#int: spring break

[rorydflanagan]

Waking up from a nap, the sounds of waves crashing caused a smile to appear across the Irishman’s lips. After a good stretch, Rory immediately got changed into some swim trunks and a button down shirt. Grabbing his sunglasses and other essential items, he made his way out of the hut and onto the sand.

“Nothing like the sun on your face,” he said, fixing the open button down shirt on his frame. Adjusting the sunglasses onto his face, feet started carrying him across the sand, just wanting to go for a walk.

[rorydflanagan]

A smirk appeared across his features. “It’s just the way my mam raised me, love.” He tilted his head towards her. This was a different side of Mercedes from what he had usually seen, but he was definitely okay with that. A laugh escaped him. “I’d be okay if I only got one drink. Besides, I could always come back,” he said, smiling in her direction. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took a long sip. “I’m havin’ a decent time. Been havin’ more ‘me’ time than I originally anticipated, but I’m okay with that. But what about ya, love? How’s the week been for ya so far?”

Mercedes looked at him, her head titled a little. "Are you always so chivalrous, Rory?" She asked, sharking her head slightly. He was always so kind and caring when she spoke to him, not that he was all that different from the other guys she knew, but Rory was just sweet. It was a nice trait to see in a guy. "Oh I'm not rushin' especially since you just got yourself a drink." She replied, giggling a little. "You having a good time baby?"

[taneraltan]

closed starter: @elsiebarnes location: briar ridge boardwalk

"Any one of these yours?" Taner asked as he stopped next to the blonde in the pretty dress to watch the children hunt around for the eggs. Despite everything and the desire to be in his daughter's life he wasn't rushing or pushing it, he didn't want to interfere as mother and daughter enjoyed the festivities because Taner would likely be an intrusion on their traditions. So, from a distance, he watched Billie run around with a basket looking for colored eggs hidden all over. "Do the kids actually eat the eggs they collect?" Taner couldn't imagine the joy in that. What would a child want with a bunch of boiled eggs? He was completely ignorant to the details of this due to his childhood. There weren't really any holidays celebrated. Especially for him given that his adoption actually didn't make his parents any money. Taner actually cost them rather than funding them.

[messenger-of-babel]

Nightmares

Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx

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It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.

Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.

What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.

The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'

The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.

"After you, dear."

You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."

You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.

"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.

"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"

"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?

"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.

"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.

"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."

Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.

"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.

"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."

When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.

"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."

The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.

He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.

"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."

Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.

"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.

"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."

you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."

"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."

You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."

The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.

"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.

It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.

"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."

He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.

"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.

"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."

"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."

Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."

he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'

"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."

You sigh.

Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"

"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.

"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."

His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."

Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.

"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."

When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"

Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.

It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.

His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."

And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.

[salemofthe0pera]

you against yourself !! ; mark lee smau

➺mark lee has a serious problem. his writer's block is getting the best of him and the deadline to his midterm creeps closer with each passing day which means his jam sessions get pushed to late nights.

➺y/n also has a serious problem. she can't get sleep because of the low hum of an electric guitar and faint voices coming from next door and she has an 8am chemistry lecture in the morning...

➺in which two college students and their friend groups find fun and solace in each other. no sleep is involved unfortunately…

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

[mark lee x reader smau, including lots of humor and silliness. “dark”(?) humor and swearing, NOT A ROMANCE FIC.]

status: ongoing!!

❝going out almost every night, and you wonder why you feel fucked up❞

[0] apt 9301 || [00] apt 9301

season 1

[i] do your dishes ; [ii] weednesday

[iii] the dean’s list ; [iv] aye don’t flip out but

[v]double stuffed ; [vi] bros beautiful

[vii] soph on my cles okay ; [viii] tequila rose

[ix] jaemin's cowlicks ; [x] witch theme

[xi] feet plsss ; [xii] parasitic relationship

[xiii] scissoring… haircuts!! ; [xiv] biochemical engineer v musician

[xv] air fryer ; [xvi] jaem’s chronically single

[xvii] your nose looks better ; [xix] #### you

[xx] cafeteria slop ; [xxi] cinnamon crush

[xxii] obama prism ; [xxiii] bumpin that

[xxiv] baja blast ; [xxv] yearning

[xxvi] chai and chocolate milk ; [xxvii] xtra most bestest friends

[xxviii] koi ; [xxix] period cramps, leave her ALONE

[xxx] aita? ; [xxxi] walmart supercenter

[xxxii] pregame ; [xxxiii] hawaiian pizza

[xxxiv] waffles and french toast ; [xxxv] suit and tie

[xxxvi] lets meddle ; [xxxvii] wednesday doll

[xxxviii] perfect :) ; [xxxix] shitamon toast crunch

[xl] speak skibidi ; [xli] ransom

[xlii] you can’t just say perchance ; [xliii] int.

[xliv] fuck Ethan ; [xlv] friendsgiving p.1

[xlvi] fuck mark ; [xlvii] PISS URSELF

[xlviii] moves like jagger ;

season 2

[l] brat v beat ; [li] free the markple

[lii] blocklist copypasta [liii] spring break 20xx

[liv] ig notes ; [lv] cold foam ???

[rorydflanagan]

That’s alright with me. We could also alternate who has the key, unless someone just wants to keep up with it at all times.

Not gonna lie, y'all probably don't want me to keep the key. I'll bunk with you, Stevie, but which bed? I don't mind the pull out one if you don't.

