always been joked around that Seokjin was one of the main reasons Jungkook had stayed in BTS, he was the one who had raised the fifteen-year-old, helped him do his homework, take him to school, put up with his antics, and was Jungkook's safe place. He had been silent the whole day since they all arrived, barely able to say a word or two but he didn't need to.

Seokjin knew Jungkook's silence better than anyone.

I'll miss you. Don't get hurt and hurry back because it's going to hurt without you.

And Grace was exactly the same.

I'll miss you. I love you. Don't leave but I know you have to so hurry back because I can't do this life without you.

Seokjin pressed a kiss to Grace's forehead, knowing he couldn't do what he wanted to do while in front of everyone. But he didn't need to because Grace knew it all behind that kiss - I'll miss you as well and I'm proud of you.

Grace pulled away to let the boys continue their goodbyes and she used Namjoon's huge frame to take a moment to wipe her tears, to compose herself and slip back into her stage persona. Because it was easier to show that than it was to show what she was truly feeling.

Alone.

Namjoon glanced over his shoulder and gave his noona a gentle nudge to the shoulder, giving her his silent support. Yoongi came wandering over and reached up, making sure her mask was in place and gave her a look to say 'You've got this. We're here.'

Finally, Seokjin was called over to begin his entrance ceremony and Grace felt a hand slip into hers. She looked up to see the youngest, his eyes just as watery as hers even underneath that bucket hat and she gave his hand a squeeze back. Under his breath, he began humming Jin's Astronaut song causing her to smile.

It would hurt to do this seven more times, it would hurt to say goodbye over and over again and it would hurt to be standing on stage as the only member of BTS remaining but the countdown began to 2025 when all of them would be back in Grace's arms and they would be all together again.

She just had to wait. 

Note: Listen to Fix You by Coldplay and Jin's The Astronaut while reading this. I did that and I made myself cry.

#bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts scenarios #bts female member #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts fic #seokjin x oc #seokjin angst

[nomsfaultau]

Mandatory Family Reunion

The one thing money can’t buy is a heart, and Philza has been missing half of his for eighteen years, ever since Wilbur’s twin was stolen from his cradle. Understandably, he overreacts a bit when Wilbur has been gone a few hours and a mysterious phone call says they have him. Thankfully it’s just a misunderstanding, but when he goes to pick up his son, he almost can’t tell which of the boys is supposed to be his. Cue a series of frantic plots to rescue his long lost son, because Technoblade is going to be part of the family whether he likes it or not.

Techno, meanwhile, is of the firm opinion that Stockholm Syndrome is for losers. Unfortunately, his anxiety really can’t differentiate the threat level of being kidnapped by a delusional crime boss versus a pillow fight. All he had to work with is his wits (of which he has plenty), his charisma (of which he is lacking), and an 11 year old he’s subjugated. Else, the worst may come to pass: a wrinkle in his five year plan (or a bullet in the head, either or)

Aka a Fic that drunkly waltzes the fine line between ridiculous and reprehensible.

Inspired by CleanLenins’s fic, Cribbed, which I absolutely adored (and possibly became obsessed with)

#Less found family and more like ‘I finally found my family and I’m going to kidnap them’ #Which probably counts right??? #philza minecraft #technoblade #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #sbi #sleepy boys inc #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois family #Philza #sbi au #myct #dark sbi #tw kidnapping #sbi fic #something to nom on

[blusical]

The Adam Johnson tragedy: What you can do to help support his family, Matt Petgrave and how to protect yourself as well.

(PT: Adam Johnson: What you can do to support his family, Matt Petgrave and how to protect yourself as well. End PT) Trigger warning: Death, slightly detailed description of fatal injury, depictions of racism. Reader discretion heavily advised. Who's Adam Johnson and what's going on? Adam Johnson was an ice hockey player who originally played for the Pittsburgh Penguins and their minor league team, and last played for the Nottingham Panthers of the Britain-based EIHL. His life was tragically cut short recently, as during a game against the Sheffield Steelers, opposing player Matt Petgrave collided with Johnson, which led to Petgrave's skate striking Johnson's throat. Initially, Johnson appeared to be fine and tried to skate off, but he soon collapsed, and it was eventually clear that his neck had been cut by the skate. Despite medical efforts, he did not survive. The game was eventually left unfinished and fans were told to leave. Who is Matt Petgrave? Matt Petgrave is an ice hockey player on the Sheffield Steelers. He was the other player involved in the incident. Recently, he has been receiving hate and threats from other individuals. While it was expected, some people have taken it to the next level. Some people have used this tragedy to be racist towards Petgrave, who is black. Some of the tweets included (All but the third one were taken directly from PuckEmpire's Instragram page, so apologies if some of them look weird). Notice the references to race.

(And no. I'm not showing the tweet from the End Wokeness account. That asshole already has a big enough audience and I'm not giving that fucker the satisfaction). And that's not even the worst of it. Petgrave's Instagram page is being bombarded with hate comments, none of which I am showing. While I can't say for certain of what Petgrave did was intentional or not, I think we need to make something clear: There is NO excuse to be harassing people over a tragedy, and there is especially NO excuse to be racist. What you can do to help and how to protect yourself. Unfortunately, people have also been spreading videos of the incident. So I'll start with that first. If you see a video with any of these thumbnails or something similar, scroll as quick as you can and do not watch the video. Report it and block the poster immediately.

If you have autoplay on, turn it off if you have the option to. If you are Black, I heavily advise avoiding any posts related to Petgrave at this time. Additionally, do not engage with any posts calling Petgrave a murderer. Block any person who uses this tragedy as an excuse to be racist or otherwise antiblack. If you were at the game or you've already seen video of the incident, and is struggling with what happened, I advise looking at some of these resources. I will add more in the future. NHS England's help and support page. NIMH's page on Coping with Traumatic Events. NAMI Massachusetts Resources page. As for how you can help, I advise donating to this GoFundMe page a fan set up. There is also a Meal Train set up for his family that is also taking donations. The Nottingham Panthers are also in the process of setting up a GoFundMe of their own, which I will also add once the fundraiser is set up. UPDATE: The Panthers' fundraiser is now up and running. I also advise showing support for Matt Petgrave in any way possible, whether it be signs at games, simple social media posts, etc. I'm sure this is rough for him too, and I believe he could use the support. Lastly, I recommend contacting the NHL and other hockey leagues to demand that neckguards be mandatory. This death was something that could've easily been prevented, and neckguards can prevent any tragedy like this from happening again.

Lastly, I leave you with something else to watch instead of the video of the incident:

Rest in peace, Adam Johnson (1994-2023)

#long post #adam johnson #death tw #racism #injury tw #nhl #eihl #nottingham panthers #pittsburgh penguins #matt petgrave #hockey #ice hockey #rest in peace #no id #Youtube

[foundress0fnothing]

Meet Me in the Woods Tonight

Forced to partner together during their company's annual team building event in the Illyrian forest, Azriel Moreno and Eris Vanserra find themselves an unlikely duo. When Eris suggests straying off the marked paths through the forest to beat the other competitors, Azriel reluctantly agrees. Eris was an eagle scout after all---what's the worst that could happen?

