#I have today (day 3) and 4 more days left

[jaxyscreams]

I keep flipping between “I’m doing good work and I’m fucking nail this! Might finish this process document today even!”

and

“I am in HELL and I clawing my way through the trenches of putting my creative process and thoughts into WORDS that EXPLAIN THINGS.”

Ya kno, the normal exam experience! :)))

[wall-eye]

If you annoy people for fun, don't be surprised when people don't like you

Work rant in tags. Didn't know there was a 30 tag limit lol

[seaofreverie]

Anyway how is everyone doing

[daddy-socrates]

line edits have added almost an entire page to chapter 3 !! exciting but now unfortunately i do have to write more original words. i have to do composition of . philosophy. to wrap this chapter up.

[fairy-ganj-mother]

a production company I thought I kinda liked just posted a lineup of literally 10 white men and no others on the lineup like please. why. it could've been such a cool event but I'm not paying to go to an event with 10 white men as paid performers I'm not giving fucking 10 white men my money fuck that

[phagodyke]

worked an hour extra bc they have no respect for my half day but I knew they were gonna do that so whatever..... at least I'm omw home now

[aomiiine]

COME HOME? CUM HOME!

LIKE A ROMANCE TURNED EROTIC … husband farspace colonel!caleb & wife!reader. warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+), pure filth ahead !! established relationship, fluff for like the first 3-4 paragraphs, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up b4 action irl), impatient caleb lol, creampie, breeding, teasing, uhh daddy kink, degradation (he calls u a slut), petnames: pip-squeak(once!!!), baby, honey, princess, brat, not proofread wordcount. 1.9k (small smth for caleb’s release!! a bit rushed) taglist. @jellysix

𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑺 from service after nearly a year, caleb is more than eager to reacquaint himself with his wife’s body.

22nd January. Today. It was the day your beloved husband finally returned from service as the Farspace Colonel. You stayed up all day, all night since the day before, restless and worried of your husband’s well being. Sure, news hasn’t said much about the farspace dealings but being a Space Hunter, you heard a thing or two from work.

“Honey? I’m back— uumph!”

you raised from the couch the moment you heard keys jingling from outside your front door, reaching Caleb as soon as he opened the door to take a step inside. Your arms circled his torso beneath his arms, nearly tackling him with your jump which he caught with ease, tossing his bag to the side on the floor carelessly.

“Hello to you too, my little brat,” Caleb giggled, lifting you up from the ground in his arms with a little twirl. He buried his face into the top of your head, hair tickling his nose as he inhaled your scent deeply, taking the unique scent of yours—the scent of home.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea,” he gushed, lips against your hair with his gloved hand cradling the back of your head, tucking you deep under his chin. “Then you’re can’t imagine how much I missed you,” you mumbled against the firm plane of his chest, his uniform warm against the warm curves of your body pressed against his perfectly like puzzle pieces complementing each other. “Dramatic as always,” he chuckled warmly.

wholesome reunion, right? Caleb indulged himself in you, catching up to all the days he missed out in your life. He stayed patient, listening like a good husband all the while he kept the cruel side of him that clawed at his skin to pounce and ravage you. Caleb knew he couldn’t. Not now, at least. So bit his tongue, curled his fingers to a fist so tight, you could hear the faint strain of leather.

“Sweetheart.. so much has happened since I left. I missed out on so much, baby, don’t you think it’s time to make up for lost time?” He finally spoke his mind after the hums and replies of acknowledgement at your joyful gushing, the sight of you so happy to see him igniting a certain desire both innocent and not inside him.

you quirked a brow at him, small smile on your face along at his words. You were glad he wanted to make up for lost time, but now?

“Right now? Sure, I suppose. If you have an idea how,” you shrugged with acceptance, nodding as you shifted yourself on the couch to face him better. And in the split second your eyes met his face, you could’ve sworn you saw the edge of his lips curled to a smirk.

“Oh, I do have ideas.. So many of them.” Caleb’s hand on your waist squeezed the flesh there lightly before pulling you closer to him, other hand moving to tilt your head up with a finger beneath your chin. In that moment, your eyes blinked wildly, throat dry and lips parted invitingly for his lips to capture yours. And they did, securely so. His tongue plundered deep into the warm cavern of your mouth, slanting and sweeping his tongue over yours.