[emmitaaa4]

People will really look at a character who was raised to be a doll—a pretty face to dress up, her dreams dismissed to gardens and pretty clothes, and an asset on the marriage market only if her beauty held—who was groomed to accept that her future would be determined by others’ maneuverings rather than her own, and still say:

“Ahh yes, it must be that the future of this character will indeed be defined by her looks in a black dress and by the unbreakable™ bond that was imposed upon her. 😍."

“… Matter of fact, the author was soo clever in making it so that others' superficial assessments of her character hold more weight in the narrative than her own declaration of belonging… its obviously meant to show us that everyone (but her) knows what's best for her; she does belong elsewhere. (Guys… what about someplace subtle, like Spring because flowers? Or Day because flowers need the sun?!)”

“The poor girl just doesn’t know any better: she’s exactly like her far-more-independent-and-headstrong sister who was wasting away in a Court where she was deprived of social interactio—wait, wdym she has a job, friends, is hinted at scheming behind the scenes, and calls the place a home... ? Sure, whatever, it’s clear that it's not significant, she's in denial; plus she can’t have a unique arc full of exploration & adventure unless she skedaddles away from the obstacles I dislike and never returns! Skedaddle to where, you ask? Easy: her mate’s court with her mate’s friends & her mate’s family, where she'll become her mate's High Lady... just like *drum roll* her sister! Notice how we don't question whether her mate's relationships are genuine and whether the life he's built (also ‘off-page’) matters?”

“Speaking of that MATE of hers, she is bound to come around eventually and realize that she was placed where she should be. I mean, he’s so hot, so she’s def super attracted to him and trying not to jump hi—what? You’re saying her body language shows otherwise? I mean how can you know, maybe she’s just hidin—oh... she' shown visible signs of attraction to another male? Enough signs that literally all characters, bar the oblivious one, noticed? Well then, it’s clearly because she’s projecting her longings for her mate onto the bloke; the bond means more than her pesky little rebellious feelings (Elain, we see you girl, no need to be stubborn!)."

“Btw, I cant believe you guys missed the memo, but the thing she had with that other dude? You know, the one the author gave her significant moments with and who did casual things like lending her his most prized possession & following the sound of her laugh & making his nightstand an altar in her effigy? Yea, it’s all a red herring. Turns out the author couldn't decide whether Mr. Distraction would be an incel or a fickle fuckboy, so she just went with both. Entitled, lustful prick—love him though! But SJM really fooled yall, it was all made so that readers (somehow) forget that she has a MATE who she is MATED to because there's this real MATING bond that she 100% cant break and that tells us that her MATE is the endgam—"

"...What are you saying? Are you really suggesting that the label of mates being all it took for many readers to overlook the on-page development of a romantic relationship between her & Mr. not-her-mate, in favour of said label, makes the bond more likely to be the red herring? Well, you're delusional... plus I thought that these two characters shared a brother/sister relationship up until it abruptly turned into "just lust" out of nowhere... right? Right. You probably just think it's a red herring cause her mate is red-haired. Ha!

You people need to understand that MATES are always the answer, period. They mean everything—why would you want a lesser love for your fav? It’s not like the author has put into question the nature of the mating bond & whether it indicates true paired souls, or like she spoke about how interesting she found the idea of bond rejections in her most recent interview—oh... damn. She did? But what about mates and the allegedly un-rejectable bond that could induce insanity by alleged cosmic blue balls?? Surely SJM wouldn't make a blanket statement reinforcing the status-quo of Prythian's patriarchal society just to have one of her heroines redefine it! I mean, let's be real, is Feyre becoming a High Lady despite there having been "no such thing" for millennia, or Nesta reinstating a female warrior force and winning the Illyrian-male-exclusive Blood Rite alongside an Illyrian woman and a ¼-nymph priestess, really THAT important? Why would the 3rd sister follow the pattern and subvert the status quo, when she could just make it easier for everyone & reinforce it by fulfilling the destiny she was groomed into?"

-----⊱ end scene ⊰-----

“Elain is pleasant to look at,’ her mother once said, ‘but she has no ambition. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match."

Yet, here we are, expecting her story to be about fulfilling that prophecy rather than shattering it.

Elain’s story isn’t about conforming to the expectations placed on her—it’s about breaking free from them. And if you think a mating bond and a pretty dress are enough to define her or her arc, you’ve missed the point entirely.

[bunnymoon-phase]

Been chatting a bit with @wyervan and was particularly inspired by something about they said about the hot springs int he cave system that their Krampus Moon lived in UwU

EDIT: I should probably remember to mention this is slightly suggestive in nature!

“Are you coming in or not?”

You blink at the goat-man, glancing down at the water beneath him for only half a second before you remember yourself and look up again. Not that “up” helps very much—Moon is smirking at you, relaxed, his arms resting on either side of the pool. The coarse fur of his body sticks to him, wet, and steam rises from his body as much as it does the hot spring. His head tilts to the side, studying you, smug—you cross your arms and turn away. “Definitely not.”

Moon makes a noise low in his throat, something amused, and the sloshing of water follows. “Stubborn.”

You’re about to say something about pots and kettles when the sight of his discarded pants, folded neatly beside the edge of the pool and a cluster of ribboned bells, derails your train of thought. It was only a suspicion before but the evidence is right in front of you now, speeding your heartbeat. You glance at him, surprised, and see that he’s actually shifted closer to you. “Are you... wearing anything in there?”

His tail, de-belled, swishes across the surface of the water. “Do you wear clothes in the bath?”