This is a collaborative project organized by @azrielshadowssing, so make sure you check out their masterlist for the continuation of this story! You can expect part 2 on April 9th and part 3 on April 23rd!

Part 1 (2.3k words, SFW, rated M--rating may change as story continues)

Read on AO3!

Part 1:

Azriel was not particularly religious, but he was pretty certain that hell, at least, was real. 

“Az? It’s your turn.” He heard Feyre prompt him gently.

Yes, hell was definitely real, Azriel thought, turning his attention to the circle of his coworkers, their eyes squinting in the bright afternoon sun as they waited for him to offer up his two truths and a lie in what Azriel could only hope was the final exercise in the misery that was Velaris Technology’s company-wide team building day. 

Come head the IT department at Vel Tech for me, Az, he thought, mimicking the offer Rhys had made to him almost six months ago after Azriel had finally burnt himself out freelancing. Normal hours, good pay, great people, no corporate bullshit. 

Three of the four of those, Azriel had come to realize, were complete lies. Yes, the pay was good—better than good, if he was being honest. But the rest? Today certainly dispelled any lingering illusions he had that Vel Tech was above “corporate bullshit,” despite Rhys’ best intentions. All it took was an email from Rhys’ old college friend—Helion something—offering Vel Tech a discount on his new team building course set in the forested Illyrian steppes outside of the city and suddenly the entire office was being ushered onto buses and driven out to the woods for a day of mandatory fun.

And the hours were long, far longer than he had ever pulled as a freelancer. For a tech company, Vel Tech seemed barely able to hold itself together, and, to keep himself sane, Azriel had finally stopped counting the number of times Rhys or Feyre or Mor called him at 2 a.m. to “put out a fire, just this once.”

Which left the people. He loved five of them fiercely, even if they were the ones to call him in the middle of the night—Rhys’ inner circle, which he supposed he was officially a part of now. Rhys and his cousin Mor started the business five years ago with the money from Rhys’ inheritance, bringing Cassian along to head security and Amren, whom Azriel was still scared of, along to run the financial side of the business. When Feyre started dating Rhys two years ago, he brought her on board as well, the two of them quickly becoming the very definition of a power couple. Azriel, had he wanted it, could have had a job at Vel Tech since the beginning. While he didn’t regret that it was where he ended up—the six of them in the inner circle were a family of sorts, close-knit and comfortable—he was still glad he didn’t jump on board right away.

As for the other employees who staffed Vel Tech? They were fine, he supposed, but certainly not great: technologically incompetent and bland, but almost universally inoffensive. 

All except fucking Eris Vanserra, Vel Tech’s company lawyer. Tall, cunning, and always impeccably dressed, even for a day out in the woods, Eris Vanserra was far too competent, entirely too interesting, and gleefully offensive.

Case in point: “Yes, Az,” the asshole in question called from his place in the circle, emphasizing Azriel’s nickname in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Do share. I’m sure what you have to say will be fascinating.”

Ignoring Eris’ goading, Azriel dispassionately rattled off the three statements that had gotten him through many similar icebreakers during college: “Azriel Moreno. I like computers. I have two half-siblings. I’ve broken two bones.” Three safe, completely unremarkable facts that allowed him to nominally participate until the group moved on.

There was a beat of silence. To no one’s surprise, Cassian was the one to break it: “Congratulations, Az. Those are boring as shit.”

Rhys and Mor snorted, and Azriel laughed along with them, knowing Cassian had a point. “Look,” he sighed, tired of this, tired of the day—the morning had started at 9 a.m. with a three-legged race of all things, as if that nonsense ever helped with “team building.” “It’s not like anyone even listens to anyone else’s facts in these icebreakers. Much less cares about them.”

It was the most he had said all day, and he knew the moment it left his mouth that it had been entirely the wrong thing to voice in the large group. Everyone was quiet, suddenly uncomfortable. Fuck. He should have saved it for drinks at Rita’s after the godforsaken day was over and it was just the people who already knew him, who already knew what he was like. Rhys, Cassian, and Amren would have laughed—hell, would have agreed, probably—and Feyre and Mor would have fondly rolled their eyes before teasing him about his antisocial behavior.

Not now though, not with twenty-odd other employees gathered in the circle. He saw Feyre cast a glance at Rhys, his mouth cast in a stern line, and then started saying, “Look, Azriel, I get that this isn’t really your thing, and, don’t get me wrong, we’re glad you’ve joined in today—”

“Oh, come on, Feyre,” Eris interrupted, any teasing in his voice having evaporated. “You can’t seriously be letting that slide.”

Without giving anyone else a chance to weigh in, he started working through the circle methodically. “Kallias grew up in Alaska, once rode on a reindeer to get supplies when the town was snowed in, and met Vivian, his wife, not online but at a bar in town. Nephelle has not yet completed a full marathon although she hopes to do so, is allergic to sesame, builds terrariums in her free time. Tarquin won five amateur surfing competitions as a kid, does not particularly enjoy tiki cocktails ever since his 21st birthday, and is working on getting his boating license. Do I need to keep going?”

Azriel was silent, simultaneously embarrassed that it was Eris of all people who called him out on his bullshit and in awe of the feat of memory he had just displayed. Azriel hadn’t meant to be rude, not really—he was just…done with the day and figured others would be too.

Rhys cleared his throat and, letting his cool CEO mask smooth over his previous irritation, said, “Thank you for that demonstration, Eris.”

Eris nodded at Rhys and then looked over to Azriel, a question in his eyes. Azriel didn’t meet his gaze, didn’t say anything, didn’t know what the right next step was. Misreading his continued silence as a challenge, Eris’ gaze shifted into a glare, annoyance evident, and continued, “Moreno, if you can name a single thing someone else has said during this game, I will quit my job at Vel Tech right now. Otherwise—”

“I’m sorry.” Azriel said curtly but sincerely, interrupting whatever tirade Eris was about to start in on, deciding that a quick apology, at least, was better than doing nothing and letting Eris continue. “I’m tired, but that’s no excuse for my rudeness. I didn’t mean to offend.” He looked around at his coworkers in the circle, hoping they would read the regret on his face even if his apology itself was a bit brusque.

Feyre smiled brightly, easily appeased. “Thanks, Az. Apology accepted.” She turned her bright eyes to the woman from HR seated next to Azriel on the grass, “Diedre, why don’t you go and start us up again?”

Relieved that the group’s attention had shifted, Azriel closed his eyes briefly and took a breath, trying to gather himself, trying to stop his heart from racing after the scene he had just caused.