“Shouldn’t take it lightly when I say I miss you, pip-squeak,” caleb murmured once he broke the kiss, hand previously beneath your chin now holding your face, long slender fingers sliding up your jaw until they raked through your hair.

His other hand wandering your body made you gasp, cold leather fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt to skim through the surface of your belly. He wasn’t shy with his exploration, making his way to cup the soft mound of your breast until it filled his palm.

“Fuck, these curves, these pretty tits that are just begging for their daddy’s touch, yeah?” Your husband seemed in awe as he reacquainted himself with your body, kneading the flesh of your breast through the confines of your bra, all until he tugged it down to spill you bare to his hand. Every tug and pinch of pebbled nipple sent jolts of desire straight to your core, your back arching into him involuntarily, much to his pleasure.

“C-Caleb, maybe we should head into the bedroom— ack!” Your efforts to reason with him was interrupted with a firm yet gentle shove on your shoulder, his larger frame hovering over yours that was laid on the couch. “Bedroom, living room, what difference does it make? We’re alone regardless,” he replied with a sly smirk, pushing your shirt up to your chin, exposing your bare midriff and tampered bra.

“Besides, your legs are welcoming me so wholeheartedly.. Is it force of habit?” Caleb taunted, free hand taking off his hat to toss to on the coffee table beside them. His other hand wrapped around the curve of your thigh, nestling himself between them as your legs locked around his waist securely.

“Must’ve fucked you so good before I left. Trained you just for this moment, didn’t I?” He drawled, free hand resting flat on your pelvis, the cold metal band on his ring fingers tracing idle circles on your skin sending goosebumps to your body. You whimpered his name, unsure exactly to ask from him all the while you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Baby, please,” you pleaded breathlessly, eyes flickering down to his hand flat on your lower belly, fingers dangerously low to your core. His hand went back up to hook a finger under the waistband of your pants, tugging down to your knees, pulling up and off your legs. All that was left was your panties, the a wet spot slowly blooming on the fabric.

“Please, what? Be more specific.. I only take clear orders, after all,” your husband chuckled lowly, leaning down closer to you, hips nestling closer to yours just enough to let you feel the bulge of his cock growing with every passing moment.

“Please what?” He repeated by your ear hotly, knowing exactly he was doing by teasing you like this.

you on the other hand, was torn between your pride and need for him. You didn’t like the thought he could see how much affected you with his absence, and return. This was surely be material for him to tease you for later on. But at the moment, you could care. You needed him to calm the raging desire in your heat, desperately.

”please.. fuck me,” you whispered, brows furrowed as you relented to his advances, eyes fixated on the sight of his hips grinding with shallow thrusts into you, the ridge of his cock straining in the confines of his pants painfully evident against the soft folds of your panty clad pussy.

The colonel smirked beside your ear, leaning away just enough to look at your face, drinking in the lust dazed expression you had on right now.

“Good girl,” he purred, grabbing each of your thighs up all of the sudden, lifting your legs up and pushing them up to your chest. He release one leg of yours to unbuckle his own belt with ease, unzipping his fly and tugging his pants down with his boxers to let his throbbing cock breath. He hissed at the cold air, stroking himself with a fist lazily before leaning down to align his tip over your clothed folds, pulling the fabric aside. A soft moan escaped your lips at the direct contact, his hips nudging forward to pierce through your slick entrance.

“So fucking tight, perfect pussy remembers me, baby..,” caleb rambled, slowly burying his girth deeper into your warm heat that welcomed the intrusion, fluttering around his shaft with each move he made. He proceeded to lift your legs up to hang over his shoulder, the narrow space between your calves allowing him a view of your sprawled on the couch, hair sprawled on the velvet cushion, features scrunched into a face of unadulterated pleasure. But nothing turned him on more than the sight of your tits bouncing back and forth in time with his thrusts, your voice raising in volume each time he got deeper in your depths—rearranging your guts with frantic jerks of his hips.

“Come on, cum for me.. Welcome me back with a biiig, wet mess, baby,” caleb coaxed, hugging your legs to his body with both arms, fucking in and out of your drenched cunt with ruthless abandon. His hips were unforgiving, drunk in the feeling of your pussy sucking and wringing him dry for he was worth. It took you all the focus and energy you could muster to keep yourself stable on the narrow surface of the couch, holding on tight to the headrest you clung onto.