Your face, still chilled from the cold outside, flares with warmth. You twist your head to the side so quickly that your neck pops, and fix your gaze on a specific spot on the cave wall where the jutting rock casts a cat-like shape in shadow that ripples in the firelight. You definitely weren’t getting into the water now—even if it seemed like a nice idea to your perpetually aching back. In fact, you definitely weren’t even more tempted to get in after finding out he was naked! How ridiculous would that be? Moon was a creature easily twice your height if he stood up straight—even if his waist and hips were narrow enough to seem closer to that of a normal human, his other proportions were dramatically oversized. Like his hands, large enough to wrap around you entirely!

…you weren’t doing a good job of making any part of the scenario you were presented with less appealing.

More of the silky sound of moving water, accompanied by Moon’s rolling, purring rasp. “Silly ideas of modesty. You humans always forget that you’re still just animals.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from answering that you have never been as keenly aware of the animal within you as you were at that exact moment.

Before you can think of a response that doesn’t expose you like a ripped pair of jeans, Moon’s hand encompasses your waist just as you had envisioned a moment before and you found yourself tilting and falling and suddenly very warm and very wet. Moon had pulled you into the hot spring, clothes and all.

You gape at the cackling creature as he sinks chin-deep into the water, looking very self satisfied, and grab him by the horn with a sopping mitten.

“Asshole!” you accuse, and watch his grin only widen. “I don't have anything else to wear! My clothes are going to freeze to my skin!”

“They won’t,” Moon tosses his head, effortlessly breaking your grip on his horn and casting your hand aside. “Fire.”

The flames from the fireplace glitter in his dark eyes, mirroring the heat you feel in your own cheeks. You could lay your clothes by the fire to dry them, true, but you’d… have to take them off, for that.

Your internal battle is short lived. There really isn’t an alternative.

“Fine,” you spit, then soften. “Turn around?”

Moon, obliging your uncharacteristic timidity, turns 180 degrees to allow you your privacy. You strip your clothing off while still in the water, ringing then out as best you can and draining the wetness into the pool. You debate leaving your underwear on, but the risk of your damp drawers freezing to your ass the next time you leave the cave is not one you want to take. You only hop out of the pool long enough to run your clothes to the fireplace and lay them out in front of it, the steamy, warm air of the cave chilly to your slick, reddened skin.

A glance at Moon as you scurry back into the warmth of the hot spring reveals that he hasn’t peeked, still facing away from you, resting his chin on folded arms atop the edge of the pool, eyes closed. His face is the picture of blissful relaxation, and looking at him so content only emphasizes the relief of slipping back into the heat yourself.

He, perhaps, had a point about the whole “hot spring” business. But like hell were you going to admit that now that he’d soaked your clothes.

You splash his face spitefully. “Bastard.”

He only opens one eye, expression slipping from tranquility to mild irritation. “Brat.”

Despite the warmth of the spring, a shiver runs through you, and you turn resolutely away from him again as you are reminded that you are both naked, and in very close proximity.

Moon takes advantage of your distraction, splashing you with a bigger wave that hits your face and hair. He’s grinning when you glare at him, and cackles when your attempt to get him back results in a piddly baby-sized wave. Smug son of a bitch.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Stupid Spring! Stupid allergies!

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

A/N: I'm currently suffering from allergies AND asthma. So I'm making it Lucien's problem. Bear with me, I wrote this with 4 hours of sleep. 🫡💕

Sumarry: You are visiting Lucien's old friend in Spring Court. Only, your allergies are being a pain in the ass, and you can't wait to get the fuck away from this Court of Sneezes and Tissues.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None.

Divider made by @saradika-graphics 💕

Your eyes were dry from staring at the turning clock hands centered on the tapestry covered walls. You turned your head to the side of the bed, throwing an accusatory grimace at the extravagant pollen nest. People would most likely call that pollen nest a colorful and pleasant smelling bouquet of extravagant looking flowers, but to you, it was just a fucking pollen nest. And a big pain in your ass, considering your allergies and unbearable asthma. You take a deep breath and roll out of bed, sniffling. You shove the bouquet out of their vase, and carry it towards their tragic fate. You open up the window as quickly as possible, and throw them out of the window, closing it back before any pollen could sneak in. You look over Lucien’s side of the bed, and spot another one of this enemy's hideout. You yank the bunch of sadly beautiful flowers, almost making the vase smash onto the ground, and give that bouquet the same fate the other one succumbed from. You peer over the window, at the piled up flowers, and silently clasp your hand in content. You close the window, once again, and as if the flowers were getting revenge on you, despite their absence, you sneeze, and mutter a curse. 

The softness of the linen sheets welcomed you back in bed, and if it weren’t from those allergy symptoms, you would’ve fallen asleep like a baby, just like Lucien was. You roll on your side, staring at his beautiful features, and you sigh in content at the sight of him. You wiggled closer to him, watching his chest fall and rise, his lips slightly parted, and take in his scent. He smelled just like usual, but there was an additional smell of mint lingering on him, probably because he brushed his teeth before bed. His body was hot, so hot… He was hot in every sense of the word, actually. His thigh muscles looked like they had been carved by the Cauldron itself, you ran your fingers along those, his golden-brown skin shone under the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He shivered and grumbled as your hand started stroking his delicious thigh, and you can’t help but pout and pull your hand away at how grumpy your mate was when asleep. You took an exaggerated loud sigh, hoping Lucien would stir from his peaceful slumber to accompany you through your insomnia. 