When he opened his eyes a moment later, he found Eris watching him. Azriel held his gaze, neither of them breaking eye contact until Eris, deciding something, slightly inclined his head. Azriel took that to mean, apology accepted. Eris’ eyes then narrowed, and he glanced pointedly at Deidre, which Azriel realized meant, fucking pay attention, idiot.

And Azriel tried, really—three dogs or something, wanted to be a ballet dancer or was a ballet dancer, read…romances, maybe?...disguised as other books during her high school days—but he could barely focus. His heart was still racing, but this time with something he couldn’t quite place, something like … anticipation? Pleasure? He didn’t know, and didn’t know if he really wanted to know anyway.

“You never told us what the lie was.” 

Azriel choked on the water he was drinking, surprised to hear Eris’ voice behind him. He knew Rhys and Feyre and all weren’t really mad about what happened during the game, but still, he had walked away from the picnic tables in the clearing and to the forest’s edge, wanting to be alone to get himself together before the end of the day. Just for a minute. And, of course, Eris refused to let him have even that. 

“Why?” Azriel challenged, irritated that his brooding had been interrupted. “Want to know all my secrets?”

Eris’ only looked perversely delighted, amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Of course, Moreno. I want to know everything about you.”

Azriel huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Look, Vanserra—” he began, not really sure where he was going with his reply.

But before he could figure it out, a whistle called them back together, and Azriel was forced to sullenly follow a smirking Eris back to the main clearing.

As they neared the larger group, they found Helion, architect of hell, midway through a closing speech. “ … and what a delight it has been to help Vel Tech grow closer as a team!” Ever the showman, he paused for cheers which Cassian and Mor exuberantly led. He continued, “There have been highs, and there have been lows. You have seen each other’s strengths; you now know each other’s weaknesses. And you, Vel Tech, are better for it! Ready to return to Velaris as a stronger, more unified group of … dare I say family?”

Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“But now, tragically, we have reached the final activity for today. Drumroll, please!” He glanced at Cassian, who gleefully indulged him by smacking his hands on his thighs.

Azriel waited. Please be something quick, please be something quick, please be something quick—

“The final team building activity for Vel Tech is…capture the flag!” Helion gestured to the forest that surrounded the clearing. “But you’re not just playing against each other—you’ll be playing against me as well. In the forest behind me, I have hidden three flags marked with Vel Tech’s trademark mountain and stars logo. Your job will be to bravely venture forth into the forest, find the flags before your coworkers do, return to claim your prize, and bring glory to your name!” 

Laughing good-naturedly at Helion’s dramatics, the Vel Tech employees began eyeing the forest, some blanching a bit at the sheer size of it. Sensing their hesitation, Helion clarified. “All flags are set just off of some of the main trails at strategic lookout points, and we’ve provided you all with maps. You shouldn’t have to deviate too far from the marked paths to find my flags—the trick is choosing the right paths and getting to the flags before anyone else does. Questions?

As Helion paused, Azriel idly wondered what, if any, actual team building could be done by treating them like middle school kids at a summer camp. None at all, he decided, figuring he’d run into the forest with everyone else and then peel away from the group to take a nap against a tree while everyone else made fools of themselves.

“And you’ll be working in teams of two! So grab someone nearby and start talking strategy.”

Azriel glanced around. Rhys and Feyre were already deep in conversation, arguing over the map in front of them. Mor and Cassian had a map but didn’t look at it, clearly determined that sheer enthusiasm and willpower would win the day for them. Even Amren had already partnered up with Varian from marketing, the two looking more bloodthirsty than Azriel thought was possible for real humans. With a sinking feeling, he turned to look at Eris, who was already grinning at him wolfishly. So much for that nap.

“Hello, partner. I hope you’re better at scavenger hunts than you are at two truths and a lie.”

Azriel glowered. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Humming noncommittally, Eris only replied, “We’ll see.”

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort of lobbing insults back and forth, Azriel only said,  “Strategy?”

“No witty banter for me? Shame. Well, even if you are shit at this too, I have it covered.”

Azriel quirked an eyebrow.

With a long suffering sigh, Eris explained. “Had you been paying attention during Helion’s wonderful little game, you would have learned that I was an eagle scout in high school. These are my woods,” he said theatrically, throwing his arms open to encompass the forest around them. “I know every inch of them—the trails, of course, but also the unmarked paths that’ll get us to Helion’s lookout points without having to deal with everyone else bumbling about together. Are you ready for a hike, partner?”  

Groaning internally, Azriel resigned himself to not only missing out on a nap but also having to actually try. He studied Eris, who, despite appearing absurdly elegant in a close-fitting green quarter-zip that brought out the color of his eyes, his hair artfully windswept in a way that Azriel refused to believe was totally natural, looked actually ready for a hike through the Illyrian forest. Asshole.

“Assuming, of course, that you can keep up, that is.” Eris smirked at him, studying Azriel—who was wearing all black, of course—in his turn. 

“Lead the way,” was all Azriel said in reply, refusing to be outdone by Eris fucking Vanserra and his too-manicured appearance. “But if you get us lost, Vanserra—”

“Please, Moreno,” Eris cut in with a withering glare at Azriel as the two reached the forest’s edge. “Impossible. It’ll be fun.”

#azris #azris fanfiction #modern au #acotarwritingcircle #azriel x eris #azriel shadowsinger #eris vanserra #acotar fanfiction #acotar writing circle

[wardenparker]

You’re So Vain - Chapter 5

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.    

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, fake dating, alcohol consumption. Summary: On your third date with Dieter, Libby insists that you post a kiss on social media.  Notes: Sorry for being a little late with this chapter today guys, chronic illness is a bitch. Thanks for reading!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

It’s rare that Nora goes to daycare this summer, but today Steph is getting ready for work at the same time you’re getting ready for your dreaded third date with Dieter. Luckily Libby didn’t seem to know about the way the last date ended and she was nothing but cheery on the phone two days ago. Disney, she had told you in that voice that said there was more than just the Happiest Place on Earth in store for you. The dreaded part of this date comes in the form of your mandatory display of affection: a kiss in front of the iconic castle that will be posted all over his social media and the Mate Marks ad campaign. The last thing in the world you want to do is kiss him, but as Steph has pointed out: you’re getting a day at Disney out of it. Hopefully that will be some kind of comfort when you’re compulsively brushing your teeth later tonight.

“Why do I have to pick her up?” It’s been weeks since he’s seen you and honestly, it’s probably better that way. He kind of feels like a jackass for what he said but he also doesn’t believe that pathetic excuse for an apology was good enough either. Libby sighs - a long suffering sound that makes Dieter almost believe that he might get his way. Until she answers him. “Because you two need to ride together, Dee. You can’t show up at Disneyland in different cars. Just— the last date went well. Pick her up, enjoy the park, kiss her, and bring her home.” She tells him sternly, already having dealt with him whining about wanting to smoke weed again. “Fine.” He rolls his eyes and grabs his keys off the counter. “This better work. Because I’d rather give myself a circumcision than fucking deal with more insults.” He huffs.