“Caleb, ngh— too fast, too fast!” You slurred, your husband’s bulbous cockhead bullying the spongy spot that he knew by heart, beyond eager to make you explode on his cock. “What was— shit— that? Too slow?” Caleb teased between pants, grinning at the tight spasms of your velvety walls, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. And he was determined to make you reach it first.

his name fell from your lips repeatedly like a mantra, nails burying into the cushion of the couch’s headrest with the fabric threatening to break—like how the coil in your belly threatened to snap. Caleb’s cock plunging into your core was reckless still, especially so now that you were on the brink of climaxing. So in a final effort, Caleb sheathed himself inside you to the hilt, settling on shallow thrusts and grinds on your clit. Much to his pleasure, the change of pace finally made you cum, your juices coming out in a spray on his cock and his pelvis, the pressure only urging him to start moving again—harder this time.

“That’s my wife, cumming all over me like a dirty slut, hm? Don’t worry, princess, I’ll be joining you aah— soo enough,” he groaned, arms binding your shivering legs tighter as he fucked into your pussy like a man deprived of any sorts of physical touch—and in a way, he way. He went on too long without you, he had to melt himself in your sopping cunt again.

“Yesyesyesyes, agh— fuck!” Caleb groaned loud, a deep guttural moan coming from his chest without his control when he felt his balls draw up tight, cock heavy and throbbing as jet after jet of semen was pumped into your womb. His hips didn’t dare to stop plummeting into your vice-like channel until he was sure that his seed would take root, that you would be swollen with his child after a month or two.

Well, he would need a good reason to stay by your side after that long, torturous, mission.

[booasaur]

Something really amazing happened in France, and I think it'd help us in the US to learn about it. Forgive the long read, but I think this is genuinely great both because of what happened and how.

So as some of you might have seen, in a decision historians will debate for years (mostly to figure out just WTF he was thinking, even though he is alive right now and can be asked), the French president, Emmanuel Macron, currently in power and THREE YEARS before the scheduled election, seeing the far right rise in popularity decided to dissolve the assembly and hold snap elections.

577 seats were up for grabs. Remember that number. Since half of that is 288.5, 289 seats are needed for a majority.

The first round happened last week and boy, was it bad. The far right made HUGE gains. It won or was in first place in so many races. And Macron's party ended up third!

Overall, this is how things ended up after the first round:

Far right bloc: 33%

Left bloc: 28%

Macron's centrist party: 20%

Conservatives: 7%

The way the French system works is that if a candidate gets over 50% of the vote, they win outright, and some of the far right did manage that. But, many races went to a runoff.

Immediate projections after were that the far right bloc might win anywhere from 240 to 310 seats, a catastrophe.

A shameful swing to the far right leading to the first time they'll be in power since the 1940s? Yes, but maybe not??

This is where things get interesting.

Unusually, a lot of these runoffs are 3-way, instead of a simpler 2-way choice. And in pretty much every case, that helps the far right.

So on June 30th, the night of the first round, this is how things went down:

Immediately, the left parties put out the call: anywhere they were third, they withdrew and their voters would go over to whoever was running against the far right candidate. Their goal: form a "republican front" to block the far right. The far right cannot get 289 seats.

Macron's bloc was not so...motivated. Different people put out different instructions: in some places, if they were third, they should drop out, but only to help the center left, not far left, in other places, see how far you are, only then drop out, that kind of thing.

The conservative party simply said they won't drop out and won't give their voters instruction either way in races they're not involved in.

Late night developments:

More people in Macron's party are now beginning to realize the situation and starting to coalesce around whichever candidate can beat the far right one. Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, from Macron's party, says clearly the priority is to block the far right. BUT, some Macron spokespeople on TV say they'll form a coalition only with the center left and conservatives, splitting the left bloc if needed. Some individual Macronists still saying they won't drop out, even if there's no hope of winning.

Lol.

So, now July 1st:

Only half so far. In one race, where the sister of Marine Le Pen (the far right leader and the face of their movement) was leading, the third place Macronist refused to bow out.

Excellent quote from another Macronist:

Perhaps realizing the same thing, that Macronist in the race against the Le Pen sister now drops out.

In some places, third place Macronists are dropping out DESPITE Macron bewilderingly telling them NOT to?

Halfway through the day:

Of the 311 3-way or 4-way runoffs, the number is down to 135 because of these candidates dropping out: 121 Left, 56 Macronists, 1 conservative.

Oh, there was this, in case people had any doubts about how terrible the far right are:

And to show the selflessness of the left:

July 2:

The deadline to decide if they want to stay in a runoff is today.