“Lu,” You whisper through the silence at your first failed attempt to obtain his attention. The constant ticking of the clock echoed through the ridiculously huge bedroom of Tamlin's manor, it was the only sound breaking through the silence as you waited fo Lucien’s russet eye or golden prosthesis to open. That idiotic redhead was peacefully snoring beside you, and you swore that you could see drool pooling from his soft lips with the rising daylight that filtered through the pastel colored curtains. “Lu,” You whispered again, shaking your mate's shoulder a little to wake him up. Why wake him up? You didn't know. Maybe you just wanted him to suffer from the same lack of sleep he was putting you through by forcing you to come here, only to visit his old friend. It felt as if your nose was filled with snot, and your eyes filled with sand. How could something as small as stupid pollen make you feel as if you were on the verge of dying from the lack of oxygen properly entering your lungs? You gently nibble on Lucien's ear, and he grumbles, clicking his tongue and shoving his hand in the air as if he was chasing away a fly. “Sleep.” He whines sleepily, and you scoff. “Sleep?! You think I can sleep?!” 

He rolls on his side and yanks you into his arms, he wraps them around your waist, making sure to not crush your lungs. “M'love… You took those allergies and sleep tonics before bed, there's not much I can do even if you pull me out of the peaceful land of dreams,” You gasp out an offended sound, and Lucien sighs, just wanting to knock that dramatic attitude out of you and fall back asleep. “So what, when our children will be sick and need you in the future you'll just drug them and sleep through it?!” He narrowed one eye open at your slightly frustrated tone, a lazy grin appears on his face. “Love, we don't have children. You said you didn't even want them yet. Changing your mind now?” He purred, snuggling his face in your neck. You tried to scoot away from his embrace, but Lucien wasn't having it. The more you tried to wiggle out of his grip, the more his fingers mercilessly tickled your ribs. “Nope! I'm certainly not changing my mind so soon about having children. Lu- Stop it!” You wheezed, trying to hold back your chuckles because you knew that would only fuel him to continue. 

“Alright, alright. Now be a good girl and close those pretty eyes,” He locks his arms around your waist, holding your back tightly against his chest and pressing a lazy kiss at the top of your head, “We'll be taking our leave tomorrow, I'll inform Tamlin that my precious and strong mate has succumbed to pollen.” You mimic Lucien’s annoying tone under your breath, but his Fae ear caught your voice. “What was that?” He challenges you to do it again, but you only growl in defeat, sneezing once more. “That’s what I thought. Good night, I love you, my beautiful flower full of pollen.” He snickered, proud of the nickname he just now made up to tease you. You cross your arms, but bring one of his hands to kiss his knuckles, even if your cheeks were bright red from his constant mockeries. “Love you too, my big pain in the ass.” “Your very lovely ass.” He added, before falling asleep in a heartbeat. How fucking lucky he was to easily fall asleep like that, you thought. 

—

You stared blankly at the steaming mug of black coffee in front of you, and poured a ridiculous amount of maple syrup in it. Your eyes dart up in Tamlin's direction when you hear his choked laugh coming from his side of the table. As delighted you were to hear that spark of happiness coming back to your mate's dearest friend, you couldn't help that dark stare directed to him, matching the dark circles looming underneath your puffy eyelids. “Slept well?” “Wonderfully.” You and Lucien answer at the same time, the read-head's voice sounding way more cheery than your sarcastic and raspy one. You continued to eat in silence, and you kicked Lucien’s feet from under the table as if to say “tell him!”. Lucien cleared his throat, and spoke up, “We’re leaving for Dawn today, to visit Nuan.” Tamlin noded, a wicked smirk growing at the corner of his lips. “That’s wonderful, I’m sure Thesan and Nuan will be delighted to see you again and meet your mate, Lucien,” He bit his lip to stifle a laugh, and by the glimmer that shone in the High Lord’s irises, he knew that he was about to tease you a little. Tamlin's cheerful voice rang again, “I heard that they had trouble with pollen lately, too. There have been high winds in spring lately, and it might’ve made the pollen travel all the way there… Unfortunately.” You drop your spoon in your coffee, almost breaking the cup as you shoot a panicked glance towards your mate. But your expression immediately turns from a troubled to an annoyed one when you notice the two Fae males bursting into a fit of laughter, tears at the corner of their eyes. “Ha.Ha. Very funny you two.” 

At least now, Tamlin was happy. And Lucien was too, because currently, his friend was healing. And getting better. 

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Aesop is taken by the chin, and at once his eyes widen, he shuts his mouth to keep himself from staring agape, he locks his eyes onto the vampire and digs his nails into his palms to ignore the ones that claw into his chin.

When he is released, he still cannot look away. Not when the vampire turns towards goodness knows where (though he steals a glance and finds nothing of note), not when the eyes fix back onto him. He was taught about eye contact, and even without practice, he knows that to look away is rude.

Perspective. The embalmer's eyes twitch, before he starts to laugh, halting within itself as if his breath cannot hold its own emotion. God, of course that's what it is. "Ha-ha-haaaa... what else would it be? My life is about finding beauty in death, a beauty I've seen people refuse to witness every time I try to share it. Why should you not be proud of these things...? It is hardly any wonder I feel so distant from others who are living, when I cannot do or see the same as they do."

"They're too afraid to know what is good for them, hm? So then, why should they—why should they matter? They... they never listened to me, why should I..." Aesop's eyes are wide, pulled upward as if he is grinning underneath that mask of his. "What do I do, if not preserve beauty? What do I do, if not keep others' beauty alive past themselves? Even if they do not come crawling, there is always an end. And I am there."