******

You got antsy waiting for it to be time and ended up volunteering to get Nora loaded into her car seat to help Steph out. She's fighting you on it today, asking over and over why she can't spend the day with you, and you're so close to calling and asking to postpone the start of the day when Dieter's car pulls into the driveway.

Dieter anticipated staying in the car, but he could hear the little girl’s loud protests and see the flailing limbs from the driver’s seat. Climbing out, he walks over to the shiny SUV, hooks his arm over the door and peers in the space between it and the car’s frame. “Hey, squirt.”

"Deedee!" Nora practically screeches, propelling herself out of her car seat yet again to grab for a hug. "Deedee tell Auntie Gigi that is 'sokay for me to stay home today!"

He grins and reaches out to hug her, looking around and giving the little girl a shrug. “You gonna stay home all alone?” He asks. “Momma’s gotta work and Gigi’s gotta go do boring adult stuff.” He rolls his eyes playfully like going to Disney is the worst. Not that she knows that’s where you’re going.

"How boring?" She asks, as though she's suspicious that he could ever be involved in something boring. The only times she's ever seen him, something big and cool always happens like her mother getting a big, new, shiny car.

“Reallllllllly boring.” Dieter huffs, giving the little girl a great big pout. “Boring enough that she probably wants to go with you to play with your friends.” He had no doubt you would rather be with Nora than with him, so he’s not lying.

"I'll be back tonight, sweetie." You promise her, hoping you can just get her to settle down long enough to get her buckled in before Steph comes out of the house. "You always have so much fun at day care, I know you're going to have so much fun with your friends." It's neither here nor there that you would much rather be at home with her like any other normal day.

“I wanna go with you!” She huffs, trying to throw off her straps. Frowning and on the verge of a meltdown.

Dieter raises a brow and smirks as you blow out an exasperated breath. “Tell you what, squirt.” He grabs her attention, apparently the nickname tickles her. “If you are good for your Gigi and go to day care with your friends like a good girl, I’ll make sure you get a treat tonight when Gigi comes home. Whadya say?”

Bribery isn't necessarily your favourite tactic with Nora, but she seems intrigued by the offer and it might be the only way to avoid a full meltdown, so you don't argue the point while she considers. Her little mouth is set in a pout but she definitely understands the concept of bargaining better than the average four-year-old. "'Kay," she agrees finally, flopping backward and allowing you to finally buckle her in safely.

“’Kay.” Dieter sasses her with a wink that makes her giggle. Happy that at least one of the women in his life is happy with him. He likes her, even if he’s only met her twice. She’s a cool little kid and he vibes with that.

"Dieter!" Steph comes outside a second later, smiling and looking relaxed since you were the one who wrestled with her willful little minion today instead of her. "How are you, honey?" She knows all of what happened at the concert, but she has also made it known that your apology was fairly half-assed in her opinion, and she's decided that Dieter Bravo is okay in her book. At least unless he does something truly horrific - but she doesn't think that's very likely to occur considering how kind he's been to her and Nora.

“Hey sweetheart.” Dieter comes over and gives Stephanie a hug. “I’m doing alright, how’s everything here?” He would ask you, but he doesn’t want to. He would rather talk to someone who actually likes him.

"Everything's really good." She's all smiles this morning, clutching the travel mug of coffee in her hand. "My folks are coming down for a visit next week to see their grandbaby for her birthday so we're just cleaning the house and getting the guest room ready. It will be nice to see them."

“That’s good.” Dieter nods and looks over at Nora. “Birthday, huh?” He asks, sending her another wink. “What are you asking for?”

"Shoes that light up!" Nora tells him excitedly, swinging her feet now that she's secure in her seat. "And a cowgirl hat. I wanna wear them every day in kin-dee-garters."

He nods seriously. “As you should.” He tells her sagely. “That would be really cool.”

"She's excited for big girl school," Steph laughs. "I can't believe she's already old enough for kindergarten." With a shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulder, Steph leans in to give Dieter another hug. "Say goodbye to Deedee and Aunt Gigi, Nora. We gotta go."

"Bye-bye Deedee!" She crows, all waves and with every ounce of sadness she had felt just minutes ago completely gone. "Bye-bye Auntie Gigi!"

“Bye, sweetie." You lean into the car to give her a kiss before backing up again, waving as Steph double checks her seat and shuts the door to hop behind the wheel.

Dieter waves to Nora and gives her a big thumbs up as they back out of the driveway. Once they are driving away, the smile slides off his face and he turns to walk back to his car.

"Hi." It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes or grumble at him as you quickly swipe up the ridiculous, white sequined Minnie Mouse backpack that Libby sent for you to use today. It arrived with matching white sequined sneakers and a flowy tank top and shorts that will show off every single bit of the ink that Dieter has put on your skin over the years.

“Hey.” His own response is flat, and he lifts a brow at your outfit. Happy that Libby hadn’t dressed him for going to fucking Disney. He had gotten to wear what he wanted. A pair of his plaid shorts and a plain t-shirt with a hat. The only thing she had argued with him on was his crocs, so he was wearing Converse sneakers instead. “Ready?” He asks, opening the car door.

“There’s something I want to say before we go.” Standing there clutching that stupid little backpack makes you feel juvenile, but you don’t want to wait and say this in the middle of a crowded amusement park just in case it goes badly. The last thing you need is another too-public humiliation. You don’t huff, or sigh, or grumble - just square your shoulders and hold your chin up high. Be a goddamn adult about it, you remind yourself. “I’m sorry. I passed judgement on something I knew nothing about, and that was as unfair to you as it was unkind. Even if your tattoos had nothing to do with a family member that passed, I still should have asked instead of assuming.” The last couple of weeks have been filled with a lot of introspection and a lot of Steph lovingly kicking your ass as you kicked hers right back, but you hadn’t told Libby that you planned to apologize. Only promising her that you would be on your best behavior because you really can’t predict Dieter’s reactions. “I can’t undo what I’ve said, but I am apologizing for it and telling you that I’m going to do better.” Ultimately, your bullshit is your own. He won’t be in your life anymore after a few more of these dates, but one day you’re going to have to look Nora in the eye and tell her it’s time to be the bigger person or apologize for doing something wrong, and you can’t rightfully do that if you can’t do it yourself.

Dieter feels himself freeze in shock. They are words he never expected to hear from you. Sure, you have that immediate little apology when he slapped you with the truth, but he hadn’t expected you to actually acknowledge what you had done. “Um, thank you.” He clears his throat and looks over towards the house for a second before he looks back at you. Actually meets your eyes. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you. I just— I was angry and hurt.” He shakes his head and sighs. “But it wasn’t right either, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Thank you.” It’s awkward - it’s very awkward - but you put your hands out to do what Steph suggested. After you apologize, give him a hug. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before, it’s just never been willingly.