A dozen new third place Macronists who said they'd stay in have now dropped out. One got a call from both the PM Attal AND Macron to drop out, signalling the dawning understanding of the importance of this moment.

Even some conservative party members are now backing the left candidate who faces the far right.

A Macronist who had 30.55% of the vote in the first round and came in third to the far right's 33.11% and left's 32.73% and who would have been tempted to stay has dropped out.

The deadline to stay in or not has now passed.

Look at these far right shenanigans!

Macron still being a freaking loser:

July 3rd:

In the end, of the 311 3- or 4-way run offs, only 91 left. Some polls come out that have the far right getting between 190 to 220 seats.

July 4th:

New polls say the balance of the voting itself isn't transferring between the left and center and predictions have risen for the far right, now predicted to get between 210 and 250 seats.

July 5th:

New polls again, left voters now predicted to do better transferring vote to the centrists, decreasing the far right projections again.

However, scandalous reporting emerges: while Attal was trying to fend off the far right, Macron was not only NOT taking the far right seriously, he was undermining efforts to defeat them. His team shrugged off the first round results and celebrated a BIRTHDAY as the results were still coming in?

July 6th:

A few runoffs happened yesterday, nothing much unexpected, some left and center wins.

July 7th:

The day of reckoning. At this point, the expectations are that the far right won't come close to that 289 number but could still easily have the most seats.

GUYS.

It's over and the left are in the lead!

A LOT of cases where a leftist or centrist was 2nd in the first round and now won.

Amazing:

SO many lessons to take from this.

First, you have to vote! You have to. You can't do anything without voting. The freaking French, who'll protest for anything, are showing up to vote. If you're trying to achieve any kind of result and it's not going to happen by January 2025, you have to vote now.

But just as importantly, the left and center (and even conservative) parties made very key decisions. They were all lucky that Attal, who Macron chose, saw the big picture, bigger than indeed Macron could. A stupid selfish centrist leader could have still ruined everything if it were up to him.

TL;DR: After a disastrous first round in the national French elections where the far right was on the cusp of taking power, the left and center formed a strong coalition and through the power of voting and unity, overcame the far right AND their selfish centrist president to win.

[cowskulls]

i made. 5 edits in one day

[hermitadaymay]

WELCOME TO HERMIT-A-DAY MAY 2025!

Another year, another Hermit-a-Day May! I'm so thrilled to be able to bring this event to you all for the third year in a row.

THE RULES: 1. Any type of fanwork is welcome so long as it features, or is otherwise inspired by, the Hermit of the day. 2. Tag #hermitaday to have your fanwork reblogged, or submit it directly to the blog (Please note that while we recognize the value of fanworks involving more mature themes, and they can certainly count toward challenge completion if you're keeping track for yourself, content on this blog will be kept "PG-13" so that all may enjoy.). 3. Fanworks for one Hermit posted after the day rolls over to another Hermit's day (per the US Central time zone) will be reblogged in one big queue in June. 4. Traced or stolen work is NOT welcome. If we discover you have posted traced or stolen work, you will be given one chance to delete it and apologize, or you will be blacklisted from the blog. AI-generated/assisted pieces are similarly unwelcome and will not be featured on the blog. 5. We are not interested in seeing captions or tags in which you disparage your art/skills, and will not be reblogging posts where this happens. We're all improving all the time. Be kind to yourselves. 6. Technically not a rule, but we strongly recommend adding alt text or description to all images. Click here to learn more about writing alt text - it's pretty easy!

WHY SHOULD I PARTICIPATE? To show love to every Hermit, from the most to least subscribed, from those who have been on the server from day one to those who only joined this season! And because challenges are fun! And because we are once again out here for a good cause: we're running another fundraiser for Gamers Outreach, featuring art incentives by nine amazing artists. Learn more about our incentives in these posts:

MILESTONE REWARD POST

INDIVIDUAL REWARD POST

RAFFLE POST

WHO’S RUNNING THIS? Hi! My name is Luna! You can use ze/hir, she/her, he/him, or ro/ros/roseself pronouns for me. My main blog is @as-if-unreal. Helping me out this year is the incredible Mod Sky ( @skyspersonalhell ), who uses any pronouns!