Aesop's eyes linger on the arm as it is mentioned, trailing up. His features soften, as if the storm has passed. For now, at least. "...That arm of yours brings to mind another familiar face. It's... more than that, too. The initial demeanor, and then... still reaching out. Still wanting someone like me. How funny, that I find company with the dead."

“Yellow roses, huh? Why though? Red is a much more alluring colour!”

~ @idv-crescent-moon

"...I have found that it doesn't suit me. I am hardly... alluring, as you put it." He tries and fails to keep himself from muttering a "I'm not sure if I want to be..." as he steps backward slightly. Deep, bright red. It's a color he knows is popular, but... "It isn't like the color changes the scent and the petals' softness and the thorns that inevitably line the stem, though... right?"

[ragesingoddess]

sharing a wip of something I've been writing for god knows how long now, hoping somehow exposure will convince me to actually finish it

"That night, Todd dreams of Neil.

Dreaming of Neil is something that although he'd never dare to admit, he's rather accustomed to. Having to sleep in the same room as Neil every night is more torturous than one would think. Neil's presence has a charming tendency to fill the corners of every room he is in, impossible to ignore or shake off. And for some reason that he still can't quite explain, that ability seemed to extend to the the subconscious part of Todd's brain because for as long as him and Neil have been sharing a room he can't fucking stop dreaming about him.

The dreams are not always about Neil- most of the time he is just there, his presence as warm and steady as it always is in the real world. He is there in good dreams and in nightmares and he always vanishes just a few seconds before Todd shakes himself awake.

He dreams about Neil drowning. They're in the lake just outside Wellton and Todd is sitting in the pier just like he's done hundreds of times before. They lake is not deep but Neil keeps saying that he can no longer swim and no matter how much Todd screams or tries to help him his hands keep staying glues against his sides, unable to reach out to help his friend from vanishing.

He wakes up with palms clenching the wrinkly bedsheets, and even if his eyes were not already stained with tears, the freshly washed sheets would be enough to break him, so foreign and carrying nothing of Neil's scent that he's tried so hard to etch into his memory.

.

Dear Todd,

I sincerely hope you are all holding up well. Tell the rest of the boys to rest easy; I'm sure no one Hellton manages to hire will torment them more that I did just to pass English.

I'm returning to London the following week, and although goodbyes (to both people and places) are always heavy to bear, the air of possibility hums pleasantly around me. There's always more to see, always new things to experience. No matter how much pain we endure, how hopeless we may find ourselves feeling the birds will sing in the morning and winter will  always gently give way to spring. The thought brings me some shallow comfort; I hope it can lift a weight off of you, too.

I tried writing to Mr. Perry but I've never received a response. I never expected to, in any case. My thought are always with him, and with you.

When you see him tell him I send him my kindest regards and my sincerest apologies.

If you have a bit more time, tell him he needs to cling on life like a starved man. Tell him he needs to cradle his life and all of its miseries and joys in his hands and tuck them painfully back into his chest and try to spill out nothing. Tell him he needs to understand how precious and lonely and incredible it is to be a living thing that exists under the sun and gets to experience the world with all of its pain and all of its glory.

Our lives are poems, chaste and precious. We need to hold the crumbled, messy pages of our hearts and remind ourselves that art will always be better than emptiness.

I hope you are still writing poetry. Keep writing even when it feels hopeless, even when it makes you sad. There's salvation in language. My advice is to try and remember.

Don't think of me too often. I guess I already said I've always struggled with goodbyes,

John Keating.

.

Todd carefully slips the latter back into the envelope and tucks it between the pages of his chemistry book where he knows no one will look for it. His mind keeps on replaying Keatings words over and over until they threaten to lose meaning.

Tell him he needs to cling on life like a starved man.

He thinks back to the Neil he met the first day he arrived in Wellton. The one with the bright smiles that showed all his teeth. He tries to associate that image with Neil's broken face after the play, the face that he only got a glimpse of before his father shoved him into a car but the face that haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Neil always hated talking about his father. Whenever Todd would try to get him to open up Neil would just laugh dismissively and brush the topic off, bringing the conversation back to Shakespeare and study groups or whatever poet he'd been reading about this month. And selfishly Todd would let him, too drunk on the sweet ring of Neil's voice, too in love with the way his eyes lit up whenever he talked about his passions. He thought he was keeping him happy.

But now can't help thinking about how he should have tried harder, how he should have been able to see through Neil's softest smiles, how he should have never been that fooled by the image Neil liked presenting of himself. How he should have held him tighter instead of flinching away from his touch like it burnt him. How it would have been preferable for him to burn than have Neil lose the childish awe with which he saw the world.

The window on the room is open and he lets the wind run softly against his hair, tries to remind himself to even his breathing out before he's too caught up in his own head again.

He gets up from his bed and grabs a notebook, takes a pencil from his desk and then sits down again. His hand hovers above the page for a while, indecisive but when he pressed against the paper his moments are firm.

Incomplete list of  reasons life is worth clinging into [...]

[juliawrittingsblog]

Kinktober 2024: Public Sex

Public Sex

Pronouns: She/Her

The sound of leaves crunching can be heard as MC and Diavolo walk along a forest hiking trail on a cool fall morning. The smell of the crisp air filling their lungs, accompanied by their elevating heart rates and burning legs, makes them feel alive. MC looks up at Diavolo, who is gazing out at the lake alongside the winding trail. Her eyes glisten at the sight of her red-headed lover in the heart of nature. The urge to touch him surges through her as she slowly intertwines their fingers, leaning into his body for a moment before they continue walking with their fingers laced together.