Now he’s wondering what the hell is going on. Eyeing you warily, he doesn’t see a knife or an ice pick in your hands and Dieter is enough of a secret affection whore that he’s stepping closer to you. Reaching out and accepting the hug.

It only lasts a second or two, but it's still there, and it doesn't instantly cause you psychic damage or whatever like those games that your brother used to play. "Okay, um...ready to go?"

“Disney, here we come.” Dieter says, only being a little sarcastic. “A least Nora didn’t find out that’s where we’re going.”

"She would have rioted," you laugh, getting into the car. "Daycare can never compare to the magic of Disney."

“Of course it can’t.” Dieter chuckles. “Steph sent me a picture of her first time. Looked like she was in love with it.”

"She was." Once you're both in the car, he wastes no time backing out of your driveway and heading back out to the highway. The half hour drive to Anaheim should fly by if you can keep your resolve to behave. "She has added princess to her list of future careers, right under cowgirl and fairy."

“Solid job considerations.” Dieter jokes, merging with traffic smoothly. “Children should always be encouraged to explore their passions.”

"Right now the sky is the limit for her in terms of dreams. It's just getting her health under control so that nothing else will stand in her way." She's doing better, at least, and hasn't had to go to the hospital in two whole months which is an extreme improvement over the beginning of the year.

“Yeah.” Dieter frowns, wondering what would be down the line for her. He may have read some articles on her disease. Just out of curiosity. “Hopefully that happens.”

"She's doing better." He sounds concerned, and that actually shouldn't surprise you considering he's said how much he likes kids. "No unscheduled hospital trips in two months, and her doctor nailed down the dosage for her medicine. So...good things are on the horizons."

“That’s great.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ve heard there some great clinics in Spain and Istanbul.”

"Yeah." You and Steph had done endless reading on all the best doctors and clinics all over the world for pediatric medicine, trying to see if anyone seemed to know anything about the mysterious symptoms not connected to Nora's main diagnosis, but those were just a pipe dream. "But even debt free, those are...they're hard to get her seen at. For now, we're just glad that she's doing better."

“I can agree with that.” Dieter doesn’t know what he would do if someone he cares about was chronically ill. “Hopefully one day they figure out everything.”

"That's the hope." Sitting back in the seat, you watch the highway roll by out your window and try to relax a little in your seat. "Have you, um...have you heard anything about that movie in Switzerland?" He had mentioned it at the concert and Libby mentioned it to you once. The way she was talking, it was something very big deal. Something he wanted.

Dieter nods. “I got it.” He is happy that he did, looking forward to going back there again and revisiting some of his favorite places. “Filming for four weeks.” He spots the Anaheim exit for Disney and slides into the exit lane.

“That’s good.” It seems like a short amount of time to film a movie, but honestly what the hell do you know about filming movies? He probably has more to do when he gets back to California. “Can I ask…um, what’s special about Switzerland? Libby made it sound like your favorite place in the world.”

Dieter looks over at you and gives you small grin before looking back at the road. “My mom was Swiss.” He announces. “It was something we always wanted to do, go visit. Danica and I.” He sighs. “I— after she, uh, you know – filming in Switzerland saved my life. Or being able to go wander through Hans Holbein’s works saved me.” He gives a nonchalant shrug; almost afraid you will have something critical to say.

“So you do like portraiture.” It’s definitely not what you were expecting him to say at all, honestly you don’t really know what you were expecting him to say, but it’s unexpected all the same. “There’s this painting he did of Lais of Corinth that is just mesmerizing…I’ve tried to paint myself in that pose so many times. She’s wearing the same gown as Venus in his portrait of Venus and Amor and I just…I swear if I had all the money in the world I would get married in a reproduction of it or something. It’s all just gorgeous.”

“It’s a memorizing piece.” Dieter agrees. “Even more stunning in person.”

“You’ve seen her?” It may be the first time you’ve ever envied him, and you’re sure the look of awe on your face says so.

“I spent hours staring at her.” He nods, not mentioning that he was so fucking high at the time that it was ridiculous. “Every day I would sit with her. Absorbing everything I could from her.”

“Wow…” Slumped in your seat a little, you nearly laugh at the irony of someone you consider having no taste also loving one of your favorite paintings. “Well…if you see her again while you’re there, give her my regards.”

“I will.” Dieter follows the signs for parking, between the lines of others rushing to get to the park. “I figure I will go and visit before I even go to set. She knows a lot of my secrets from back then.”

You have no doubt that he has plenty of secrets, but part of your promise to yourself to do better is to not point that out. “Libby asked me to start an Instagram today,” you tell him as he parks the car, holding your phone tight in one hand. “She, uh…she wants me to use it all day. And I guess at the next thing we’re used to go to. Somebody’s birthday party?”

“Yeah.” Dieter rolls his eyes and snorts. “It’s just going to be a large party of Hollywood. Drugs, sex and actors.” Although he’s been told he can’t have anything but booze.

“I’ll stick to booze.” Anything else just isn’t in your wheelhouse anymore and you refocus your attention on your phone to open the Instagram app that you downloaded last night but haven’t touched yet. Since you don’t have any other social media you don’t have a standard handle of any kind so you just sort of stare blankly for longer than you’re proud of.

“I have to as well.” He rolls his eyes and huffs as he pulls into a parking spot. Turning the car off, he looks over at you. “Have you figured it out?”

“Not really.” Steph had suggested that you ask him for help when you asked her last night and that had made you grumpy for about an hour before you decided to throw up your hands and go to bed because it was midnight. “I need a name first, I guess?”

Dieter hums, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Something to do with your art.” He suggests. “RenaissanceArtTeacher or some shit.” He chuckles. “Impressionist101.”

“Something like ImpressionistAuntie is probably too dumb, right?” It’s two fundamental pieces of your personality - your art and your role as an aunt - but you’re no good at what Libby so firmly calls branding.

“Nah it’s perfect.” Dieter tells you over the hood of the car as he closes the door. “It’s your account, it should be reflective of who you are. Art is at the core, and I know you love your niece.”

It’s surprising how easily the chatting becomes when you’re not both clawing your way down each other’s throats, but you push that thought away to focus on your phone again. Once your account is created you snap a picture of the Park gates for your very first post.

The tickets are already purchased. Libby had taken care of that, making sure that you both had the cute matching bands that Dieter had rolled his eyes over. He fishes them out of his pocket and hands you one. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Disney Soulmate the bands proclaim, and it’s clear in an instant that the inspiration for this trip is his ambassadorship for Mate Marks, as their logo is also on the band. Libby is nothing if not efficient. “Where to first?”

Dieter shrugs once the two of you are in the park. It’s still early, the park just opened, and he looks around. “I’m not picky. Although I will want a drink somewhere.” Even though he’s been given strict orders not to get drunk at Disney, he needs a little alcohol.