BONUS DAY PROMPTS EXPLAINED UNDER THE CUT

FAVORITE "ALT" HERMIT - May 4th HoTGuY and Poultry-Man. Helsknight and Evil Xisuma. Renbob and - look, you get the idea. This server is full of theater kids ready to toss on an alternate skin and play into a brand new character at the drop of a hat. Who's your favorite?

OUTFIT SWAP - May 9th What would Doc look like in Cleo's Life Series leotard? How would Cub fare in Wels's armor? What laundry day mishap could lead Mumbo's suit to lose its sleeves like Skizz's? Only hilarity can come from this...

GROUPS AND COLLABS - May 14th This month is all about one Hermit a day... but what we really love is when they interact with each other. What does your favorite duo or group of Hermits get up to together?

FAVORITE BUILD - May 18th The Hermits have put thousands of hours into their builds, from cozy starter bases to the sprawling halls of Deepfrost Citadel, from idyllic natural landscapes to machines the size of mountains. Which builds have inspired you?

TFC - May 23rd While he may no longer be with us physically, TFC left behind him a legacy of quiet care and good humor, and Hermitcraft would not have been the same without him.

FRIENDS OF HERMITCRAFT - May 28th There are plenty of shows, podcasts, competitions, other servers, and more woven into the internet ecosystem around Hermitcraft, and plenty more people involved in them. Today is for celebrating all of those who, while they may not be Hermits themselves, exist and entertain in proximity to them.

[ridiculouslyunintelligent]

hot take: the problem with doctor who is NOT that they brought billie piper back, it is NOT that ncuti left early, it is NOT that 15 never faced a dalek or a cyberman, and it is CERTAINLY NOT that it’s ’too woke’

the problem with doctor who is that they have forgotten how to engage an audience without utterly confusing them. if i were a writer, this is what i’d change:

1. i would lower the stakes

my biggest issue with dw in recent years is that the stakes are always SO high - it’s always ‘we need to sort this out or else the ENTIRE UNIVERSE WILL END. this rarely happened at the start of nuwho. of course, there were instances where galaxies and universes were at stake, but there were also plenty of instances where the doctor solves issues to A. save his own skin, B. save his friends, and C. to save smaller populations of people and/or generally do what is morally right.

prime example is in new earth. the world isn’t really at stake, he has a couple of objectives: get cassandra to piss off, free the test subjects, stop the infections from spreading. he doesn’t spend the hour worrying that if he doesn’t help then the world will end, he sees a problem that’s morally corrupt and he solves it for the sake of that group. the payoff is just as good, and actually IMPROVES the payoff for episodes where a bit more is at stake, like the poison sky, for example.

2. i would stop plots from spilling over across seasons

i’d like to remind everyone that, although there were things that kind of linked into each other and were mentioned again, generally for the first 4 seasons of (new) doctor who, an overarching issue was built up, climaxed, and resolved throughout a single season. for example: bad wolf in s1. this has gotten worse and worse over time but has honestly been a problem since rtd1 ended, and for some reason when he came back it got WORSE than it’s ever been!!! there’s just way too much overspill across seasons, things even span accross different doctors more recently which is just too much at times. when it’s little things it doesn’t matter, but it’s not. again, this has been an issue before this finale, but this finale is a good example since there were a hundred and one loose ends before he regenerated. when nuwho began, they literally stated each regen would be treated as a soft reboot and their neglect of that has been a downfall.

3. i’d make doctor who dirty and grungy again

it’s too clean futuristic ultra modern sci-fi these days. the tardis doesn’t look like he stole it. what happened to those fun tardis scenes where the entire thing would shake as it took off and landed? why is everything so light and clean? it should be dim and cozy and imperfect.

4. i’d make the companions’ family members more prominent and interesting characters again

doesn’t take much explaining, really. picture jackie tyler, now picture carla sunday. who has a stronger presence and personality in your head and why is it jackie tyler? (there’s bound to be someone who disagrees and that’s fine but i don’t rlly want to hear about it tbh)

5. i’d re-inject some british whimsy

please don’t mistake this as me saying doctor who ‘isn’t british’ or something weird and gammon-y like that, i love when dw explores different cultures, the story and the engine was one of my highlights last season, i just mean like - let him save the world with a jammy dodger again. let him be brought back to life by a good cup of tea. it makes it enjoyable.

there are lots of things, but those are my main ones.