After a few minutes of hiking, MC looks over and sees a smaller, less-traveled path branching off from the main one. A smirk spreads across her face as an idea pops into her head.

“Hey, Diavolo,” she starts, pulling him to a halt. “Why don’t we see where this smaller trail leads?”

Diavolo looks in the direction MC is pointing, trying to glimpse down the smaller path as it disappears into the woods. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t we stick to the main path? What about snakes?” he questions, his brow furrowing.

“It’s fall, and it’s too cold for snakes, so it will be fine. Come on, live a little,” MC says as she begins to tug him toward the small path.

“Wait, do you even know where this path goes?” Diavolo asks, slightly resisting MC’s pull.

MC stops to look back at him and then at the path. “It’s a bike path. I saw it when we were looking at the trail sign at the beginning of the trail. It should loop around to where we are now,” she explains, pointing to the other side of the trail where the small bike path connects to the path they are currently on.

“So, why are we going on a bike path?” Diavolo inquires, cocking his head to the side in a questioning manner.

MC lets out a deep sigh, tightening her grip on his hand as she begins to pull him. “Don’t question it, just come on and trust me.”

Diavolo lets out a sigh before chuckling as he allows Mc to pull him down the bike path. A few minutes go by as they walk along the path, soon coming to a fork. Mc looks at both sides, eventually deciding to take the path that leads down a hill and out of sight. He leads Diavolo, still holding his hand, far enough down the path until they can’t be seen, before stopping Diavolo and pushing him roughly against a nearby tree. She drags him down for a passionate kiss.

A groan escapes Diavolo’s lips as his hands, which had flown up in the air, slowly wrap around Mc’s waist. He leans into the kiss, his lips parting slightly so his tongue can lap at her lips, begging for entrance. Mc tilts her head sideways, parting her lips to allow his tongue to explore her mouth. A whine escapes her lips as she presses her body flush against him, the adrenaline from the earlier hike being replaced with heated touches. She tangles her fingers in his locks. A few moments pass like this, with his large hands roaming her body and shared passionate kisses, before Mc pulls away. She looks around to make sure they are still alone before getting down on her knees. A look of confusion is apparent on Diavolo’s face before she palms his clothed erection with a smirk.

“M-Mc, we shouldn’t be doing this. What if someone walks up on us?” Diavolo stutters as Mc pops open the button of his pants.

“Then you better keep it down and keep an eye out,” Mc replies as she unzips and pulls down his pants, letting his cock spring out of its confinement.

A shiver runs up Diavolo's spine as he watches MC grip his cock, letting her tongue run along the underside before swirling it around the tip to collect the pre-cum that was beginning to form. MC gives the length of his cock one final lick before placing the head to her lips for a kiss, the action causing Diavolo to cover his mouth to stay quiet as his cock throbbed at the sight of MC down on her knees, looking up at him as she played with it. Without breaking eye contact, MC takes the head of Diavolo's cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head as her other hand strokes the base, pulling a muffled groan from Diavolo's lips at her ministrations. MC pushes the thick cock further into her mouth, the taste of it pulling a moan from her, causing him to shiver at the vibrations. MC's hands land on Diavolo's hips, holding him in place as she bobs her head along his cock. His body shakes and tenses as she takes it to the back of her throat repeatedly, her hands cupping his heavyset balls. Broken moans vibrate around his cock as MC tilts it downward, pulling the skin taut, making it more sensitive as she bobbed her head, letting her tongue brush the underside. Diavolo closes his eyes as he approaches his orgasm, muffled moans and sounds of slurping the only thing that can be heard as his cock swells and throbs in MC's mouth.

"M-MC, I'm gonna," Diavolo starts, only to have all words stuck in his throat, mouth agape as MC works him. MC, feeling how close he was, pushes his cock down her throat, holding it in place as his cock pulses. A muffled scream comes from Diavolo as he cums hard down her throat. A hand goes to the back of MC's head, making sure she swallows all of his seed, only letting go once satisfied. MC finally pulls off of his cock with a plop.

Diavolo leans against the tree, panting as he comes down from his high, MC wiping her lips before standing and straightening up her clothes.

"We should get back to the trail," MC says as she begins to walk back the way they came.

"I'm guessing that is the reason you wanted to come down this path," Diavolo says, straightening himself up and following behind MC.

MC just looks back at him with a smirk and a wink.

[rorydflanagan]

I may look pretty, according to society standards, but I don’t feel it or think it. Ohhh. Yeah that would definitely get you arrested. Granted, probably still deserved it. 100%. I will say that I never mind answering questions. Yeah. I have an older sister as well. I’m the middle kid.

Pretty boy? Me? I don’t know about that now. If he was a dick, then he definitely deserved it. Didn’t mean you needed to be arrested for it though. They’re both inches from each other. Simple, yet a lot of meaning. Just private honestly, but I don’t mind talking about them. I got one for my mom and one for me and my siblings.

[snowviolettwhite]

Several Sentence Sunday

Tagged By the lovelies @anewkindofme and @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

(Reworking the first chapter of don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up) Not finished with it yet but here is a sneak peak. Name from Harry Style song Matilda.

9-1-1 early 2010s Alternative Universe Fan-Fiction.

Where Buck, Eddie, Shannon and baby Christopher runaway from home to California. Buck and Eddie join the fire academy and soon after the 118, Shannon is studying to be a therapist and they are all roommates barely, adults at eighteen years old and raising Christopher and coming into adulthood together.