“God yes.” You laugh when he looks surprised. “What? Auntie likes to get her day drink on, and Disney supposedly does good cocktails.”

He chuckles, surprised that you are so easy with this, and nods towards the interior of the park. You are still right at the gates and people are flooding past you. “Let’s go drink around Disney then.”

The Star Wars campus is first stop, since Steph said you would love it and it’s listed as the longest wait in the park. The longer you put it off today, the line will just keep growing, and even if the lightsabers are crazy expensive you still want to gaze longingly at all the little fake kyber crystals in the souvenir shops.

“God, do I want a Jedi Mind Trick or an Outer Rim?” He waggles his brows, unable to stop the dirty thought that prevails as he looks up at the menu to order a drink. He was getting one in his hand as soon as possible. “Vodka or Tequila?”

“You strike me as more of a tequila guy.” It’s the image he’s cultivated, but you catch yourself sounding accidentally judgmental and bite your lip. Do better. “We’re supposed to be doing cute couple shit, right? Let’s get one of each.”

Dieter is surprised and looks over at you with a raised brow. “Are you sure? I thought for sure you were going to order a Fuzzy Tauntaun.” He jokes, shooting you a grin to remind you that he’s messing with you.

“I’ve never been a big fan of drinks that can be described as fuzzy,” you admit honestly. “But…yeah. Might as well try both?” If it were a third date with anyone else, sharing some drinks or generally being publicly affectionate with the person you’re out with would be no big deal.

“Okay, but if you don’t like them, we’ll get you something else.” Dieter doesn’t want you to drink something because he bought and you hate it. The bartender comes over and Dieter leans against the counter, ordering the drinks.

"You have to really work to get me to hate a cocktail." Leaning with your back to the bar, you can watch all the excited families bustling around as they eagerly start their days. It's a typically gorgeous July morning in Southern California and really, there are a hell of a lot worse places you could be today.

“Anything you want to ride or do you just want to browse, right now?” He asks, glancing over at you before he watches the bartender start making the drinks.

"Does Smuggler's Run sound like any fun to you?" Without any real clue what he would enjoy, you're kind of shooting in the dark. But the Millennium Falcon is a classic for a reason.

“Sure.” He thanks the bartender and signs the slip, adding a generous tip before he holds up the drinks. “Wanna take a picture of them?” He asks with a smirk.

"Full documentation of Disney day drinking?" After all, Libby never said you couldn't socially lubricate today. If it helps you both laugh and smile for the cameras and the onlookers, then that's what you'll do. "But we should probably post pictures of food at some point today, too. Just for safety's sake." After all - all of this is for his image.

“I’m getting one of those Disney apples.” Dieter declares, nodding his head as he takes a sip of the Jedi Mind Trick. “Oh shit…that’s fucking good.”

"Let's do this." Distracted by the throngs of tourists, you don't even think about what you're saying when you put your hand out to ask for the other drink. "Rim me."

“Really?” Dieter grins, winking at you before he hands you the drink. His flirty nature would never let him leave that comment laying there untouched. “I didn’t figure you would be into that kind of thing.” He huffs. “We could get kicked out, you know? Family friendly place and all.”

"What are you—?" It takes you a second to figure out what he's talking about and you pull a face immediately. "No, no no, nope, not at all what I meant!" He knows that of course, and the smirk on his face is normally one that would set you off. But in the spirit of the day you point a finger at him and take a long sip of the drink colorfully named Outer Rim before shaking your head. "I would have to be very drunk to even consider that. And the answer would still probably be no."

“Figured.” Dieter takes another sip of his drink, not wanting to start a fight by teasing you. This morning has gone fairly well, and he wants to keep whatever piece he can.

"Not that I'm not adventurous." You're too stubborn for your own good, you've been told that multiple times by multiple people. And right now you're somehow competing with the image he's conjured of you and you just impulsively jump to defend yourself. "It's just somebody's mouth I don't want there. That's all."

“I get it.” Dieter gives a small shrug like it’s not that big of a deal. “You like that what you like, you don’t like what you don’t like.” He’s never been one to push sexual ideas on people that he’s been with. He’s happy with just plain sex if that’s what he can get.

"Right." He's not engaging today, and maybe that's his own version of trying to tone down the temper that seems to constantly flare between you, so you just nod and take another little sip of the drink before offering it to him to try. "It's good. Sounds like they both are."

He switches glasses with you and takes a sip of the Outer Rim. “Hmmm.” He pulls back to look at it and then back at you. “Pretty damn good.” He offers. “Which one do you like best?” Whichever one, he will let you keep it and take the other.

"Ironically, I think I like the Outer Rim better." They're both excellent, but you offer him back the one he liked better with a smile. "Do you want to get in line after we finish these?"

“We can drink them in line.” He tells you, having learned that when he was here for the opening weekend a few years ago.

"Perfect." Pushing away from the bar, you pause for a second before offering him your hand. He doesn't have to take it, that's fine. But the whole day today is extremely public and it's supposed to end with a staged kiss...and if you can't even get through a little pda then having to kiss him even for a quick peck is going to be actual torture.

Dieter doesn’t know what has happened, but he likes this version of you. He takes your hand and looks over. “I’ll apologize if my hands get sweaty. It happens a lot and I hate it.” He explains.

"I usually have paint or glitter on my hands, so I'll barely notice." The luxury of spending the summer buried in art and craft supplies with Nora hasn't been lost on you, but it has definitely led to you being a bit messier than usual around the house.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t normally deal with glitter unless it was high off his ass at a club, but he gets the paint. “So. What’s next after Smuggler’s Run?”

“You’ve been here before.” The two of you slip into line behind a group of teenagers with your drinks still in hand. “What do you like to do?” The last thing you want is for him to get bored and cranky because this is actually not a train wreck so far. Granted you’ve been here for less than an hour, but it’s still a big step in a good direction.

“Honestly, I walk around a lot.” He tells you. “It’s been a while since I’ve come. Last time was when this place opened.” He looks around and ignores the stares from a few people around the two of you. He knew it would probably happen; it always does.

“Let’s just walk around then.” You shrug a little, seeing a bunch of little kids with their parents starting to stare at him. He’s a movie star, it happens, but it does make you a little uncomfortable. Him too, from the look on his face, so you just keep talking. “I’ve never been here at all, so let’s just wander and see what happens. Just find rides and drinks as we stumble upon them.”

“That sounds good to me.” Dieter drains the rest of his drink and as you shuffle forward in the line, he tosses it in the bin that is there for convenience. He spots a little kid pointing at him and screeching, making him turn to you quickly. “Just go with it, okay?” He asks, not clarifying what, but needing you to agree as the boy breaks free from his parents and race towards him, screeching happily. “Maaaaaaaaannnnnddddoooooooo!”