EDIT: thank you to everyone who has weighed in on this - i’ve found it really interesting to see everyone’s perspectives on this because honestly i could talk for king and country about it, but also i just wanted to say that it makes me kind of sad that one of my only negative posts about doctor who is my most popular post :( if you’re reading this, it’s your sign to do something positive today, if i can help to make just one person’s day better then that’s a win to me :)

[neixins]

whyyyy was the boss’ wife being so overbearing today ma’am leave me alone can’t u see that i have a hundred million tasks that need to get done posthaste

[readychilledwine]

Heartbeat

Summary - One bed doesn't work well for 3 illyrians and their mate.

Warnings - Azriel's slutty sweatpants, mentions of wing clipping but nothing graphic, swearing

A/n - Anyone else wonder how any quad would handle a one bed situation?

Written for @polysjmweek day three: Will there be enough room?

SJM Poly+ Week Masterlist

Master Masterlist

“Oh you have got to be shitting me,” Azriel grumbled. “Rhys, you were supposed to ask for 2 beds.”

“I did,” The High Lord pulled off the hood that did nothing to disguise him, prompting a giggle from you and Cassian. The look of annoyance he gave the two of you had you hiding your face in Cassian's chest. “I suppose you two think this is very funny.”

“Very,” Cassian chuckled. “Azriel is acting like the 4 of us haven't been sharing a bed for, what, 200 years?” Cassian's hands guided you into the room, setting your bag down. “Go bathe first.”

216 years, you would never correct Cassian, and they still ensured you showered first in these situations. It wasn't the first time you four found yourselves in a rundown inn seeking shelter after a rough mission. It wouldn't be the last either. Peeling off the sweat and dirt-caked clothing made your skin crawl. You four had been hunting Illyrians that had crossed Rhysand for the last time. Your husband was tired of the clippings and the fighting.

All three of your husbands were, actually.

It had started with you and Cassian. The bond had snapped when he saw you on the Summer Court's pleasure barge, per his banishment from your home. He had introduced you to Azriel a few days later, the fight between them now being the cause of the infamous sand castle collapse that shook the Summer Court. Not wanting to live without them, you left when they did, arriving at the Night Court and causing another fight the second you laid eyes on Rhysand. The four of you worked hard to make the dynamic flow, but once it fell into place, the three of them all admitted their lives and connection made so much more sense.

“Do you need help, sweetheart,” a purr made you pause, hands moving away from the corset you wore for extra protection. Rhysand began to work on the ties. “We are attempting to figure out the bed situation,” his voice was slightly annoyed. “With two males with wings-”

“Baby, I can sleep on the floor,” you offered.

“Over my dead body,” his eyes met yours in the mirror. “If we move the bed to the center of the room, we can have Azriel and Cassian take the outsides-”

“And squish you in the middle with me on the floor,” your voice was meant to be firm, but the relief as he finally finished unlacing your corset made it more of a relaxed sigh. “You can't handle sleeping on floors or the couch. your knees will get stiff, and then you will become grumpy.”

He nipped at your ear playfully, “I do not get grumpy.” He walked with you toward the tub, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind. He kept you practically glued to him, turning the faucet on, “I fear the water won't get warm.”

“It's okay. One cold bath won't kill me,” your fingers traced his forearm tattoos. “We get to go home tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, “Azriel found and took care of the last group while you and Cassian were doing whatever you two were doing.”

You leaned back to narrow your eyes, “Very serious mission things.” A lie, and Rhysand knew, but he wouldn't push it. “We were critical to the success of this operation.” Not a lie.

A dark brown lifted as his smirk began to form. “I will pretend I didn't just see a flash of what you two were doing in the woods today. Bathe while I get the bed figured out.” He left after smacking your ass, laughing as he did.

You sunk into the water, the harsh drag of wood on wood outside the door. The rules of your missions typically involved bathing quickly so you could all wash up, but with the water cold, there was little reason not to soak longer than you normally would. Once you were chilled to the bones, you stepped out and drained the tub, cringing at the sight of the dirty water.

A real bath, preferably with 3 sets of hands helping you, would be a must once you were back in Velaris. You wrapped yourself in the towel, walking out to where Azriel was situating things. “And where did the other two go?”

“They claim food,” he murmured. “Rhysand said the water is cold.” His hand reached for your hair, twisting a lock. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Start a fire if you'd like,” the tone of his voice was soft and almost musical, as it always was when he relaxed. His lips were warm on your forehead as he went to bathe, leaving you to try to heat the cold room with the small hearth. You studied the bed once you had it going, changing into your last clean pair of leggings and finding one of Cassian's shirts to wear.