Eddie and Shannon were born towards the end of 1992 so they graduate in 2011.

Buck was born in summer of 1992 so he graduated in 2010.

----

It is January of 2011. Public schools across the nation of The United States Of America are still out for winter break from Hershey, Pennsylvania to El Paso, Texas.

Evan Buckley, Buck is the blonde and blue-eyed rascal. It has been nearly a year since he graduated high school and still does not know what he wants from life. He has tried college is dropping out and not returning for the spring semester. He mostly did it to get his parent off his back and away from them.

He has some money saved from over the years from doing chores, birthdays, mowing lawns and gardening around town, shoveling snow, yard sales, lemonade stands and many more little odd jobs.

He is always getting himself hurt and in trouble. He was on the football team. He made a lot of friends but never got close enough to let his walls down. He is the baby of the family but the only person who ever pays attention to him is his big sister Madeline, Maddie Buckley. She is nine years older than him. He does not know what he wants concretely. But he knows that he wants to help people and make the world a better place and just wants to be happy and be loved and find his passion and have stability.

Edmundo Diaz, Eddie is the young teenage dad to be who got his best friend turned girlfriend pregnant. Eddie just turned eighteen in November and Shannon only turned eighteen in October. They are not even eighteen and half years old. He is the middle child and is the only boy in his family. He was the sanest compared to his sisters which, pulled away the attention of the fact he struggled a lot in school. He excelled in other areas like sports and the arts and other hands-on-activities until this past year.

He wanted to be nurse when he grew up but saw the pain it was to get into college and financial aid and everything with his older sister, Adrianna. He needs to figure out how he is going to support the baby and Shannon and himself. He just wants to be left alone in peace with his best friend and baby boy and to have fun, at least for now.

“Edmundo Diaz, young man you will listen to me right now. How could you let this happen?! You and Shannon are still kids in the school. You cannot even take care of yourselves. The last time you tried cooking dinner you nearly set the kitchen on fire. You cannot be trusted to drive by yourself and still need help with your homework You cannot act like a man, you still act like a child. How are you supposed to take care of a baby?”

Shannon Macdonald is the young teenage mom to be. She wants to be therapist when she grows up. She wants to start a new life away from all this chaos and stress and hang out with her best friend and baby and make new friends and find new interests.

She is the best friend of Eddie Diaz.

They say if you want to be treated like an adult act like an adult. How are you supposed to act like an adult when you are still being treated and spoken to like a child. You are barely an adult at eighteen years old just graduated in high school or still in it, being dragged home by the cops and being scolded at the front door or being at by your parents yelled in your childhood bedroom to the point of tears and clutching your clutching your worn-out stuffed animal or getting into screaming contest with two middle aged adults to the point your voice gives out and wanting your mom to make it better.

“You’re too soft! You need to grow up!”

“You’re too soft! You need to grow up!”

“You’re too soft! You need to grow up!”

“I hate you!”

“I hate you!”

“I hate you!”

---

Tagging But No Pressure: @the-flaming-nightmare. @aroeddiediaz. @babygirl-diaz @lochnesswriter @missmagooglie. @tommykinard6

[goldenboywrites]

run boy run

The flames from their fire licked at Beckett’s skin. The smoke was heavy in his lungs as he breathed in and out slowly. It had been two weeks since he had been reunited with a small portion of his guard, and they had been hiding in the wilderness ever since. It had been a long six months, and Beckett was half tempted to reach out and touch the flames just to confirm that he was alive. There were fleeting moments where he wasn’t sure - convinced he had died after his brother killed their father, framed Beckett for it, sold him to a hostile neighboring country, and told everyone he had murdered Beckett as a way to avenge their fallen father. 

He hadn’t because Conrad’s bravery was an illusion he gave to the people. He hadn’t even come to place Beckett in chains and drag him out of his quarters. He sent others to do his dirty work. He hadn’t even dared to kill Beckett because he knew that any fight between them wouldn’t rule in his favor; it would be the last mistake his brother ever made. 

From what he was told after he was dragged from the castle and transported by carriage to Keblon, Elias, Beckett’s right hand and more of a brother to him than his actual brother, he had already been suspecting Conrad of foul play. He cozied up to Conrad, proclaimed his loyalty, and waited for him out the details. Conrad did not outright tell Elias, but he said enough that he could connect the dots. Eventually, Elias and a few others who could be trusted turned on Conrad and traveled to Keblon to break out Beckett, their true king. 

“You should eat.” Elias joins Beckett around the fire, shoving a tin plate of roasted venison under his nose. Beckett takes it without thought but doesn’t eat any. Food these days tastes like ash. “Before you head to the temple.” The temple of Selunio. At first, Beckett had refused to entertain altering their journey to include a stop there, but he was no match for Elias’ stubbornness. The temple of Selunio is where it is prophesied that a King from Beckett’s family line shall approach the altar to receive a gift, but only in dire times. When experiencing hardships, his father traveled to his temple for prayer, where he had his grandfather and the Kings from their line. It didn’t make sense for Beckett to risk going to the temple. His brother, by now, must have received word he had broken out of Keblon, and this was the first place he would look for Beckett. But Elias felt it was worth the risk. 

At one point, Beckett loved this prophecy. His ancestors had built the temple and maintained it for decades. He had never been but listened intently to his father’s descriptions of the place. Throughout his childhood, it had been a symbol of protection, history, and guidance. But after all he had been through, Beckett no longer believed in a state of grace. If he were to take back his throne, it would be done by his own hands. 