“Go with—?” Having barely turned away to toss out your empty cup, you hear the kid before you see him. The happy cry is earsplitting and when you reel around again, Dieter has a boy of about six or seven nearly crying in front of him.

“Mando, Mando! I knew it was you!” The little boy is nearly about to bust he is so excited, and Dieter looks back to see his parents rushing towards him, obviously figuring out that he is not the man who plays the Mandalorian on Disney+. “Hey bud, what’s your name?” He asks, kneeling down and raising a hand to signal to the parents that it was okay. He had expected it at least once while he was here.

“Liam!” He tells Dieter excitedly. The little boy’s eyes are wide with that kind of pure joy that is reserved for little kids and it’s an amazing sight to see.

“Hey Liam.” He grins at the kid and his dad rushes up.

“Liam, that’s not—”

His father starts to break the kid’s heart and Dieter doesn’t want that. “Mando’s undercover today, Liam.” He tells the young boy with a wink. “You think you can keep it a secret for me?” He looks around and crooks his finger to have the little boy lean in. “I’m looking for a bounty.” He confides quietly.

“A bad guy?” Little Liam’s eyes open wide and you can’t help but smile. Standing behind Dieter, you have one hand barely covering your mouth to stifle a little soft laughter and more than a little surprise. He’s actually pretty good with kids, if this little boy and Nora are any indication.

“I am.” Liam’s parents relax, smiling slightly when they realize Dieter isn’t going to scold him or burst his bubble. “It’s why I don’t have my armor on.” He tells him confidentially. “Too noticeable.”

Liam looks around like a secret agent scouting a crowded room before he asks, in a very concerned tone: “Do you need help?”

Dieter thinks for a second and nods seriously. “I could use another set of eyes.” He tells him. “I’m looking for a Wookie. You know what they look like?” He asks the starry-eyed boy.

“Like Chewbacca!” He’s excited but his voice is an adorable stage whisper as he nods eagerly.

“Who?” Dieter tilts his head, remembering that Mando hadn’t met Chewy in canon. “This Wookie has black fur. If you see him, you find me, okay?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small little coin that he had meant to give Nora. It’s one of the credits they had passed out on opening day. “For your trouble.”

“Okay!” Liam breathes out in awe, carefully taking the coin from Dieter’s palm before sprinting back to his parents at full speed. “Dad! Look! Mom, Mom!”

Standing up, he turns and grins at you. “I’ll have to text him and tell him I got another one.”

“That happens a lot?” You motion vaguely in the direction of the retreating child fully aware that the look of shock hasn’t wiped off your face just yet.

“Only for the last couple of years.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “People seem to think I look like Pedro. The guy who plays Mando. Personally, I don’t see it, but they insist.” He tells you, looking slightly bewildered that anyone would think he looks like anyone but himself.

“Huh.” Tilting your head a little, you try to imagine the bulky armor the Star Wars character wears over Dieter’s t-shirt and shorts. It’s…not so far off, actually. “I can kinda see it.��

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “God, don’t tell me you’ll start believing it. I’ll get him over to stand beside me and you’ll see how different we look.”

“You’re right.” Rolling your eyes back at him, it’s all you can do to keep the smile on your face and not get annoyed with him. “He’s much better looking.”

That makes him send you a hurt pout and huff, turning back towards the line. Muttering under his breath and huffs the words “armor” and “uniform kink”.

There’s no way in hell that you’re going to tell him that that’s correct, and luckily the conversation is wiped away by a couple of fraternity bros who ask for a selfie with Dieter in line a few minutes later. Dieter poses with them, reminding himself that this is a part of being famous. Even if he hates that part. When he turns back to you, he rolls his eyes slightly and huffs. “I need a better disguise.” He jokes.

“We can get you decked out in some Disney gear like me.” He would hate that, and you chuckle at the image. “You would look like every other tourist.”

He rolls his eyes and quickly shakes his head. “But I will take a Hawaiian shirt.” He quips.

“Your souvenir for the day.” Finally at the front of the line, the park employees usher the two of you into the ride along with the Frat boys that had just been in front of you. The virtue of the day, according to Libby, is that on the rides you don’t have to talk much. And while things are going okay today you don’t particularly want to test the limits of what you’re both willing to put up with.

The ride is fun. Dieter likes rides, if he’s honest. What’s not to like about them? They remind him of the small fairs that would come around every year when he was a kid. He laughs and plays along with everyone else until it’s over and you are filing off so others can enjoy it.

The day has a leisurely rhythm to if, punctuated by moments of small annoyance or heavy eye rolling, but when you make it to midafternoon without tearing each other’s throats out you really do have to consider the whole thing a success. Apparently, it’s a lot easier to get along with a little booze involved, who would have figured? According to Libby’s Law - the new name you’ve made up for the list of instructions for every date that Libby has issued you both - the last two mandatory activities are dinner and that visit to the castle.

There have been plenty more autograph seekers and even one more little kid mistaking his identity - but the one that catches you completely off guard is when you and Dieter are staring at a map of the park deciding where to eat and someone comes up to you. Being splashed all over gossip websites was the thing you were dreading almost more than anything else and here is some random teenage— oh god…that’s one of your students… “Please be nice,” you beg quietly, knowing he could take the opportunity to be totally inappropriate and rude if he wanted to be. He’s done it before but this one would be truly upsetting for you. Your students mean the world to you after Nora.

He wants to say something snarky, but he reminds himself that you have been gracious when fans have come up to him. Although it’s probably that you were relieved that you could have a few minutes away from him where you didn’t have to pretend to like him. He watches the kid come up, nervous and obviously harboring a crush on his art teacher, beaming at you as he comes up and hugs you.

You manage to chat with your student for a minute or two before he brings up the obvious elephant in the proverbial room. “So, it’s true, huh?” JJ asks, hands stuffed in his sagging jeans as he nods to the man a few feet in back of you. “Nobody believed it, but Corinne had a big party at her house to watch the Adele concert live and we saw…well I mean it’s none of my business but it was just surprising, that’s all.”

Dieter perks up slightly, amused at the way this kid is towering over you and looks like he can pack away an entire food cart and still be hungry, but he’s nearly blushing. “You must be one of her art students.” Dieter offers, stepping up and offering the kid his hand, just to see how he reacts. “Dieter.”

“JJ.” The wall of a teenager straightens up and shakes his hand with a tiny bit more force than is necessary.

“JJ took my photography class last semester.” And has just confirmed your worst professional nightmare about this whole publicity stunt. That all of your students are watching it unfold. Good luck trying to keep their respect when you become a talk show punchline.

“Signed up for two semesters of painting for next year.” He tells you proudly. “Senior year’s gonna be on the court or at an easel.”

“Oh, I bet.” Dieter hums, shaking his hand slightly after getting it back. Kid had a handshake on him, although his rings being crushed into his fingers didn’t help. His eyes light up. “Photography, you said?”