There was no possible way all four of you would fit. Your bed in Velaris was custom-made, allowing all three males to stretch out their wings. That wouldn't be possible here. Rhysand would have to keep his tucked in with his magic, Azriel and Cassian would have to let theirs rest on the floor.

You had a plan. One they'd hate. You grabbed a blanket from the corner of the room and a pillow and laid in front of the fireplace. They'd believe you fell asleep warming your skin back up and hopefully, they'd let you sleep there. Maybe that would allow the three of them some sort of comfort. You shut your eyes, the warmth so enjoyable it lulled your mind into relaxing.

Cassian and Rhysand walked back into the room, Cassian quick to notice your form curled up under a blanket. “We should have just pushed and flew her home,” he told Rhysand. He kneeled down next to you, waving the questionable soup in front of your nose. Your tummy grumbled, forcing you to open your eyes from the sleepy state. “Eat.”

You took the bowl, sitting up to see Azriel coming out and Cassian motioning for Rhysand to go in. Azriel's sleeping pants hung loose on his hips as he grabbed a bowl as well. His waist looked fsr more interesting than the grey and clumpy soup, but you resisted the temptation. “Like bathing in a damned river,” he muttered to Cassian. “What are you doing on the floor,” he glanced at you.

“Sleeping,” your face, as you took a spoonful of soup, made both males pause.

“Can't be picky, sweetheart,” Azriel said softly. “Picky starves.”

“I know.”

Rhysand took the fastest bath you think he'd ever done, shivering as he walked back out in his towel and began to change. He said nothing as he took his first bite of food, nor did Azriel. Cassian had got to take his turn by the time you looked up. Once he was back, his own pants did not rest as low as Azriel's. He glanced at you. “That is my shirt,” his face was bright as he took you in, the material hanging almost drowning you in it. “But yes, you can wear it.”

All eyes were on that single bed. Rhysand appeared to be calculating the space, as if he could ensure his little plan would work. You laid back on the floor, stretching and then curling back to the fireplace. Wordlessly defiance was something you specialized in, but the three of them weren't stupid, and it didn't take them long to begin situating.

Azriel wanted the spot that'd allow him to lay facing the door, always on high alert when your little pack found itself away from home. Cassian took the side that allowed him to face the window, another watchful eye to where any threats may come. Rhysand was forced between them, a silent conversation before Cassian walked over and picked you up.

That's how you found yourself laying on Rhysand. One of his arms held your hips as the other moved to cup the back of your head. One wing rested on the two of you like a weighted blanket, then another. “Go to sleep,” Rhysand whispered to you. “You may not realize this, but you are trapped.” There was no response from you, no argument. The soft sound of your breathing was the only thing coming from you as you laid on what would now Be your favorite bed.

“Next time, we will fly home,” Azriel stated.

Cassian immediately agreed, “This isn't fair to y/n.” They both glanced at Rhysand when he didn't respond, only to find him asleep. “Or maybe it wasn't fair to us,” Cassian added.

“Thinking it definitely wasn't fair to us,” Azriel chuckled. “He worked this to his advantage.”

“He always does,” Cassian said. His voice was getting deeper and slower. “Always does.” It did not take long for the two of them to fall asleep, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of a dying hearth and four hearts beating in sync.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[transgaysex]

its 5 am and i really shouldnt be having thoughts right now but im so anxious about school

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call. Quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress—along with the charger cord still attached to it—and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, laundry. Gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as it sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum—depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you—almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead—probably tonight when you do your daily login—you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming—but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell surprise and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you hadn't switched your phone to silent, hadn't made the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend—nope, nothing unusual here—you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . VOICEMAILS

WARNINGS : ANGST. SLIGHT CRYING. HURT NO COMFORT (?). PLOT TWIST (?).

it was a habit—the way matt would pick up his phone everyday and call you. even if you never responded to him, he was more than okay with that. he just liked having someone there to listen to him.

and really this week was no different.

START VOICEMAILS - remaining - *7*

*beep*

“hi!—sorry i can’t come to the phone right now, you know how life can get. but just leave a message and i’ll get back to ya! love you!”