“Eat,” Elias said with a huff. Well, who was Beckett to disappoint his people? 

___________________________________

The temple of Selunio was far grander than Beckett had ever imagined, and he had imagined this place a lot growing up. Pillars carved with gold inlay reached the ceiling. Statues of the Kings before him guided him as he walked to the altar. To the far right, outside of the temple, there was a natural spring with clear water flowing from a waterfall. His footsteps were the only sound besides the water as he walked across the marble. Only Kings were allowed to enter this sacred temple, so he left Elias and the rest of his men a few miles away. 

Beckett approached the altar quickly, withdrawing his dagger from the strap on his thigh. “Hear me,” He said out loud, his words echoing through the temple. “I am of the Savoy line, the rightful king of Adria. Hear me as I have been called to this temple in my most dire need. I request guidance to return the rightful king to the throne. Take my offering,” He sliced the dagger across the palm of his hand, holding it as blood dripped into a pearl bowl on the center of the altar. “And grant me the gift to take my destiny back.” 

He waited until the throbbing in his hand was too painful to ignore. Beckett sighed and wiped the blood off his pants. He wasn’t ready to return to his men empty-handed. He could only imagine the look of disappointment on their faces. We are going to lose. It had been an ever present thought in his mind. One that made him want to give up the throne entirely. I don’t have it in me to lead them anymore. I’ve lost too much of myself. Maybe the gods weren’t listening because Beckett wasn’t cut out for the throne. Maybe it was always supposed to turn in his brother’s favor. 

Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for all of it. 

Beckett sniffled, wiping under his eyes with the back of his hand. He made his way over to the water, tugging off his boots and dipping his feet in. The water was warm and soothing and felt good against his tired bones. He dipped his bleeding hand in next, watching as the red spread throughout the water. He didn’t want to return to his men like this. Elias knew him well enough to see through any mask, and Beckett had difficulty keeping himself from showing his genuine emotions. He felt hopeless, lost, and unworthy of his men’s loyalty and love. “Please,” He begged, tilting his back and looking up at the sky,  “Gods, please help me.”

@magiclwritings

[sadhappylady]

If you’re still answering the fic asks:

14, 21, 33, 37.

If there’re any duplicates - feel free to sub something you wish you’d been asked 🌻

Thanks a lot for the ask @gulliblelemon! Some of these were quite hard, so took some time to figure out (and I 'unfortunately' had to reread all of Ex by @stretchoutfics to be able to answer the first question - what is a girl gonna do?? 🤷)

14.          your choice of fanfic for each season

Spring: maybe Känsla by despassurlaneige? I think it is set during summer, actually, but it's all about new beginnings and new feelings, so it has that 'I just have to dance barefoot in the garden even though it's far too cold, because the snow is gone and the sun is warm and God! everything is just perfect' vibe, if you get what I mean.

Summer:. Matters of adjustment by @sflow-er is the summerest of all summer fics. And Ex by @stretchoutfics is a summer holiday fic that is just too extraordinary to forego.

Autumn: inte framför dina ögon utan, utan att du knappt ser det by graveyardorgarden is depressing and sad, and really nails that November feeling, just ten times worse. (TW: eating disorders. Thank god it has a sequence where they're doing better.) Heartily recommended anyway, for anyone who reads Swedish.

Winter: I already gave you all my Christmas favs, so maybe Put Me Back Together and Take My Heart by @notalotgoingonatthisinstant. A winter fic where Simon gets a head injury and Wille doesn't care what anyone says anymore. Lots of angst! (Or if it's more of a fluff day: will you hold me tight and not let go? by @toffeelemon. Valentine friends to lovers fic.)

Which is the fanfic with your favorite scene of this scenario ?

21.          a dancing scene

Definitely Dancing through life by @pagegirlintraining, because I love it! (Haha, I use every opportunity to say so.) So many great dancing scenes, but their last routine is my favourite!

33.          Henry and Walter favorite fanfic

I said I'd do a list, so here's your list 😌

Closure by @stretchoutfics. So sad. Post break-up story. Seriously so sad, but also sooo good.

You Have Reached the Voicemail Box of... Henry and Walter by @zee-has-commitment-issues (you should start from the first part of the series, though, you won't regret it). Has Walter seriously been dating Henry all this time, and not noticed?

Other people's secrets and Matters of adjustment by @sflow-er. Ace Henry friends to lovers fic. Henry is watching Wilmon being Wilmon through s1, while also having revelations about himself and his roommate. Must-read. (Matters of adjustment is the second part of the series.)

Last chance by @sflow-er. Also ace Henry friends to lovers fic/coming out fic. Super cute. 

There Is No 'Without Me' by @verukamtl. Friends to lovers fic, with lots of pining. And I seem to remember a certain hickey in there 😳 I love this one!

oops, didn't see you there by Elisabeth13. Cute, funny sickfic where Walter hates germs and Henry catches a cold.

37.          the trope you didn't expect to like

I think the YR fandom attracts writers that find nuance interesting. Which is to say that I have enjoyed some Wilmon superhero fics. I have never liked action movies or superhero stories much, because they often have very black and white perspectives. Either you are the hero, or you are the villain. But Wilmon superhero fics tend to add a lot of nuance to this picture. For instance:

Where we come from by This_time_its_just_me

what lies within by museraphoria

Falling in webs by Etvie

I'm still open for more asks, just know that if I need to find a lot of fics, the answers will be slow. Will get to it, though 💜 Or if you ever look for a fic rec later!