“Got an A on my final.” JJ tells him with that kind of confidence that only comes with not realizing how little grades matter once you’re out of school.

“So you could take a decent photo for us.” He doesn’t ask, he’s more challenging the kid to say no.

“Way better than decent.” The teen’s chest puffs up proudly.

“Perfect.” Dieter grins and swings around towards you. “My phone or yours? Although I want a copy regardless.” He winks at you and tucks his tongue in his cheek.

It takes a second for all the pieces to click into place: why he’s suddenly so interested in photography, where you’re currently standing, and the fact that it’s obvious to anyone with a bare minimum knowledge of social cues that this particular student has had an adolescent crush on you since his sophomore year. Dieters going to have him take the picture. Have your student bear witness to the thing live and in person. This is going to get blown so out of proportion with your students… “Yours.” You mumble finally, knowing that it’s going to happen no matter what. There’s nothing to do but grit your teeth and bear it.

“Great!” Dieter is practically exuberant as he pulls out his phone and selects the camera. “Now I wouldn’t start looking through it if I were you….” He pauses and grins. “Or maybe I would, but you definitely shouldn’t.” He teases as he shoves the phone into the boy’s hand and rushes over to you. “We want a magical photo of us kissing in front of the castle. Got it?”

Poor JJ’s face practically drops off his head it falls so much, but he nods dutifully and moves to line up a shot that will catch the two of you and the castle but not the three other couples currently trying to get the same type of photo. “Ready when you are, Miss.”

“Cruel.” You mumble under your breath, knowing Dieter is perfectly aware of what he’s doing.

“Life lesson.” Dieter hums back, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you closer. “Do you want to do the cute little leg pop thing?” He asks playfully, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours. He’s thinking of this as a scene, knowing you don’t want to do this, but it’s needed.

“Well you’re not dipping me.” It’s one of those sensations that makes your stomach drop like you’re going to be sick for no apparent reason and you definitely don’t need that right now. “So, fine…leg pop I guess.”

He wets his lips, knowing they are dry and he doesn’t want this to be bad. You already don’t like him, and he’d hate to give you another reason to stack the deck against him. Wanting the next three dates to at least be tolerable before you part ways, never to speak again. “Ready?” He murmurs quietly, still not comfortable with the idea of just taking. He can be an asshole, and a bit of a whore – but it’s all consensual.

The question gets a soft exhale from you, a note of surprise that he would even ask. It’s good - obviously - that he asks. You just weren’t expecting it. “Yeah,” you barely nod, knowing that you’re supposed to look at least happy if not excited to be kissing him. After all, according to the gossip sites, you’re a very happy couple. “Ready.”

Dieter slides his hand around your neck, his hand framing the lower portion of your jaw just like they’ve all been taught for the romantic movies. Apparently, women swoon at that. Leaning in, the kiss starts soft, just the tiniest pressure of his lips against yours until his own small sound of surprise makes him delve a little deeper.

Eyes closed. Don’t clench your jaw. Try to look happy. At this point you’re wondering if they shouldn’t have given you acting classes as part of this contract, but you did just enough in high school drama club to know where to put your hands and how to turn your head to make a kiss look good. It’s the fact that it feels good that shocks you. From practically not touching at all, you feel like you’re being drawn in - the hand you had on his arm drifts to his chest as he presses in a little harder and you’re wondering what the fuck trick of the universe is going on because your whole tree body is lighting up with…with actual pleasure? There’s no way in hell that you’re actually enjoying this kiss, right? Right? You’re not enjoying this, and you definitely didn’t just make a sound. Nope. Not at all.

He groans quietly when you give out a soft sigh, his restraint barely keeping him from sliding his tongue into your mouth. Family friendly, he reminds himself, wanting nothing more than to hear that little sound again. To see what other sounds you would make. It feels like the kiss lasts forever, even though it’s probably less than thirty seconds. Thirty seconds for his entire body to flip and not just his stomach.

“Okay, uh…got it.” JJ’s voice barely breaks through the fog clouding your mind right before you shift to pull Dieter closer, having totally forgotten where you are and what is going on. You practically jump backward, separating yourself from the man currently wrapped around you with much more shock in your reaction than distaste. “Th-thanks.” You manage to mumble, not realizing that you’ve actually put your fingers to your lips like you’re testing to see if they’re feeling things properly.

His own shock humming through his system, Dieter takes a moment before turning to the student. “Uh – yeah.” He shakes off the stupor and walks over to him. “Thanks.” He takes the phone. “Buy you a drink or something?” He asks him, wanting to do something since he had basically demanded a favor.

“Nah, I—uh—I got get back.” The boy points in the direction of the friends he came with, and you realize that a half dozen other students from your school just witnessed that unbelievable display of whatever that was. All you can do is say a polite goodbye and hope like crazy that they’re too weirded out to tell literally everyone they know about seeing their art teacher nearly make out with Dieter Bravo.

He doesn’t look at you, barely able to send you the pictures, several of them. No fucking clue what the hell just happened; he looks around desperately, everywhere but at you. “Need to get squirt something.” He latches on to his promise like a life preserver.

“Toy Story.” You mumble automatically, now firmly unable to even look in his direction let alone actually at him. “She loves Jessie.”

Off like a shot, he’s not even glancing behind him to see if you are following. Totally bewildered by what the fuck just happened, his sneakers slap against the pavement and his ringed finger shove into the curls peeking out underneath his hat as he freaks out slightly.

It takes you a second before you realize he’s completely dusted you, but you’re still too hazy to be upset about it. Pulling out your phone as you hightail it after him toward the nearest shop, you’re tapping out a text as fast as you can and let it still be coherent.

To Stephy: We need to fucking TALK when I get home. Tequila talk, not wine.

Going into the store, Dieter makes a beeline for the Toy Story stuff. “The cowgirl…she likes the cowgirl.” He reminds himself.

Not thirty seconds later, as Dieter is handing his credit card to the cashier behind the counter, you are busting into the shop with a nearly frantic expression on your face. “I need you to take me home,” you tell him immediately, hands running over your arms with repetitive nervous energy. If you had driven yourself you would have already taken off and just called him from the highway to explain.

“What?” Dieter frowns, immediately thinking it’s about the kiss, but he sees your distraught face. “What’s wrong?”

“Steph had to bring Nora to the hospital.” Despite the number of times your little warrior of a niece has been in the emergency room, it never ceases to terrify you. In the beginning it had brought on panic attacks that you had to hide from Steph, and you’re feeling like one might be brewing now. “They gave her something at daycare that made her sick and she’s—she’s still…” You scrub both hands down your face and breathe deeply to stave off anxious tears. “She’s in a lot of pain and the doctors aren’t having any luck stopping it.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat​ @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri    

YSV: @tortor-mcgee @hnt-escape​ @sammus-white​ @spanishmossmagnolia    

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #The Bubble #soulmate au #enemies to lovers #fake dating #Trash Can Man