*beep*

Monday - 3:12 pm

Voicemail #1 :

“hey sweetheart, i just left the grocery store and got your favorite cereal,” he pauses, laughing softly to himself. “i don’t know why you ever liked it, it didn’t even taste right, but..i don’t know why i keep buying it even though i know i’m never going to eat it. it’s a habit i guess,” he lets out a small sigh running his fingers through his hair. “maybe i just like pretending you’ll come around and steal the last bowl again..”

there’s silence on the line for a moment, matt’s breathing filtering in before he spoke again.

“call me when you get this, okay?”

Tuesday - 11:46 pm

voicemail #2 :

“i can’t sleep. the apartment’s been too quiet recently, more than normal. do you remember that creaky floorboard in our hallway? yeah? well i keep stepping on it by accident, and it freaks me out every time even though i know it’s there,” he laughs to himself, at just how silly he sounds saying that. “you used to tease me about it every time. pretty sure you even doubled over to the floor once after i screamed like a girl one night.”

suddenly he paused at the memory, he could feel his head starting to swim.

“miss hearing your voice. miss everything. call me when you can.”

Wednesday - 5:07 pm

voicemail #3 -

“work was fucking hell today. chris tried to prank me by messing with my camera settings again, and I nearly threw him out a window,” he paused, allowing himself to take a few deep breaths at the thought of his brother. he exhales before speaking, “you’d have loved it. you always said I needed to get better at standing up for myself, or really speaking my mind.”

he exhales a laugh, but it’s quiet.

“i’m sorry this isn’t as long..but, i stood up for myself today. thought you’d be proud—i love you and thank you.”

Thursday - 9:21 am

voicemail #4 -

“i saw a girl with your jacket today. the one with the patches and the paint on the sleeve—i thought it was you and almost ran after her.” he took a deep breath, sniffling. “though i stopped myself in my tracks. because really i shouldn’t be bothering with it”

there was a long pause. then, his voice came quieter than before.

“i wish i had really…just to see your face one more time, even if it wasn’t really you.”

Friday – 1:33 pm

voicemail #5 -

“It’s been… how long now?” he sighs quietly, feeling the way his face goes hot. “i stopped counting honestly..it doesn’t feel right. time doesn’t move the same when you’re not here. it’s like it got stuck on that day and never wanted to progress.”

a sniffle. silence for a few seconds, then a quick breath.

“anyway. i’m rambling again. i’ll call you tomorrow, okay? like always, i promise.”

Saturday – 6:45 PM

voicemail #6 -

“remember that little bookstore you loved? they’re closing down…I was able to though before hand and bought that poetry book you kept picking up but never brought yourself to buy. it’s sitting on your nightstand. still has the receipt in it.”

he breathes in like he’s trying not to cry—cause god—he really was trying to hold on for you.

a few small sobs and sniffles are caught on the microphone. “i’m scared I’m forgetting your voice.”

Sunday – 10:00 am

he doesn’t leave a voicemail today.

not at first anyways. he’s walking through the quiet apartment—his phone to his ear as he scans the walls of everything that was yours—before he then ends the call. and suddenly he’s standing in front of the shelf in the corner of the room when he shifts his gaze up from the floor.

the one lined with polaroids, bracelets, your favorite candle—

and

a ceramic urn with your name etched in soft gold.

and next to it—your phone still sits propped upright beside it. the screen’s dark and the battery’s long been dead. matt stares at it for a while, knowing just how many messages he’s sent to you since you’ve been gone.

slowly, matt presses the call button again, bringing his hand up to his ear as his other hand reaches out to trace the pictures of you and him—and leaves one more voicemail.

Sunday – 10:06 AM

voicemail #7 :

“hey, angel. i know you can’t answer these—I know that. i know that every time i pick up my phone and dial your name,” he sucks in a sharp breath, biting his teeth into his lower lip to stop the sobs from spilling past his lips. “i hope you’re happy up there..wherever you are. and happy 6 years my love—i can’t wait to have you in my arms again.”

another broken breath slipped from him. and a pause full of everything he never got to say to you—never got to marry you.

“but.. i’m gonna keep calling anyway. you don’t have to hear me to know i’m still here for you—it’s forever right? i promised you that.”

his voice cracks just a little—his walls about to crumble the longer he stays on the line. but he couldn’t help the cry that left him as he said the last few words he’d never get to hear from you again.

“i love you so much…and i’ll talk to you tomorrow baby.”

END VOICEMAILS - remaining -*0*

a/n : my version of the voicemails :)